Dance of the Bones

“What is it?” Lani asked, hurrying toward the distraught woman. “What’s wrong? Did they find Tim?”


Anguish flooded Lorraine’s face. “It’s Max,” she whispered. “That was Father O’Reilly calling from Florence. There was a riot in the prison a little while ago. Max is dead.”

“Dead?” Lani repeated. “How can that be?”

Lorraine shook her head hopelessly. “I don’t know. How is it possible that I’ve lost all my boys, even Tim, on the same day?”

“-People are still looking for Tim,” Lani said, hoping she sounded more reassuring than she felt. “With any kind of luck, they’ll find him.”

“Would you ask I’itoi for me?” Lorraine asked. “Please?”

It wasn’t a request Lani could ignore. She had slipped her divining crystals back into the pocket of her lab coat as she left her office. Now, sitting on the chair next to Lorraine José’s bed, Lani took out the stones, gripped them tightly in her hand, and began to sing. As the song filled the room, Lani was no longer Dr. Pardee. She was Medicine Woman, filled with the spirit of Mualig Siakam, Forever Spinning. Together they were singing for power and singing for all of them—-for Tim José and Gabe Ortiz, for Delia and Leo Ortiz, for Lorraine José, and for the whole community. As Lani sang, she hoped in her heart of hearts that Elder Brother was listening.

AMANDA WASSER LISTENED IN SUBDUED silence when Brandon Walker delivered his news about the prison riot.

“This is all my fault,” she said when he finished.

“Your fault,” Brandon echoed. “How so?”

“You went to see my father at my instigation. A few hours later someone comes after him, killing two -people and wounding another? This can’t be a coincidence.”

“I’m sure you’re right about that,” Brandon agreed. “There’s bound to be a connection. That can only mean that reopening your father’s case constitutes a threat to someone.”

“Who?”

“Who indeed? There’s no statute of limitations on homicide, Amanda. If John Lassiter didn’t kill Amos Warren, someone else did, and that killer has gotten away with murder all this time. Whoever did it may be worried that their luck is about to run out.”

“You believe my father, then?” Amanda asked. “You believe he didn’t do it?”

Brandon nodded. “I do,” he said.

“So who’s the killer?” Amanda asked.

“You told me earlier that you thought Ava Martin needed looking into. When I asked John Lassiter straight out, ‘If you didn’t kill Amos, who did?’ that was his answer, too—-‘Ava Martin.’ ”

“I tried to get JFA to take a look at her,” Amanda said. “They were so focused on the prosecutorial misconduct issue that they saw no need to go any further.”

“We do,” Brandon told her. “In fact, we already are.”

“Good,” she said. “In the meantime, I need to pack up and get going.”

“Going where?”

“To Mesa, where else?” she said. “Since I’m the one who put my father in that hospital, I’m going to go there to see him whether he likes it or not.”

“You do know why John Lassiter refuses to see you, don’t you?” Brandon asked.

Amanda had turned her scooter and was on her way to the bedroom. She paused and turned back to Brandon. “Why?”

“Because he wants to clear his name first.”

Amanda’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t you understand? As far as I’m concerned, his name was cleared a long time ago.”

BRANDON WAS JUST LEAVING AMANDA Wasser’s driveway when J. P. Beaumont’s friend Todd called to give him Ava Richland’s address. It was somewhere in the far reaches of Tucson’s Ventana Canyon, and Brandon was making his way there when his phone rang again.

“Warden Huffman,” the caller said when Brandon answered. “This is not an official call, by the way, but I’m hoping you might be able to help us get ahead of this thing.”