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softly. “We hope you can help us.”
    “I can’t,” Rose answered flatly.
    “You must have some idea where he could be found,” Blalock insisted. “Ma’am, the longerhe stays at large, the worse off he’s going to be. We will catch him, and once the courts are told how he tried to elude justice—”
    “One second,” Ella interjected. “Are you assuming Clifford killed our father?” She gave him an incredulous look. “You are out of your mind.”
    Blalock shot her an icy glance. “He ran from the police when they went to question him. And dozens of witnesses heard himthreaten your father. He vowed to stop your father from building his church on Navajo land.”
    “So what? They argued all the time. So do lots of other fathers and sons. You have no case.”
    “There are other things.”
    “Like what?”
    “You’re not an attorney, and I don’t have to present my evidence to you. You were instructed not to interfere, Agent Clah. I suggest you remember that.”
    Ella turned toher father-in-law. “You and I have had our differences. That’s no reason for you to allow him to come in here and treat my mother with so little respect.”
    Clah held her gaze for a long moment. “This has nothing to do with you and me.”
    “I wish you’d remember that,” she shot back.
    Blalock held up one hand. “Hey, I’m trying to question someone here, okay? Drop the family discussion.” He turnedto Rose. “Apparently your son has some radical religious beliefs that have made him enemies among the Christian community.”
    “Not as many as you’ve already made,” Rose answered calmly. “I know about you, Agent Blalock, and I won’t answer any more questions. Please leave my house.”
    “Obstructing justice is a crime, Mrs. Destea.”
    Randall Clah stood up and grabbed Blalock’s arm. “A moment with you,please,” he said in a low voice and took Blalock aside.
    Ella watched the two men standing at the far side of the room. Clah’s voice was too soft for her to hear, but his eyes flashed with cold fire. Ella puzzled for a moment about her mother’s comment to Blalock. What did she know about him? Earlier, Peterson had alluded to something involving the agent. Navajos were slow to anger, but rememberedtheir enemies forever. Ella made a mental note to ask about Blalock at the first opportunity.
    As Ella seated herself beside her mother, her gaze settled on the framed snapshot on the coffee table. It showed her father in a T-shirt, basketball under one arm. It had been taken during a Fourth of July picnic. Good times like that were elusive memories now. The ghastly image of her father’s corpseremained in her mind, obliterating everything else.
    As she tried to banish it, something niggled at her memory, a vague impression of a conversation she’d had with Clifford a long time ago, like a name that hung at the tip of your tongue. He’d mentioned skinwalkers, Navajo witches, but she couldn’t remember the specifics. Navajos never discussed the subject openly, and at the time she’d wantednothing more than to forget what he’d said.
    When Blalock turned back toward them, his manner was less abrasive. “Mrs. Destea, I know both you and your husband are well thought of in this community. But Clifford must turn himself in; it’s the best chance he’s got. If you see or hear from him, will you call us?”
    “If it’s the right thing to do at the time.”
    Ella had to give him credit; Blalockwas good enough at his job to know when he was being stonewalled. He glanced at Ella and cocked his head, motioning for her to follow him outside.
    She went out to the porch with him. “You’re using the wrong approach, Blalock, and you’ve apparently had that problem for some time. Change your attitude, or you’ll get so lost you won’t be able to find your butt with both hands and a full-length mirror.”

    “I don’t need your advice, or your bullshit. What I want is information. Is your brother into