Navajo Courage. Aimee Thurlo

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СКАЧАТЬ was midmorning and there were two television cameras and at least a hundred curious onlookers lining the outside of the tape. As she climbed out of the vehicle, Valerie glanced over at Luca. He was clipping his service pistol to the right side of his belt, next to his badge and a small leather pouch. Coming around the front of the car a few seconds later, he fell into step beside her as they walked toward the crime scene.

      “Crazies can be real proud of their handiwork, and sometimes stick around to see us work the scene. Keep a sharp eye out for anyone who fits the profile,” she said.

      “Don’t concentrate too much on profiles just yet. Keep an open mind,” he said, then in a whisper-thin voice added, “Patience.”

      It was the way he’d said that word that teased her imagination, making her think of steamy summer nights someplace far away and exotic…. She shook her head, banishing the thought as quickly as it had come.

      “Detective Jonas,” a tall, ruddy-faced officer called out as he jogged up to meet them. “The body’s through that alley at the other end, inside a private property and not visible from the outside of the yard unless you look over the wall,” he said. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “the entire hood is pretty restless at the moment, so watch yourself in case a relative or friend of the victim shows up. Things could explode in a hurry.”

      She knew this type of neighborhood well. The residents were mostly Hispanic and Native American—people who often believed that you were either one of them or an outsider. It wouldn’t make their investigation easy.

      “A deputy is tracking down her family, right?”

      The officer nodded. “Her residence is in the North Valley, and an officer is en route. She apparently lives with her parents.”

      “Anything else on the dead woman?” Valerie asked.

      “She’s got a student ID card from the university and crime scene found a paycheck from an area print shop in her purse. The amount suggested a part-time job. Deputy Gonzales is following up on that lead, hoping to backtrack her recent activities,” the officer replied.

      “Call the campus police and get her class schedule,” Valerie ordered, increasing her stride.

      To their left there were several old multistory apartment buildings that took up several blocks. Ahead of them, on their side of the street, were run-down single-family homes a decade or so older than the apartment structures. The fronts of the homes were open to the street, and several of the houses had low cinder-block walls in the rear.

      “From what I recall, a lot of Navajo families live in this neighborhood, but I don’t see any among the onlookers,” she said, glancing at the crowd that lined the yellow tape cutting across the alley at both ends of the property.

      “We avoid the dead. Contact with them doesn’t bring anything good.”

      Valerie and Luca followed the tall deputy through an open wooden gate at the midpoint of the block wall and found themselves in a small backyard—the crime scene. The body hadn’t been covered yet, but its location close to the wall blocked it from the view of the onlookers.

      Her attention already on the body, which rested not five feet from the wall, Valerie reached into her pocket. “We’ll need gloves,” she said, handing him a pair.

      “I’ll need a second pair,” he answered.

      “Why?”

      “Tribal officers prefer to wear two. That way we don’t inadvertently touch anything that came into direct contact with the body.”

      Valerie called another officer over and soon Luca had his second pair. As they approached the body she glanced back at him. His focus had shifted from the body itself, and the fact that the fingertip joints were missing, to the bare earth and the items left around the victim.

      “Let me know when you get the results on the green powder placed on her lips,” Luca said. “I think it comes from plants used in our rituals but I’d like to know which ones specifically. You’ll also want to get those strips tested,” he said, pointing next to the body. “Find out if that’s buckskin. Navajo witches are said to wear masks of that material at a kill site.”

      In a smoothed-over area of dirt by the body he could see the black outline of the circle and flames—the Brotherhood’s emblem.

      She followed his gaze, then pointed across the alley to the property opposite them. The wall there was covered with gang signs painted in a multitude of colors. “I saw that same symbol, or one close to it, at the first scene. Is it graffiti, spray painted onto the ground?”

      “That’s not paint. Take a closer look. It’s finely powdered ash,” he said. It had been left there as an insult to the Brotherhood. “Make sure the team takes a sample and identifies the source. It may help us in the long run.”

      “I’ll take care of that,” a young woman from the medical investigator’s office answered, overhearing them. “We’re ready to transport, Detective Jonas. The team leader says we’ve got enough photos. All we need now is your okay.”

      Valerie glanced at Luca, who nodded. “Go ahead,” she told her. “What about the vic’s belongings?” Valerie asked. “Do you have a list of what she had on her?”

      One of the crime scene techs looked up then. “Her purse, with billfold, driver’s license and university ID. There were some bus tokens, too. Deputy Gonzales is running down the print-shop check now. We didn’t find any car keys, but there’s a book bag. Inside are pencils and a pen, notebooks and an anthropology textbook.”

      “Let’s have a look,” Luca said. “Students sometimes doodle on their notes or slip papers into their textbooks for safekeeping.”

      “She took English lit—here’s something on Beowulf,” Valerie said moments later. “Here’s another section with some anthropology notes. It’s all pretty general so it must be a beginning survey class. Yeah, here it is, Anthro 101.”

      Luca, thumbing through the anthropology text, nodded. “This book fits that description. Any mention of a professor or TA?”

      “Not yet. Wait—here’s some scribbling next to some sketches of arrowheads. It says, and I quote, ‘Dr. Finley sucks.’ That could be one of her professors.”

      “Interesting wording—respecting the title but not the man—but it gives us a name to check on. Maybe Dr. Finley, whoever he is in the anthropology department, will recognize her photograph and provide us with some information we can use,” Luca added. “There’s a strong cultural connection to the way she was killed.”

      “Sounds like a plan. When we leave here, we’ll go straight to the university. It’s not too far back down Central, on the north side of the street.”

      As the body, now in a sealed plastic bag, was placed on a gurney, she studied the faces in the crowd. Their expressions told the story—along with horror and disgust there was also morbid fascination.

      Praising the members of the crime-scene team who were busy placing numbered cards near each piece of evidence, she studied the camera-laden reporters. They were all struggling from behind the yellow tape for the best angles.

      “Who found the body?” Valerie asked an APD sergeant working crowd control, aware СКАЧАТЬ