Chapter 4
Tempe and Hutch had been grocery shopping and arrived home to find a black Ford Escort they didn’t recognize parked in front of Blair’s Honda. “Looks like Blair’s friend is here,” Tempe said.
Entering the cottage, both of them carrying bulging paper bags in their arms; they were greeted by Blair and a handsome black man around the same age. His dark hair close-cropped, he was about three inches taller than Blair’s six feet. His smile was bright, contrasting with his dark skin. He wore a T-shirt proclaiming loyalty to the college both young men attended, and crisply ironed Chinos.
Both jumped up from the table and took the sacks and put the groceries on the counter top.
“Mom, Dad, this is my roommate, Chad Underwood.”
Chad put his hand out to Tempe first. “Ma’am. Pleased to meet you.” He shook Hutch’s hand next. “Sir. I want to thank you both for inviting me to your home.”
“You are certainly welcome,” Hutch said. “Please, sit down.”
After the amenities were over and Hutch and Tempe had stored the groceries in the cupboards and refrigerator, Tempe suggested they sit in the living room where it was more comfortable. Though small like the rest of the house, the room had a worn but plump overstuffed couch and two big armchairs, all facing the stone fireplace. A braided rug, left from another era, nearly covered the plank floor.
When they’d chosen places to sit, Blair warned they would only be there for a short while since he planned on taking Chad up to the fire station and introducing him. “Remember, Chad is majoring in fire science like I am. He’s never seen a small volunteer fire station.”
Chad chuckled. “No insult intended, but I’ve never been to a town as small as this one either.”
“Before our son whisks you away, tell us about yourself,” Tempe urged.
“There’s not much to tell, Ma’am. I’m an orphan. I don’t know if Blair mentioned it, but my parents came to California from Uganda. They had their own business and were trying to become citizens. I was born here. It was very important to them that I be an American and we only spoke English in our home. When I was five and starting school, they took me to kindergarten and on their way home, a speeder drove through a red light in a SUV and ran into my parents’ car when it was in the intersection. They both died.”
“I’m so sorry,” Hutch said.
Tempe’s hand went to her heart. “How horrible. What happened to you?”
“Well, Ma’am, at first, I didn’t really understand. A social worker came and got me and took me to my first foster home. I guess they tried to find other relatives of mine, but there weren’t any except maybe in Uganda, but they couldn’t be located. Actually, I was blessed.” He flashed another huge smile. “My second foster home was an African American family and it wasn’t long before I felt comfortable there. My foster dad is a minister….”
Blair interrupted. “See? I told you Chad and I had lots in common.” He grinned at Hutch.
Chad continued, “and my Mom is a typical minister’s wife.”
“Which my Mom isn’t.” This time Blair beamed at Tempe. He patted her hand.
Chad continued. “Ordinarily, I’d be spending Christmas with them. They’re not taking in foster kids anymore. Everyone they’ve cared for have grown up and started their own lives. Lots of us still go home for the holidays, but this year my folks are on a mission trip to, of all places, Uganda. They’ve promised to see if they can find out anything about any relatives I might still have there.”
“How exciting,” Hutch said. “The only mission field I’ve ever been called to is right here in Bear Creek.”
“Wouldn’t that be something if they did find some of your relatives?” Tempe asked.
Chad nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. But I’m really happy with the folks I’ve got. They’ve been wonderful to me.”
“That’s a blessing,” Hutch said. “Will you two be back for dinner?”
“What are you cooking?” Blair stood.
“Barbecuing steaks.”
Chad grinned and deep dimples appeared in both cheeks. “You weren’t kidding about being well fed.”
Blair stood. “Hutch is a great cook. Don’t worry, we’ll definitely be here. What time?”
“Your Mom has to work, so how about around seven? Maybe she can take a break about then. What do you think, Tempe?”
“I’ll try, since it’s Wednesday it ought to be on the calm side, but who can tell?” Tempe said. “If I find out I can’t make it, I’ll call so you can eat without me.”
Standing too, Chad said, “We’ll make a point of being back on time, Sir.” Once again he shook Tempe’s hand and then Hutch’s.
After the Blair and his friend left, Tempe caressed Hutch’s cheek. “I better get my uniform on. It’s nearly time for me to go on duty.”
“I’ll pray for a quiet night.” Hutch leaned closer to Tempe and kissed her.
* * *
Despite it being Wednesday, Tempe knew as soon as her radio blared to life, and her cell phone rang at the same time, she wouldn’t make it home for dinner.
The dispatcher informed her a body had been discovered on the Bear Creek Indian Reservation and she was directed to go there as quickly as possible to help Cruz Murphy, the reservation’s Public Safety Chief, preserve the scene. The location was reported to be near the Bear Creek Recovery Center, which was located about a quarter mile past the Painted Rock site that sheltered ancient pictographs. The recovery center was at the end of the main road that passed through the reservation.
The cell phone call was from Detective Morrison with the same message, except delivered in his usual curt manner. Once she told him she was already on her way to the crime scene, he added, “Find out what you can from the Indians and let me know. I’ll be out there as soon as I can.”
Though the relationship between Tempe and the detective had improved somewhat over the last year, he still had the mistaken notion that because she had Native American blood in her veins, any Indian would respond to her immediately and tell her everything she wanted to know.
Because it was December, it was already dark as Tempe sped along the narrow curving road to her destination. She’d taken the road often enough in the daytime to know that ranches and homes were tucked in here and there-though at this time of night, she caught only glimpses of lighted windows as she raced by. She had her emergency lights turned on, along with her Siren, just to warn of her approach.
Finally she reached the carved and painted wooden sign that announced she was entering the Bear Creek Indian Reservation. Tempe knew that a reservation was first created at the eastern end of Dennison in 1857 for scattered bands of Indians, but as the town grew, it became inconvenient for many of the local citizens to have so many Indians as neighbors. In 1873, by presidential order, a new location for the reservation was established on 54,000 acres, much of it mountainous.
Narrow and winding, the road continued with dwellings on either side, scattered in the valleys and across the hillsides. She passed the turn-off to Bear Mountain Casino but slowed down as she drove through the part of the rez that contained the public safety building and the medical center. Two churches perched on a hillside off to the left. Across the way was the child-development center and pre-school and the building that housed the tribal council. Other community services and the new fire station were located on other side streets. Once past the hub of the rez, Tempe drove by more homes spread farther and farther apart and deeper into reservation land.
When she passed the place where the old lumber mill once operated and was now used for rodeos and Pow Wows, she knew she was getting close. The asphalt ended and she continued driving. On her right were the huge boulders that created the cave that protected pictographs of the legendary Hairy Man and his family, as well as other colorful Indian symbols.
The Hairy Man was a Yokut legend considered sacred to the tribe. She knew he was also believed to be powerful medicine. When Tempe was a little girl, her grandmother told her stories about the legend. Over the years, many Indians reported sightings of the Hairy Man.
Tempe had experienced her own encounter with the Hairy Man. The startling event wasn’t something she’d shared with anyone except Hutch and Chief Murphy. During the investigation of the murder of a county supervisor a few months earlier, she’d learned more about the Hairy Man. When she’d been trapped by the supervisor’s killer, the legend had saved her life.
As time passed, the memory of the event became less and less real-sometimes she wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing.
Ahead, red, blue and white lights flashed from emergency vehicles: the Bear Creek Public Safety truck that Chief Murphy drove, an ambulance, and a fire truck. Numerous people milled about in the shadows.
She parked behind the other vehicles. She didn’t see the vans belonging to either the coroner or the crime scene investigator. Before Tempe even had her door open, Chief Murphy appeared out of the shadows, striding toward her. Cruz Murphy’s mother was Yanduchi like Tempe, but his father was Irish-hence the unusual surname. His skin, hair and eyes were dark, but his features displayed more of his Irish heritage. Muscular, he filled out his tan uniform.
She slid out of the truck, and hurried toward him. “Chief Murphy, good to see you. What’s going on?”
“Cruz, please. I think we know each other well enough by now to be on a first name basis.”
“Cruz it is.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Tempe. The victim is from the reservation. The crime scene has been seriously contaminated. One of the residents of the recovery center discovered the body. Once he set off the alarm, the staff and other clients were all over the place. Soon as I got here, I shooed everyone away and cordoned off the area with tape. Too late, I’m afraid.”
“Has the crime scene investigator been called?”
Murphy nodded. “And the coroner. They should arrive fairly soon.”
Since they had to come all the way from Visalia, it would be awhile. “Have you identified the victim?” Tempe followed Murphy toward the crowd of spectators.
“A young Indian named Danny Tofoya.”
His name sounded vaguely familiar. “You say he lived here on the rez?”
“Yes, he and his extended family are long time residents.”
“Any suspects?”
“There are plenty of rumors. People are saying a young man named Jesus Running Bear probably did it.”
“Who is he?”
“Someone who recently graduated from the recovery program. Instead of going home, he decided to hang around. Rented a room here on the rez from the parents of another graduate, Russell Sanger.”
Tempe knew Indians with drug or alcohol problems from all over the state were either court-ordered into the recovery program or voluntarily checked themselves in. The program had a reputation for a high success rate in changing men’s lives. As she’d been told by one of the elders, “White people have their 12 Step Programs and Alcoholics Anonymous, Indians use their own ceremonies and sweats to heal themselves. Liquor is a curse that kills more Indians than any of the white man’s diseases or bullets.”
“What’s the motive? What are they saying is the reason Running Bear killed Tofoya?” she asked.
“From what I can gather, Running Bear was sweet on Tofoya’s cousin. A girl named Jolie Tofoya. There’s plenty of folks around who’ll tell you about it.”
Off to the right and away from the crowd, with inside lights blazing, was the long, low building housing the Bear Creek Recovery Center. As they approached the crowd made up of mostly Native American men of various ages-residents of the recovery center, Tempe guessed-the voices grew louder and angrier.
“Shoulda gone back where he came from.”
“Jesus-wrong name for a murderer.”
“Tofoya was right when he said Running Bear was a snake.”
“Can’t imagine what Jolie sees in that killer.”
“Bet the Singers are sorry they took him in.”
In a loud voice, Cruz commanded, “Let the deputy through.”
The noise subsided as the onlookers turned to stare at Tempe. They moved aside enough to create a narrow path. She made her way through until she came out to the clearing where the sweat lodge was located. The crime scene tape went around the canvas-covered sweat lodge and beyond, but she couldn’t see the body.
She turned and peered at Cruz Murphy.
He lifted the yellow tape and ducked under it, holding it up for her. “Follow me. The body’s back here.”
After passing the sweat lodge, she spotted a dark mound that resembled a pile of discarded rags tucked between two large fir trees. Two Native Americans in their turnout gear, black jackets and pants, with Bear Creek Fire Dept. stenciled in yellow on the back, stood guard.
Drawing nearer, Tempe noted the many footprints in the dirt. As Cruz had warned, this was clearly a contaminated crime scene. It wouldn’t matter if she took a closer look.
Stepping within two feet, she knelt down, turned on her flashlight and shone it over the corpse. He was lying on his back, with a dark hole in his chest. Oddly, there was no blood anywhere around him, but there was blood on his neck and face, and even some on his arms and hands.
“He wasn’t killed here,” Tempe said. “He was transported after he was shot. At least that’s my guess.”
“Mine too. No rigor mortis-no real odor. This happened within the last couple of hours.”
“Once Dr. Crandall gets here, she’ll be able to tell us more. Did anyone hear the shots?”
“Folks have had plenty to say, but nothing about hearing gun fire.”
“Who was the first person to find the body?” Tempe glanced around at the gathering of men. Not a single female could be seen.
“Jared Davis.” Cruz pointed to a young man, obviously Native American like everyone else who had gathered. He shuffled his feet, kicking up puffs of dirt.
Tempe went over to Davis. “Hi, I’m Deputy Crabtree. How did you happen to find the body?”
Davis was short and skinny, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, but drug or alcohol abuse had aged him prematurely. His skin was spotty. Deep lines accented his mouth and forehead. His nearly black hair was pulled back into a pony tail. His eyes darted about. “All I was doing was walking around. I been in the program about three weeks. Sometimes these guys are more than I can handle and I have to get away by myself. I was just walking around thinking and I almost stumbled over that dead guy. I couldn’t believe my eyes and started hollering for help.”
“Did you touch him?” Tempe asked.
Shaking his head vigorously, Davis said, “No way. I could tell he was dead by looking at him. His eyes were open, but his spirit was gone.”
“Do you know the victim?”
“Not really. I’ve seen him around is all. They say he lives, lived, on the rez. My home is in Dennison with my wife and kids. That’s where I’ll go back once I get out of this place.”
“Did you hear or see anything unusual before you found the body?” Tempe asked.
Again he shook his head. “No. My head was filled with other things. Missing my family. Wondering how much longer it would be before I can get out of here.”
“So that means you’ve still got some time left and will be here if I or someone else needs to talk to you again, right?”
“I ain’t going nowhere ’til I graduate.” He stepped away from her, blending into the shadows.
The sound of an approaching vehicle caught Tempe’s attention. She watched the headlights coming over the hill, hoping it was Dr. Crandall. Instead, she was surprised to see it was a Honda, but not so surprised when it parked beside her truck and the doors flung open. Blair popped out of the driver’s side and his friend, Chad from the passenger side.
Cruz Murphy frowned. “You know them?”
“Sure do, that’s my son and his friend from college.” She strode toward them. “Don’t tell me you heard the call while you were at the fire station.”
Blair grinned. “Nope, actually we were eating a great steak dinner when my scanner went off. I told Hutch what happened and he said that explained why you hadn’t come home. We finished eating and when I told him we wanted to see what was going on, he gave us his blessing.”
“He probably wanted you to check up on me,” Tempe said.
“I have a hunch he wanted to make sure you were safe, Ma’am,” Chad said.
She smiled. Not only was Blair’s roommate polite, he was also diplomatic. “As long as you’re here, son, maybe you can help. The victim’s name is Danny Tofoya. Have you heard of him?”
Blair nodded. “He was a couple of years ahead of me in school. Popular guy. Football player. Known for his bad temper. Got in a lot of fights. Think he was suspended once. He was a good enough football player that he got counseling instead of being expelled. Kids grumbled about that a bit-especially the white kids. Some thought he got special treatment because he was a Native American. I doubt if that was so, too often the Indians weren’t treated as well as the Mexican or white kids.”
“What can we do to help, Ma’am?” Chad asked.
“Since no one knows you, why don’t you wander around and listen to what people are saying.” Tempe turned to her son, “Blair, see if you can find people you do know and ask what they saw, especially right after the body was discovered.”
The young men began to mingle. The sound of more vehicles coming up the hill caught Tempe’s attention. This time it was two vans with the county’s logo. A trim blonde woman stepped out of a Ford minivan, Dr. Andrea Crandall, the crime scene investigator who also served as medical examiner. A portly man with a bald head, wriggled out of the gray coroner’s van, along with a younger male helper. Things would begin moving now.
Dr. Crandall stepped into the small area, eerily illuminated by the emergency lights on the county vehicles flashing red, and blue. Those and the outside flood lamps on the recovery center were all that lit the scene. “Who’s in charge here?” she called out. Her fair hair was cut short and she wore a navy blue no-nonsense pants suit and carried a large case by the handle.
“I am.” Cruz stepped up to her, hand extended. “Cruz Murphy, Public Safety Chief for the reservation.”
She shook his hand and peered around. “I don’t suppose the crime scene has been preserved.” Recognition showed in her eyes when she spotted Tempe. She grinned. “Deputy Crabtree, how nice to see you again.”
Despite Dr. Crandall’s fair complexion and light hair, the crime scene investigator also had Indian blood. She and Tempe had shared their experiences of being women in male dominated professions. Dr. Crandall had confessed to keeping her ethnic background quiet so she didn’t have to endure more jokes or prejudice.
“Same here. Can I help you with your case?” Tempe asked, but Cruz reached for it before she could take it.
“Allow me,” he said. The doctor released it to him. “As to your question about the crime scene, when I got here people were milling all around the victim. I don’t think you’ll find much of value except what you can get from the body itself.”
“The sooner I get started the better.” Dr. Crandall followed Cruz, with Tempe bringing up the rear. The crowd parted once again, allowing them through.
When they were about five feet from the corpse, Dr. Crandall said, “Stop here. Deputy, would you please play your flashlight beam in a circle around the body?”
Tempe took her flashlight from her utility belt and did as directed. Like she’d noted before, the dirt around the body was marred with many footprints.
Dr. Crandall sighed. “Okay.” She moved closer. “Chief Murphy, if you’ll put my case right there, please. And Deputy, hold the light steady. When I want you to move it, I’ll ask.” She opened the case, lifted out a large battery powered light and set it up and turned it on.
At first the doctor peered at the victim, moving around him. Bending down at times, not touching anything, she finally asked, “Deputy, would you please hand me my camera.”
Once the doctor had the camera, she took photos of the victim from every angle, some from a distance, some up close. She put the camera back and took out a notebook and wrote quickly for several minutes. She also drew some simple sketches of the body. Again, reaching in her case, she drew out a pair of latex gloves and put them on. She inserted what resembled a thermometer into the corpse’s side. Pulled it out, stared for a moment, and wrote more notes.
She stood with one hand on her hip. “He’s probably been dead only a couple of hours. He was shot in the chest, but it didn’t happen here. If you’ll note the blood on his face, arms and hands, I suspect he was transported with his head hanging down. What I want you two to do is walk a grid and see if you can find tire tracks or anything that might give us a hint about how he got here.”
Tempe and Cruz followed her instructions, each of them with their own flashlight. Tempe stared at the ground as she walked back and forth, but there was nothing significant there except the multitude of shoe prints in the dirt. Finally the cleared ground gave way to matted weeds except for the narrow road that disappeared into the mountains. Nothing appeared out of place or unusual.
Cruz had as little success as she. They both returned
