Long Road to Mercy

Chapter 15

Jennifer Yazzie was married to Joe Yazzie Sr., who was an officer with the Navajo Nation Police. He was one of about two hundred sworn cops and pulled patrol duty working out of the Tuba City Police District on the western side of the Navajo reservation. Riding in his department-issued Chevy Blazer, Yazzie alone was responsible for about seventy square miles of territory. Pine knew he performed his duties with a Glock 22 sidearm, pepper spray, an AR-15, a shotgun, body armor, an expandable baton, and his most important tools: a calm demeanor and an understanding of the area and the people that inhabited it that came only from having grown up there.

Jennifer Yazzie worked as one of about three hundred support staff at the Nation Police. Although her main duties were in the IT department, she was an accomplished artist, having sold her pieces throughout the Southwest and having her works shown in numerous regional exhibitions. She was the police force’s unofficial sketch artist in residence.

Yazzie also worked in the Tuba City Police District, and that was where Pine drove to with Brennan.

Though she had a child who was twenty-four, Yazzie was only forty-five. She was a lean five five with long, dark hair and finely etched lines around her eyes and mouth. She possessed an easy smile, as though whatever she was doing brought her great joy.

Pine had met her within a month of moving to the Shattered Rock RA. Along with working hard to meet with all the local law enforcement agencies, she had provided them resources and assistance over many cases. Pine also had sat on her share of bar stools drinking with them, getting to know them and the policing realities here. The Bureau actually graded an agent on her ability to strike up good relationships with the locals, and would even speak directly to these other agencies, to find out whether the FBI agent in question was doing a good job at that or not.

During one of those times, Yazzie had joked with Pine that women in law enforcement were still rare enough that they all needed to keep up the professional sisterhood. Pine had agreed. The representation of women in law enforcement was still appallingly low in most parts of the country. Here, in the wild and wooly Southwest, Pine thought it was negligible.

After Pine had introduced Brennan and discussed what she needed, Yazzie led them to a small conference room, where she had not paper and brushes or pens but a laptop computer.

Yazzie smiled and said, “Like just about everything else, sketch art has gone digital.”

Pine and Brennan sat down across from her while Yazzie punched in some keys and brought up a computer program. She looked over at Brennan.

“You ready?”

He nodded. To Pine, the man looked nervous and uncertain, as though he were about to undergo a painful medical exam or polygraph instead of feeding a memory of a certain person to Yazzie, so she could recreate the image on the computer screen.

Yazzie asked a series of questions, each one a little more detailed than the last. From the basic, male or female, to the shape of a nose, the curve of a chin, the wrinkles on a neck and around the eyes, to the texture of the person’s hair, along with the color.

After about an hour of this back and forth, Yazzie swung the computer around so they could see the finished results.

“How’d I do?” she asked.

Pine watched as Brennan’s jaw dropped. “Damn, ma’am, that’s him.”

“Nice to get positive feedback,” said a smiling Yazzie.

“Jen, can you print that image out for me and also email it to me?” said Pine.

“You got it.”

As they were leaving, Pine drew Yazzie aside after telling Brennan she would meet him at the truck.

“Ran into your son the other night outside my apartment building.”

Yazzie’s easy smile devolved to a frown. “Joe Jr.?”

Pine nodded. “He was with some sunburned jerk who has a beef with the feds. I had to take him down a peg.”

“Tim Mallory. He got kicked out of the Army for drinking and drugs. He moved here last year from Philadelphia. Joe’s been hanging out with him.”

“He’s not a good influence. And Joe said he was there to meet up with Kyle Chavez. Also not a good influence.”

Yazzie said, “I didn’t know he’d been messing around with Kyle.”

“They were also smoking weed and drinking. Look, I know that’s not unusual with young guys, but I don’t want to see Joe get into trouble that he can’t get out of.”

“His father’s been trying to get him to try out for the police, but he has no interest.”

“What is he doing?”

“Not much. He works odd jobs. He comes home sometimes. I cook him meals, try to get him motivated about his future. But not much seems to work with him.”

“His brothers?”

“Thomas is in college in Portland, Oregon. Matt’s a senior. He’s going to West Point.”

“That’s great, very impressive.”

“But not Joe. His father isn’t happy. It’s all he thinks about. His namesake. You know.”

“I don’t know because I’ve never had kids. But I imagine it can really mess with you.”

“Joe’s at his wit’s end. Nothing he says seems to get through.” She shrugged and smiled sadly. “My son’s Navajo name is Ahiga. Do you know what that means?”

Pine shook her head.

Yazzie sighed resignedly and said, “It translates to ‘he fights.’ And Joe Jr. has lived up to that name. At least when it comes to his parents.”

“I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“Thanks, Atlee. I’ll let my husband know too. And good luck with your missing person case.”

Pine walked out into the heat and sun thinking that she would need something a lot stronger than luck. And she was also thinking that motherhood was not for her.

She dropped Brennan off at the park, turned around, and drove straight back to Shattered Rock.

Carol Blum rose from her desk when Pine entered the office.

“The IT folks have been over our computers. They actually did it remotely. They found some things on there that shouldn’t have been and removed them.”

“So the computers had been compromised?”

“Yes. They’re checking to see where it might have come from. I’m thinking it might have happened when I went on that website. If so, I’m very sorry, Agent Pine.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Pine. “I think it might have happened regardless.”

“They also checked out our phones. Both our cell and landlines. They’re fine.”

“Good. Because I’m out of quarters.”

“You did have a message from the forensics lab at Flagstaff. They wanted you to call. I have the number.”

Pine took this information into her office and closed the door.

She called the number. On the second ring a person picked up.

She was Marjorie Parks, an assistant medical examiner with the FBI. Pine had worked with her before.

“Well, Atlee, I have to admit, I’ve never done a postmortem on a mule before. Well, technically with an animal it’s referred to as a necropsy. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

“Yeah, it was a first for me, too. What’d you find out?”

“The death wound was performed with a long-bladed knife with an upward angle, not quite a scythe shape, but something along those lines.”

“The letters on the hide?”

“They were done with a knife as well. Any idea what j and k refer to?”

“We did some research on our own and might have pulled up a lead.”

“Good luck on that.”

“So what drug was used on Sallie Belle?”

“Who told you about that?” said Parks in surprise. “I was saving that for last.”

“You’re not going to start cutting a half-ton mule without knocking it out first.”

“I’m sure. Okay, the tests show that the drug used was romifidine. It’s a sedative typically used in veterinary medicine with large animals, like horses and mules.”

“Okay, we know the how. Now the only questions are who and why.”

“And those are usually the toughest of all to answer.”

“It’s why I get paid the big bucks.”