Day Of The Dead Part 4

"But I still don't understand why."

"Because you took a human life," Fat Crack explained. "Even though it was self-defense and justified, it's still a terrible thing for you and for your thoakag thoakag-your soul. You need to come to terms with why it happened and to understand I'itoi I'itoi's purpose in all this-why you're alive and why Mitch Johnson is dead. Tell me now," Fat Crack added, "who are you?"

"Lani," she replied. "Lani Walker."

"Who else? What did Nana Dahd Dahd call you?" call you?"

Lani smiled, remembering. "Mualig Siakam," "Mualig Siakam," she said at once. "Forever Spinning, because when I was little, I'd twirl around and around like the girl who turned into Whirlwind." she said at once. "Forever Spinning, because when I was little, I'd twirl around and around like the girl who turned into Whirlwind."

"What else did Rita call you?" Fat Crack asked.

Looking at him in the starlight, Lani had realized he wasn't smiling. These were serious questions that required serious answers.

"Kulani O'oks," Lani whispered. "Medicine Woman." Lani whispered. "Medicine Woman."

Unlike Forever Spinning, this name was not a happy one. As a child, Lani had been left alone by an elderly caretaker. After falling into an ant bed, she had nearly died from the hundreds of bites inflicted when disturbed ants had swarmed over her body. Her copper-colored skin was still mottled with faded patches from those bites. It was the ant bites and Lani's presumed relations.h.i.+p to Kulani O'oks Kulani O'oks-the great Tohono O'odham medicine woman who had been kissed by the bees-that had caused Lani's superst.i.tious blood relatives to give her up for adoption.

"And?" Fat Crack urged, staring at her intently across the darkness.

Lani looked back at Fat Crack, studying his impa.s.sive face. She had yet to tell anyone about the new name she had given herself in the aftermath of the pitched battle in the limestone cave. What had saved her from Mitch Johnson was the timely intervention of a flying bat whose velvety wings had touched Lani's skin in pa.s.sing. That brief caress had somehow imbued Lani with the certain knowledge that the darkness of the cave was her friend rather than her enemy-that by surrendering herself to the darkness instead of fighting it, she could be saved.

On Lani's final venture into the cave, where she had gone to leave her one remaining shoe as a tribute to Betraying Woman's moldering bones, she had discovered a talisman of her own-the dried, baby-finger-like bones from a long-dead bat.

"Nanak.u.mal Namkam," she whispered hoa.r.s.ely. she whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

Fat Crack nodded. "Bat Meeter," he said. "You have met Bat and made some of his strengths your strength. That, too, is good, so taken together, what do you think all this means?"

"I don't know."

"When Looks at Nothing came to me and told me I would be a medicine man," Fat Crack said, "I thought he was crazy. How could I be a Christian Scientist and a medicine man at the same time? It didn't make sense, but I know now he was right."

He paused while Lani waited. Finally he spoke again. "You know the duajida duajida?"

"The nighttime divination ceremony?" Lani asked.

"I have done the duajida duajida for you, Little Bat Meeter," Fat Crack said softly. "Every time it is the same. The spirits say you will be two things at once- for you, Little Bat Meeter," Fat Crack said softly. "Every time it is the same. The spirits say you will be two things at once-Kulani O'oks, Medicine Woman, and also a doctor." Medicine Woman, and also a doctor."

"A doctor?" Lani asked. "As in a hospital?"

Fat Crack nodded. "It's the same thing my auntie, Rita Antone, told me long ago," he said. "And the duajida duajida says it is true." says it is true."

Pulling her robe on over her naked body, Lani glanced at the window. It was still night outside on the frozen prairie beyond the double-pane gla.s.s. And since the night wasn't over, it was still all right for her to do a on over her naked body, Lani glanced at the window. It was still night outside on the frozen prairie beyond the double-pane gla.s.s. And since the night wasn't over, it was still all right for her to do a duajida duajida of her own. of her own.

For days now she'd had a nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong back home. Since Fat Crack was the one who was ill, she was convinced his condition was the source of her malaise. Because no one seemed willing to tell her what was really going on, it was hardly surprising that Lani might look to some other means of finding out what she wanted to know.

She went to the dresser and took down a small framed picture that dated from the night of her high school graduation. She stood in her cap and gown flanked on either side by Gabe and Wanda Ortiz. After retrieving her medicine basket from her dresser, she sat down cross-legged on the floor, pried off the tight-fitting top, and spilled the contents onto the rug.

There before her was everything that had been there that night on Ioligam, Ioligam, and a few things more besides. Most had come to her from or through Nana and a few things more besides. Most had come to her from or through Nana Dahd: Dahd: First came a piece of ancient pottery with the faint image of a turtle etched into the red clay. That had belonged to Rita Antone's paternal grandmother, Understanding Woman. There was Nana First came a piece of ancient pottery with the faint image of a turtle etched into the red clay. That had belonged to Rita Antone's paternal grandmother, Understanding Woman. There was Nana Dahd Dahd's sacred scalp bundle along with the s.h.i.+ny smooth bone owij owij-the awl-the old woman had used to weave her wonderful baskets. A few items were Lani's alone-things she had retrieved from Betraying Woman's cave-a blackened fragment of a broken pot and the delicate bone from a dead bat's wing. Last of all was the soft chamois bag that held Looks at Nothing's precious crystals.

Lani's fingers trembled as she untied the string and spilled the crystals out into the medicine basket, confining them there rather than risk losing one on the floor. Taking the photo in one hand and a crystal in another, she held them up to the light and studied the faces through the haze of rock. She focused her gaze on Fat Crack's smiling face. The first three times she did it, nothing happened. Then she picked up the fourth crystal.

After a few seconds she noticed a slight s.h.i.+fting in Gabe Ortiz's features. They seemed thinner somehow. It's because he's ill, It's because he's ill, Lani thought. Lani thought. He's losing weight. He's losing weight.

Then Fat Crack's face changed altogether. It seemed to dissolve and then remake itself. Gradually someone else's features emerged. For a moment a blond Anglo woman's face-a face Lani had never seen before-seemed to hover there under the crystal. Then those features, too, disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a bare skull. What does this mean? What does this mean? Lani wondered. Lani wondered. And And w what does this Mil-gahn Mil-gahn woman have to do with Fat Crack? woman have to do with Fat Crack?

Shaken and having no idea what the crystals had told her, Lani carefully returned them to the bag. Then she placed the bag, along with all her other treasures, back in the medicine basket and closed the lid.

With the medicine basket restored to its hiding place, Lani turned once again to her computer. Looks at Nothing's sacred crystals had left her feeling even more distressed. The old ways hadn't worked, so it was time to resort to new ones. Lani switched her computer back on and sent three e-mails in a row. Half an hour later, as the sun touched the still winter-brown landscape outside her window, Lani Walker finally lay down and went to sleep.

Maria Elena heard the click of the lock. There was a single blanket on her bed. Ashamed of her nakedness, she pulled that over her now, even though she knew it was useless. He would peel away the puny covering once he reached her. The harsh light flashed on overhead. She cringed and squeezed her eyes shut, not only to close out the bright light but also to keep from seeing his face as he came toward her. To keep from seeing the terrible greediness in his eyes as he reached out to tear away her blanket. To keep from knowing exactly when his hurtful fingers would reach out with some awful tool to probe some part of her that should never have been touched. Somehow to put off the dreadful moment when she would writhe in agony and hear herself pleading and begging for him to stop. the click of the lock. There was a single blanket on her bed. Ashamed of her nakedness, she pulled that over her now, even though she knew it was useless. He would peel away the puny covering once he reached her. The harsh light flashed on overhead. She cringed and squeezed her eyes shut, not only to close out the bright light but also to keep from seeing his face as he came toward her. To keep from seeing the terrible greediness in his eyes as he reached out to tear away her blanket. To keep from knowing exactly when his hurtful fingers would reach out with some awful tool to probe some part of her that should never have been touched. Somehow to put off the dreadful moment when she would writhe in agony and hear herself pleading and begging for him to stop.

It was as though, by not seeing him, she could avoid or delay what was coming. By not seeing it happen, she hoped somehow to distance herself from the pain and deny its reality while she endured whatever was to come. Acceptance was not an option.

This time the doctor's approach took far longer than usual. For as long as possible, Maria Elena resisted the temptation to open her eyes. Someone had once said that eyes were the windows to the soul. Senor the Doctor had stolen her body from her, forcing her to relinquish it to him. By keeping her eyes closed, she hoped to deny him what little was left-her soul.

Finally she could stand it no longer. She opened her eyes and was amazed to see not the doctor but his wife. Maria Elena no longer thought the silver-haired woman beautiful. She was evil-every bit as monstrous as her husband.

The senora had come to Maria Elena's cell with Senor the Doctor early on, during those first awful days when he had kept her tied up most of the time. He had hurt her some before that, but only a little. As soon as Maria Elena saw the senora, her hopes soared. She was sure the woman must have come to help her-to rescue her. Surely the senora would intercede on Maria Elena's behalf. Surely she would stop her husband and keep him from hurting her.

Instead, the senora had simply smoothed her skirt under her and sat down on the steps. Rather than stopping her husband, she had sat there, strangely silent, avidly observing everything Senor the Doctor did, smiling her approval, and seemingly deaf to Maria Elena's screams.

Over time Maria Elena had learned there was a peculiar rhythm to these sessions. The doctor preferred to start the process slowly, gradually escalating the a.s.sault and inflicting ever-increasing doses of pain. By the time it ended, he would have brought Maria Elena's suffering to a howling, wild crescendo-to a point where she begged and pleaded for him to stop, even though he never stopped until he was ready. Sometimes he took pictures. When what he called that day's "little game" was finally over, Senor the Doctor would force Maria Elena to eat and drink before once again shutting off the light, locking the door, and leaving her alone.

But when the senora came to watch, things were different. For one thing, he never brought the camera along when his wife was there, but the torture was always far worse with the senora watching. At some point in the process, the senora would nod at him. When that happened, he would immediately break off what he was doing. Without a word, he would follow his wife up the stairs, closing and locking the door behind them and leaving Maria Elena alone and sobbing in the dark. Much later, he would return alone to finish what he had begun.

Other times the senora would simply disappear from her place on the stairs. She would leave so quietly that at first neither Maria Elena nor Senor the Doctor would notice. When that happened-when Senor the Doctor realized she was no longer sitting there watching-he would take after Maria Elena with such fierce vengeance that all she could do was will herself to die.

And so, this time when Maria Elena could wait no longer-when she finally opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh glare of light-she saw not the doctor but the senora herself standing alone beside the filthy cot. That in itself was unusual. Never before had the senora come any farther into the room than that spot near the top of the stairs. Maria Elena was sure Senor the Doctor must be there, too, probably standing somewhere just outside Maria Elena's line of vision.

The senora was strangely dressed. A green stocking cap confined her mane of silver hair. Over the green headgear perched a red-and-blue baseball cap. She wore a sweats.h.i.+rt over ill-fitting jeans. On her hands was a pair of rubber gloves.

At the very moment Maria Elena noticed the senora's gloves, she also saw the machete. Seeing the weapon, the girl recognized it for what it had always been-a death-dealing tool. In an instant of clarity, Maria Elena knew that the senora had come not as an appreciative audience to that day's torture but as the Angel of Death.

Maria Elena watched transfixed as the s.h.i.+ny curved blade rose high in the air above her. When it fell, she made no attempt to dodge away from it or defend herself. Rather than fighting the swiftly falling blade, she welcomed the blow and willed herself to rise up to meet it. Her moment of release was finally at hand.

After countless days of unrelenting horror, death came as a blessing to Maria Elena-an answer to her desperate prayers, the only possible answer.

Seven.

At six o'clock in the morning, with the sun barely up, a cold nose brushed Diana's bare arm. Damsel was ready to go out. Brandon had wanted to install a pet door. Despite the obvious convenience, Diana had rejected the idea. She remembered vividly how, a few years earlier, a troop of white-faced coatimundi had let themselves into one of her neighbors' house through an unattended pet door. Alone in the kitchen for several hours, the mischievous, racc.o.o.nlike creatures had trashed the place. When the woman came home, the shock of finding her kitchen alive with wild animals had caused her to suffer a mild heart attack.

No, having a pet door was absolutely out of the question. Diana much preferred being the one who got up early to let Damsel out. She padded out to the kitchen and started the coffee, then went into her office and turned on the computer. Early morning was Diana's favorite time of day. She tried to slog her way through her e-mail while the coffee was perking.

There were a dozen or so spams waiting to be discarded, a couple of e-mails from fans who had written to her through her Web site, and an invitation to appear at a librarians' convention in the fall in Tallaha.s.see, Florida. Finally, and most important, there was one from Lani.

Twenty-two-year-old Lani had come home at Christmas all excited about the idea of spending the summer after graduation doing volunteer clerical work for Doctors Without Borders in some G.o.dforsaken corner of the world. Brandon had put his foot down.

"Don't you read the papers?" he'd demanded. "Every week I see something about those people getting blown up or shot or worse. If you're determined to help out, surely there are less dangerous places for you to volunteer."

"What about Medicos for Mexico?" Diana had suggested, trying to find a compromise that might head off an argument between her husband and daughter.

"Who's that?" Lani asked.

"It's an organization started by some friends of mine from the reservation," Diana told her. "I'm sure you've met them somewhere along the way. Each year Larry and Gayle Stryker take a team of medical volunteers-doctors, nurses, and what have you-down to Mexico, where they provide pro bono medical care for people who wouldn't be able to afford it otherwise."

Brandon's reaction to this was as instant as it was adamant. "Absolutely not!" he growled. "No way, Jose. You'll work for those people over my dead body!"

"I'll work for them if I want to," Lani had shot back at him. "I'm not your little girl anymore, Dad. I'm the one who gets to decide." With that, she had stalked out of the living room and down the hall, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Her cheeks flushed with anger, Diana Ladd had glared at her husband. "That's a nice way to start Christmas vacation," she said. "And what on earth do you have against Gayle and Larry? They're perfectly nice people."

Brandon shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Never mind."

"I won't 'never mind,' " Diana returned. "There must be something."

He chewed his lip before he answered. "I should never have brought it up. Forget it."

"I won't forget it."

"You didn't go over the campaign-finance public disclosure forms during the last election," Brandon admitted finally, "but I did. I wanted to know where Bill Forsythe was getting all his campaign contributions. And there they were, right at the top of the list-Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence Stryker. They send us a Christmas card every d.a.m.ned year. I just saw this year's in the pile on the entryway table. And all the while they're making nicey-nice with you, they were stabbing us in the back-stabbing me me in the back." in the back."

Diana was floored. "I'm so sorry, Brandon," she said. "I had no idea."

"No," Brandon agreed. "I'm sure you didn't. I wasn't going to mention it because I know they're friends of yours. My griping about them sounds like sour grapes, but the idea of Lani possibly going to work for them..." He shook his head. "It was just too much."

That discussion had happened the evening of the first day Lani was home. Diana had thought the summer-job issue would be a bone of contention all through Lani's stay. Then, as soon as Lani found out about Fat Crack's deteriorating health situation, all talk of summer jobs anywhere disappeared off the radar. It was all they could do to talk Lani into going back to Grand Forks to finish her senior year. She had wanted to stay home to look after Fat Crack.

Opening the e-mail from Lani, Diana found that Gabe Ortiz's health was still a major cause for concern.

Dear Mom and Dad,Have you heard anything more about how Fat Crack is doing? I had a note from Wanda last week, but you know how that went. Wanda said he was fine, and for me not to worry, but I am worried. I've told my instructors that one of my family members is very ill and that, if he gets worse, I may have to take my exams early. Two of them said that would be fine, and they're the last two on the schedule. As for graduation, that's off. I already told the registrar's office that I'm not going to walk through the ceremony. I'm sure that's okay with you. I know how much you and Dad both love boring graduation speeches.It's still cold here. I check Tucson weather online every morning. I'm looking forward to coming home. And staying there.Love, Lani With her fingers flying effortlessly over the keyboard, Diana wrote back: Dear Lani,As far as we know, Fat Crack is fine. He sent a woman from the reservation to see Dad yesterday. Her daughter was murdered years ago, long before you were born. She's hoping Dad and TLC can resurrect the case and figure out who did it. If Fat Crack is well enough to be worrying about someone else's problems, Wanda's probably right and he's doing just fine. After all, Wanda has been married to Gabe Ortiz for a long time. If she says he's okay, I'm guessing it's true.Dad's still sleeping. He woke me up when he came to bed at two. He's all excited about having a case to work on. I'm happy to have him doing something besides looking over my shoulder and asking whether or not I'm making progress.Please don't worry about Fat Crack. Study hard and do well on your exams. I'm sure that's what he wants you to do. It's what we want, too.Love, MomP.S. I'll try to call you later on this afternoon.

After answering the remaining e-mails, Diana went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee before going out to the patio. She sat in the shade and tried to work, but the words wouldn't come. Her mind was too full of what Brandon had told her at dinner the night before.

Emma Orozco had stayed on at the house in Gates Pa.s.s for several hours. Her more-than-patient son-in-law had gone away for a time but had returned and waited for another hour before Emma finally emerged from the house and hoisted herself up into the pickup. The son-in-law closed the door behind her and stowed Emma's walker in back. Then, tipping his fraying white straw hat in Brandon's direction, he clambered back into the driver's seat and sped off. By then, Diana was dying of curiosity. on at the house in Gates Pa.s.s for several hours. Her more-than-patient son-in-law had gone away for a time but had returned and waited for another hour before Emma finally emerged from the house and hoisted herself up into the pickup. The son-in-law closed the door behind her and stowed Emma's walker in back. Then, tipping his fraying white straw hat in Brandon's direction, he clambered back into the driver's seat and sped off. By then, Diana was dying of curiosity.

She had emerged from her study in time to see them drive off. Now she looked at her husband as he stared after the receding pickup truck, eyes alight with an intensity she hadn't seen for years.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"Do you remember the girl in the ice chest?" he asked.

"The one they found out by Quijotoa?" Diana returned after a moment. "Sure, but that has to be at least thirty years ago."

"More," Brandon replied. "The girl-the victim-was Emma's daughter, Roseanne."

Suddenly Diana understood. "Let me guess-they never solved it."

"Right," Brandon said. "That's why Fat Crack sent her to see me. He's hoping TLC might be able to help her."

"After all this time?"

"That's the idea. Do you remember much about it?"

Diana shook her head. "I had my hands full in 1970. Davy was a baby. Rita and I had just moved in here and were trying to make the place habitable. And the truth is, I didn't really want to know about it."

The numbing combination of the murder of Rita's granddaughter, Garrison's death by what was supposedly his own hand, and the disappointment of Andrew Carlisle's plea bargain had left a heavy burden on Diana Ladd. She'd had far too much of murder. Too much heartache. She hadn't wanted to hear about anyone else's hurt because her own was still too close to the surface. Or maybe there had been so much mayhem in Diana's life that the Orozco girl's murder no longer touched her in the same way it would have once. Maybe a part of her heart had become too accustomed to such atrocities-accustomed and immune.

Even so, there had been some unavoidable talk at school. Once migrant workers, Emma Orozco and her husband had moved to Sells from Ak-Chin Ak-Chin-Arroyo Mouth-while their daughters were still young. Henry Orozco worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs. His wife became an aide with the tribal Head Start program. Andrea and Roseanne Orozco attended Indian Oasis School. Since Diana taught at Topawa Elementary, the district's other elementary school, she hadn't known either one of the Orozco girls personally.

Still, some of the gossip had penetrated Diana's emotional deflectors. "I seem to remember there was something wrong with Roseanne-that she was developmentally disabled or autistic. And something makes me think she was pregnant at the time of her death."

Diana and Brandon had gone back inside the house. The afternoon was warm. They had retreated to the kitchen, where Brandon rummaged through the freezer and found two small steaks which he put in the microwave to thaw. With Lani gone, they had slipped into an easy rhythm of sharing the cooking duties and eating dinner early.

"Not autistic," Brandon corrected. "According to her mother, one day when Roseanne Orozco was about five, she stopped talking-to anyone. Emma said they took her to the Indian Health Service doctors and even to a medicine man, but nothing helped. And you're right, she was fifteen years old and pregnant at the time of her death."

"Who was the father?" Diana asked. "Wouldn't he be a natural suspect?"

"That's the problem," Brandon replied. "No one had any idea who the father was. As far as anyone knew, Roseanne didn't have a boyfriend. Law and Order suspected incest."

"You mean they suspected Henry Orozco of abusing his daughter?" Diana demanded. "I knew Henry. He seemed like a perfectly nice man. No way would he do such a thing."

"That's what Emma said as well. She said that when Law and Order broached the subject that Henry had done something bad with his daughter, he was really upset, and so was she. Ultimately, Law and Order couldn't prove it one way or another. DNA testing didn't exist back then. Paternity wasn't nearly as easy to prove as it is now. Henry Orozco was a suspect in the case, and although he was never tried for it, he was never exonerated, either. When Law and Order allowed the investigation to go cold, Henry was more than happy to ignore it as well. Now, with Henry dead, Emma is willing to open it up again."

"And you're going to help?" Diana had asked.

"Absolutely," Brandon had answered. "To the best of my ability."

[image]

It took time to deal with the body. Gayle had learned the art of butchering meat at her father's knee. Growing up on the family ranch north of Tucson, Gayle rather than her prissy, puking brother, Winston, had accompanied Calvin Madison to the slaughterhouse when it came time to butcher cattle. By the time Gayle was twelve, her father liked to brag to his pals that if he turned Gayle loose in the slaughterhouse, she could do the whole job herself. to deal with the body. Gayle had learned the art of butchering meat at her father's knee. Growing up on the family ranch north of Tucson, Gayle rather than her prissy, puking brother, Winston, had accompanied Calvin Madison to the slaughterhouse when it came time to butcher cattle. By the time Gayle was twelve, her father liked to brag to his pals that if he turned Gayle loose in the slaughterhouse, she could do the whole job herself.