Shooting Chant

by Aimée

  “I wish I could figure out what this was all about,” Ella said. “When I can’t, it usually means I’m missing something, Carolyn, and whenever that has happened in the past, it ends up costing me.”

  “Do you have any idea who this guy is?” Carolyn asked, gesturing to the corpse, “other than the name on his toe tag?”

  “No, do you?”

  Carolyn shook her head. “If I were you, I’d go talk to people at the mine, at LabKote, and over at the hospital. All those places hire quite a few Anglos. Of course, he could just be someone from off the Rez who was here visiting or just looking around. We have a lot of curious people who come and do the tourist thing, then leave.”

  “All I have to go on for now is a name and address on the driver’s license and this motel room key we found in his pocket.” Ella walked over to the perp’s vehicle. The old truck looked as if it were being held together with superglue and rust. The doors didn’t match the paint job, the fenders were dented, and the entire body seemed misaligned on the frame, undoubtedly the result of a hasty repair after the vehicle had been involved in an accident.

  Justine joined Ella and, together, they processed the interior. While Justine dusted for prints, Ella checked out the contents of the glove compartment. Except for some melted candy bars, there was nothing there.

  Ella continued to look around for a LabKote ID. She’d been heading back from the plant when she’d spotted the tail, and it seemed a logical tie-in. She checked the floorboards, and between the seat cushions, but there was nothing to be found.

  “I ran the plate through DMV, and the tag is stolen,” Justine said. “There is no registration either. Are you looking for something specific?” Justine asked.

  Ella explained why she suspected a possible link to LabKote.

  “I’ll keep looking,” Justine said.

  After going through the interior completely, and verifying again that there was no LabKote sticker in the truck, Ella took a deep breath.

  “We should go check out his motel room,” Justine said. “We may find something there.”

  “Take the team over and get started on that as soon as you can,” Ella said, “but leave the motel staff to me. I’ll interview them.”

  Justine took the key, which was labeled Sagebrush Motel. “Okay, boss. First I’ll make arrangements to have this vehicle impounded, then make sure it gets to the garage where I can process it completely later.”

  Seeing Tache taking photos, and Ute working the perimeter, Ella knew her team had things covered. She could do more from the office now than by staying here. “I’m going back to the station,” she told Justine. “I’ll file my report, then go interview whatever staff I can find at the motel.”

  “I’ll meet with you later then,” Justine said.

  Ella glanced back and saw what was irreverently called the ‘croaker sack’ being loaded into the back of Carolyn’s van. A shudder ran up her spine. The aftermath of killing another human being, even in a righteous shooting, was never easy. The dead always exacted their revenge, carving a place for themselves in the nightmares that would haunt her for as long as she lived.

  * * *

  The first thing she did once she got back to the station was check with the armament officer and sign out an extra long kevlar vest. No questions were asked, especially after the latest incident.

  Ella spent the next thirty minutes running the dead man’s ID through law enforcement and other databases. At first, there was nothing unusual, except that Tom LaPoint, a Colorado resident according to his records, hadn’t had any priors and what he’d done today seemed completely out of character. But then things began getting really strange. According to the records, Tom LaPoint had died in a car accident four years ago in Denver.

  After accessing his photo through the Colorado Division of Motor Vehicles she finally found an answer she understood. The man she’d shot was not Tom LaPoint, and the listed address was a phony. The photo on the computer screen showed a completely different person than the individual who’d tried to kill her. Her attacker had assumed the dead man’s identity.

  She leaned back in her chair, trying to mentally review everything she knew and come up with more answers, but a rational explanation eluded her. It now seemed unlikely that the gunman had come from LabKote, so maybe he’d been parked somewhere nearby, waiting for her.

  Hearing the buzzer on the intercom sound abruptly, she jumped. It was starting—the jumbled nerves, the tension that would stay with her for weeks, making her peer into every shadow. That was why many cops outside the Rez were forced to take time off after an incident where a shooting death had occurred. But there’d be no respite for her here. It was the drawback of a police department plagued by shortages of every imaginable kind. If she couldn’t cut it she’d have to go on unpaid leave, or be replaced permanently.

  “Shorty, I just heard about what happened over at the landfill. Get in here. We have to talk,” Big Ed’s voice boomed over the intercom.

  Ella stood up slowly. She wasn’t in the mood for the battery of questions she’d have to answer, and what was worse, she knew Big Ed expected answers and she didn’t have any to give him.

  When Ella walked into his office, she saw the concerned look in his eyes. “I heard about the incident. What can you tell me about it?”

  Ella briefed him. “The only thing I know for sure is the person who attacked me and Officer Cloud is not Tom LaPoint. That’s a stolen identity. Maybe Justine and the others will learn something from his motel room.”

  “But you say he doesn’t seem to be connected to LabKote,” Big Ed said thoughtfully. “So, let’s try looking in a different direction. The Fierce Ones are very active now. In the past, they’ve used some sophisticated games to achieve their goals. Could they have hired someone, or a group of Anglos, to support their contention that the Anglos are a threat to the Rez?”

  Ella said nothing for several moments. Her brother would have never gone along with something like that and he would have had the clout to stop them. If she said that, however, it would be perceived as loyalty, not a cop’s instinct. “That doesn’t sound right to me,” she said.

  “Maybe that’s because you’re thinking of the Fierce Ones as one unit, not as individuals who have banned together. Individuals could form another group within the larger one. Think of Jesse Woody, and Billy Pete, Shorty,” Big Ed reminded her. “Those men have a tendency to fight by their own rules.”

  Ella knew Billy Pete; they’d gone to school together. Billy was part of the Fierce Ones, though he’d yet to openly admit it. Yet, as she thought back to the tribal office demonstration, she remembered that he hadn’t been one of those arrested. He’d also been absent at the LabKote demonstration.

  “I don’t even know if Billy is still in the Fierce Ones. He wasn’t at either of the demonstrations, near as I recall,” Ella said.

  “You mean he wasn’t arrested,” Big Ed said.

  Billy was a smart man. She had no doubt that if he was up to something like what Big Ed had suggested, he would have laid low during any public demonstration. “Okay, I’ll look into it.”

  Big Ed gave her a long, hard look. “Do you need some time off?”

  The short answer was yes, but Ella knew he couldn’t really spare her now. “I’ll be okay,” she said.

  Ella returned to her office, lost in thought. Big Ed’s theory of a group within a group bothered her. It was logical enough, considering the personalities of the men involved. She should have thought of it.

  Forcing herself to look at things dispassionately, she wondered if perhaps her brother’s involvement was clouding her judgment. Maybe she was prejudicing the case she was trying to make. Unsure of herself, she made up her mind to be twice as hard on everyone—including Clifford—from this point on. People’s lives were at stake, including her own and her baby’s.

  Ella sat at her desk, writing the report on the shooting at the landfill. Policy required it be done ASAP, while memories were sti
ll fresh and untainted. Reliving all the details exhausted her, but she continued working. When the intercom buzzed sometime later, she welcomed the interruption. Ella depressed the button and identified herself.

  “This is Tache,” the voice at the other end said. “I returned from the motel ahead of the others because there was nothing for me to photograph there. I spent my time developing some photos of the crime scene instead and they’re ready for you now.”

  “I hope you got me a close-up of his face.”

  “You shot him through the head. There’s some distortion.”

  “Is there enough of it to make an ID?”

  “Yeah, you weren’t using a rifle, and it was a clean shot, but it’s going to rattle any civilian who looks at it. I can use a scanner and computer software to edit out the wound somewhat. I’m assuming you want it to try and ID him, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. I’ll bring the best shot I can doctor up for that. It’ll take about a half hour.”

  “You can do that later. Bring me what you’ve got now, and we’ll go through it.”

  Although the man’s face and the death mask he’d take to his grave were indelibly etched in her mind, she’d have to study Tache’s photos carefully for a clue. Her primary responsibility now was to find out who the man was, and learn what he was doing on the Rez besides trying to kill cops.

  A moment later Tache came in. His round face, normally cheery, looked as glum as Harry Ute’s normal expression. Then again, he’d spent time the last few hours photographing a corpse.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” he answered quietly.

  “Yeah.” She spread out the photos he handed her. It sure wasn’t pretty. Her stomach did a somersault, but she swallowed and forced her expression to remain neutral. “I’ll take this one with me now,” she said at last, choosing a close-up that showed the man’s face but less of the wound that had caused his death.

  “I took that one at the morgue. Doctor Roanhorse had cleaned up the body by then. When I saw Justine and you searching the car, and heard that no one, including me, had ever seen him, I had a feeling you’d want a shot to show around right away.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate this.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’ll get a duplicate ready for distribution among the other officers.”

  Ella began gathering her things. She didn’t want to finish her report right now. She needed some fresh air. Grabbing the photo and sticking it inside an envelope, she stood to leave just as Justine came in.

  Ella filled her in on what she’d learned about Tom LaPoint.

  “I’ll keep checking and see if I can find out who he is,” Justine said. “The motel was a waste of time. It was as if he’d never checked in. There wasn’t even a comb in there.”

  “Work on his identity. I want LaPoint’s name—his real name,” Ella said. “And we need to find out where he lived. I suspect the motel room was just a place for him to crash in case he needed one after getting rid of me. Too bad we only found that key and the key to the pickup.”

  “I’ll get you answers,” Justine said, handing Ella the motel key. “One way or another.”

  THIRTEEN

  Ella left the station in her Jeep, and immediately rolled down her window. She felt sick. Allowing the fresh air to hit her face helped, but the feeling persisted as the Anglo man’s face stayed before her mind’s eye. Suddenly Ella began to tremble uncontrollably. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make it stop. Taking short, shuddering breaths, she pulled to the side of the road and took the vehicle out of gear.

  With effort, Ella finally managed to bring herself under control without emptying the contents of her stomach. Navajos saw death as failure to grow, the end of all possibilities, and that’s what she’d taken from the Anglo stranger. Sorrow gnawed at her, though the Anglo had given her no other choice.

  She remained parked for several more minutes before finally continuing to the motel on the main highway near Kirtland. It was just a few miles north of the reservation border, and business was brisk. The motel had a bar and lounge for people who liked to stop for a drink, and was handy, because no businesses had liquor permits inside the reservation.

  Ella went inside, and walked over to the front desk of the small lobby.

  The woman looked at the photo Ella handed her then cringed. “I’ve never seen that guy. I just started working here yesterday afternoon, and I didn’t check him in. But you might try the lounge. The employees there might recognize a guest or regular customer.”

  Ella asked for the name of the motel guest in room 110, and the clerk identified him as Tom LaPoint, which was no surprise. Undeterred, Ella went into the lounge and flashed the bartender her ID. The name tag on the woman’s uniform identified her as Barbara Sanchez.

  “You’re out of your jurisdiction, so you must want to buy a drink, right?” the woman behind the bar challenged.

  “I want some answers.” Ella showed her the photo. “Have you ever seen this man?”

  The woman made a choking sound and, for a moment, Ella was sure she was going to burst into tears. “So, you do know him,” Ella said gently.

  “His name was Tom, but I don’t know his last name,” Barbara Sanchez said in a shaky voice. “He came in several times these past few days and would usually have a rum and cola, or a draft and some nuts.”

  “Did you go out with him?”

  “No. I’m not supposed to date the guests and customers.”

  “Okay, so I won’t tell anyone. Did you date him anyway?” Ella pressed.

  “I would have, had he asked me, but he never did. I think he might have … eventually. He was a little shy.” She stared at the bar, purposely looking away from the photo.

  Ella slid the photo back in the envelope. “Did anyone ever meet him here?”

  She shrugged. “He met friends briefly a few times, but mostly he came in alone and left alone.”

  “Who did he meet here? Can you give me any names?”

  “I don’t know who they were. One was a Navajo man who wore a Kansas City Chiefs’ cap. The other was an Anglo, a real mystery man. I only saw him the one time. He wore sunglasses in here, can you believe it? It’s dark enough, don’t you think?”

  “What color was his hair?”

  “Can’t tell you, he had a cowboy hat on, and he only stayed for a few seconds. Tom didn’t finish his drink that day. He met the guy near the doorway, then left.”

  Ella nodded, then slipped her card across the bar. “If you remember anything else, give me a call.”

  Ella spoke to the waitress and a room service clerk, but no one else was able to give her any leads. She checked on room 110 but it was just as Tache and Justine had described it, untouched.

  Ella drove back to the Quick Stop just inside the reservation. Everyone came by here for gas or groceries sooner or later. The prices were high, but it was a good place to get a gallon of milk or a loaf of bread without going into Shiprock.

  Assured from her jeans and T-shirt that she wasn’t a traditionalist, Ella showed the manager the photo. The young Navajo woman turned as white as the day old popcorn inside the machine. “I’ve never seen him,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Now please leave and take that horrible photo away from here. That may be a part of your line of work, but it sure isn’t part of mine!”

  As she turned away, Ella felt her chest tighten. The remark had struck home. Had she hardened herself too much in order to survive the demands of her work? She looked at the photo and tried to see it as someone outside law enforcement would, but it was no use. The picture was nothing in comparison to the actual, vivid details recorded forever in her mind.

  As she climbed back into her unit, she began to shake again. A pregnant woman, according to tradition, should have avoided the face of death but, in her job, there was no escaping it. Ella took a long, deep, steadying breath,
then switched on the ignition.

  She had to concentrate on the case now. It was the only way to put what happened into perspective. Calling in, Ella gave Justine the details of what she’d learned about LaPoint’s possible contact. “I’m going to need Billy Pete’s address. He’s always wearing that KC baseball cap, and I’m betting it’s him the bartender saw. Check around the office. I’m sure we’ve got a file on him that lists his address.”

  “I don’t need to. I know where he lives. I’ve known him for a long time. He’s been a friend of my brother’s for as far back as I can remember.”

  Ella got the address and started back to Shiprock. She knew the eastern residential area that Justine had mentioned. It was a section of small, closely spaced cube-shaped houses. Mostly young people lived there, since the inexpensive tribal-built houses weren’t really large enough for big families. The biggest advantage they had was that they were only a ten- or fifteen-minute drive to the power plants, the major employer around besides the tribe itself.

  Ella knew Billy worked at the mine, but it was almost six now, and unless he was on the night shift, there was a good chance she’d find him home.

  As Ella approached Billy’s home, she saw him pulling up in his truck. Ella parked behind him, blocking him in case he decided to try and duck her, then walked up the open carport. “Hey, Billy.”

  He gave her a guarded look. “Hey.” He adjusted his Chiefs’ cap, then leaned back against his truck. “What brings you here?”

  “There’s been a shooting.” Without giving him any more warning than that, she brought the photo out from her jacket pocket and handed it to him. “I’ve been told you know this man.”

  Billy looked at the photo, then paled slightly. “I don’t know why you’d think that. He’s a stranger to me.”

  “Look again,” she said.

  He complied, but then shook his head. “Never seen him before, sorry.”

  “There’s an eyewitness that will swear differently.”

  Billy glared at her. “You don’t honestly believe I had something to do with this man’s death, do you?” he asked her, his voice taut. “You’ve known me since I was a kid, Ella.”