“How did you know that?”
“Oh, many years of roasting and participating in coffee tastings gives you a nose for it.” He broke into a broad grin. “Actually, your Starbucks package is lying on the counter behind you next to the fridge.”
“You dog.”
“Among my former colleagues in Denver P.D. robbery/homicide, I was dubbed the coffee Nazi. I wore the label proudly. I started roasting my own beans purely as a defensive measure. Most of what they call coffee in the typical police department isn’t worth crap. It’s usually cheap coffee to begin with, and after it’s been brewed and left on burn for a few hours, well, you know.”
“You get used to it, I guess, but I have to agree with you.”
“How did you find me last night?”
“It really wasn’t all that difficult. Let’s call it the power of deductive reasoning. I knew you’d had a lousy day so I dropped by your house to cheer you up. I saw the Tahoe but not your pickup. So, I figured a bar, and since Kanab is a one-horse town, I drove past the Cattle Baron, and there you were.”
“I’m embarrassed. Thanks for pulling me out of there.
“Not a problem. So, what’s on tap for today?”
Books told her about the plea deal negotiated between Becky Eddins and Virgil Bell.
“So we’re on hold pending what?” asked Tanner.
“Pending approval of the plea agreement with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Becky won’t allow us to talk to Benally until she’s been assured that her client won’t end up facing federal charges.”
“Can’t really blame her for that.”
“I suppose not. There is something you can do, if you don’t mind.”
“Name it.”
“I’ll give you the names of those Native American cops we ran into yesterday. Call tribal headquarters, both Paiute and Navajo, and find out who these guys are and anything else you can learn about them.”
“Is what they’re doing even legal?”
“Good question. I’m not sure,” replied Books. “If they confined their operation to tribal lands, it’s perfectly legal. When they detain somebody off tribal lands like they did yesterday, I’m not so sure. It might be something the FBI would be interested in knowing about.”
“If they’re off reservation, how could it be legal? They’re out of their jurisdiction, unless they’re making a citizen’s arrest.”
“Beats me.”
“Are you worried these guys might be some kind of vigilante group capable of harming people?”
“You’re full of good questions, Beth. I just don’t know, but we shouldn’t rule it out until we learn more about them. Maybe they’re some kind of militant Native American group much like the American Indian Movement was several decades ago? Maybe you can find out.”
Although Books didn’t know it, the investigation was about to take an unusual and deadly turn.
Chapter Twenty-two
Books hurried home, changed into his uniform, and made it into the office just ahead of nine o’clock. He hoped to find a message from somebody informing him that the plea agreement had been approved and that he was clear to interrogate Benally. No such luck. There were no messages, not from Bell, Maldonado, nor Becky Eddins.
There was little else he could do except wait. He pulled a legal pad from his desk and began preparing questions that he intended to ask Benally. He might get only one opportunity and he would need to make the most of it.
When the phone calls came, they came in rapid succession. The first was from Virgil Bell.
“Good news, J.D. I just wanted to let you know that we got everything worked out with the U.S. Attorney’s Office on the plea agreement.”
“Glad to hear it.” It took long enough, he thought.
“Becky should be on her way over to the jail to go over the details of the offer with Benally. I told her the offer was good until three o’clock this afternoon. After that, the deal comes off the table.”
“That puts a little pressure on them,” said Books. “It’s a damn good offer and they ought to jump on it.”
“I agree, and we should hear something very soon. If I were you, I’d be ready to get over to the jail as soon as you get the call from Eddins. And by the way, she intends to sit in on the interrogation. I hope that doesn’t cramp your style too much.”
“I’d prefer that she not, but I can live with it. I’m ready to go just as soon as I hear from her.”
“Let me know how things go,” said Bell.
The men disconnected.
Randy Maldonado called next. “Good morning, J.D. I’ve got some news I think will be of interest to you. You may have heard already, but the U.S. Attorney’s Office bought off on the state plea agreement.”
“I just heard—got a call from the D.A.’s office. I’m waiting for a call from Benally’s attorney giving us the green-light for the interrogation.”
“Yeah, Benally’s lawyer, that’s something else we need to talk about.”
Books was sure this wasn’t going to be good. “What about her?”
“Uh, this is a little awkward, but when headquarters got wind of what was going on down there, I got a phone call.”
“And.”
“They smell at least the appearance of a conflict of interest with you in charge of the investigation and your girlfriend representing one of the suspects. And frankly, J.D., had I known things were going to shake out the way they have, I wouldn’t have placed you in charge of the case.”
It was impossible for Books to argue with the logic of what Maldonado was saying. “So what happens now?”
“I’ll be joining you as soon as I can clear up a couple of things here in Salt Lake. This in no way reflects negatively on the way you’ve handled the investigation, and that sentiment is shared all the way to the top. I’ll head the investigation from now on but in name only. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still the guy calling the shots.”
“Fair enough. When can I expect you?”
“Sometime this evening. Why don’t we get together for dinner and you can bring me up to speed on things?”
“Sounds good. Anything else?”
“Yeah, there is one more thing. And this is simply an FYI. Headquarters received an anonymous phone call this morning from some guy who accused you of showing favoritism yesterday in the handling of the pot-hunting case involving your brother-in-law.”
“You’re just full of good news this morning, Randy.”
“Hold your applause. No need to thank me,” he said, laughing.
Books didn’t see the humor.
“Actually, I do have some good news, some very good news in fact.”
“You won’t be offended if I continue to withhold my applause until I’ve heard you out?”
“I don’t blame you. Late yesterday afternoon, we received lab results on some of the evidence I submitted from the crime scene. They’ve identified the make and model of the boot print found at the dig site. It’s a Columbia Mountaineer high-top hiking boot, size thirteen. It has to be at least two years old since that was the last year the boot was manufactured.”
“Size thirteen, huh. We knew the dude had big feet.”
“We got no computer hits on the fingerprints we lifted from inside the Rogers’ trailer. It probably means that the prints we lifted belong to our victims—no real surprise there.”
“Or, the prints might belong to a suspect who hasn’t served in the military and doesn’t have a prior criminal record,” countered Books.
“That’s possible.”
“What about the cigarette butts?”
“Negative on the fingerprints, and I haven’t heard anything from the DNA lab yet. They’re so far behind that it takes a long time to get test results. I’ll call them today and s
ee if I can prod them along.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, and it’s also good news. Remember the trowel we found at the dig site?”
“I do.”
“We got an AFIS hit from a right thumbprint. It belongs to a guy named James Earl Buck.”
“And who exactly is James Earl Buck?”
“Mr. Buck is a former U.S. Army sergeant, honorably discharged in 2007. He served for six years as a paratrooper with the 86th Airborne Division. He’s also got a minor criminal history, nothing particularly serious.”
“Interesting. That’s an elite unit.”
“Sure is.”
“We need to find out everything we can about Buck, including where and how to find him,” said Books.
“I’d say the sooner the better.”
Books took the information Maldonado had on Buck and promised to get started.
He had no sooner disconnected with Maldonado when the phone rang again. This time the caller was Becky Eddins.
“Morning, Becky. When can I come see your client?”
“We have a problem, J.D.”
“What do you mean?”
“Joe Benally was bailed out of jail about an hour ago.” Books glanced at his watch. It was now ten o’clock.
“What the hell are you talking about? Who bailed him out?”
“I don’t know. I just called his mother and she didn’t do it.”
“No surprise there,” said Books. “There’s no way she could have come up with twenty grand. I doubt she’d even be able to come up with the cash necessary to hire a bail bondsman.”
Bail bond companies typically charged a nonrefundable fee of ten percent of the bail amount. In this instance, that someone would have had to come up with two thousand cash, money they would never see again. The bond company would then post the full bail amount with the court clerk’s office. The company would get its money back so long as the defendant showed up for court proceedings.
“Whoever posted the bond didn’t use a bail bond company,” said Eddins.
“Really.”
“Jail records show that the twenty thousand was paid in cash via a money order.”
“Who paid it?”
“Jail personnel didn’t have a name. I’m on my way over to the district court clerk’s office right now to find that out.”
“And you haven’t heard anything from Benally?”
“Not a word.”
“I’ll meet you there in five.”
He grabbed his jacket and the keys to the Tahoe and hurried to the parking lot. In the law enforcement business, Books expected to be thrown curve balls from time to time, but this one surprised him. Who, other than family, would have the money and the interest to bail the kid out of jail? The answer gave him chills.
Eddins had made it to the court clerk’s office ahead of Books. She was standing at the counter reading from a legal size file when Books arrived. Wilma Harris, the assistant court clerk, stood nearby and appeared visibly upset.
“I hope I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “I followed all the procedures including obtaining a picture form of identification. I don’t know what else I could have done.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Wilma,” said Eddins.
Books was reading the file over Eddins’ shoulder. “Looks like a Utah driver’s license was used for identification. The guy’s name is Earl Shumway, and this shows an address in Moab, Utah,” said Eddins. “Who do you suppose this guy Shumway is, anyway?”
“No idea, but I’ll bet we’re going to find the driver’s license is a forgery and there is no Earl Shumway.”
“It sure looked legitimate to me, the driver’s license, I mean,” piped in Harris.
Eddins ignored her. “What makes you say that, J.D.?”
“Somebody wants him out of jail for a reason, and the only reason I can think of is that Benally might start singing like Lady Gaga.”
“If you’re right, that means he’s in real danger.”
“Quite possibly. If whoever bailed him out did so to keep him quiet, the best way to ensure his silence would be to kill him.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Eddins.
“As long as he’s alive, he’s a threat to whoever kidnapped the Rogerses. He probably knows enough to put some people away for a very long time.”
“What should we do?”
“Find him and fast.”
“How do you suggest we do that?”
“I’ve got a couple of ideas.”
Books called the jail and obtained a physical and clothing description for Joe Benally. He then provided that information to the regional dispatch center and had the on-duty dispatcher broadcast an attempt-to-locate on Benally. Books asked to be notified immediately if Benally was stopped.
“There’s something you can do, Becky.”
“I think I should get back to my office in case he shows up there.”
“I agree. When you get there, call Benally’s girlfriend, Ruthie Todd. Explain the situation and try to enlist her help. And while you’re at it, stay in touch with Benally’s mother. If you need me, call my cell.”
If Benally was on foot, and Books hoped he was, it made sense that he would call his mother or his girlfriend for help. If he was picked up by whoever posted his bail, the chances of finding him were slim. What Books really hoped was that Benally had the good judgment to call his attorney and inform her that he was out of jail. Unfortunately, guys like Joe Benally rarely demonstrated good judgment.
Books obtained a detailed physical description of Earl Shumway, the mysterious man who posted the bail, He decided to drive north out of Kanab in the same direction Benally would have gone if he were hitchhiking home. Several miles north, he gave up and returned to Kanab.
He had just reached the outskirts of town when he heard the radio call dispatching a Kanab patrol car to a hit-and-run car-pedestrian accident on 100 East Street adjacent to the city park. An awful thought occurred to Books. He hoped he was wrong, but he turned on the Tahoe’s emergency lights and raced to the accident scene. In route, he radioed dispatch seeking information on the suspect vehicle. He was told to stand by. Moments later, the dispatcher broadcast a BOLO for an older, black or dark blue Ford Explorer, driven by a lone white male a witness had observed speeding south on 100 East, away from the accident scene.
Books arrived simultaneously with the first Kanab patrol car in time to see the body of Joe Benally sprawled on the gravel shoulder of the road. He wasn’t moving. Books could see that he was bleeding profusely from the head, and that his right leg was bent backward at an awkward angle. The femur protruded from the leg revealing a compound fracture. He called dispatch again, this time requesting an ambulance.
Chapter Twenty-three
Within minutes, the area was crawling with police cars from several agencies including the Kanab Police Department, the Kane County Sheriff’s Office, and the Utah Highway Patrol. Fortunately, the Kanab Hospital was located a stone’s throw from city park. An ambulance arrived almost immediately. Books looked around and realized there was nothing he could do for Joe Benally. He overheard one of the paramedics say that Benally’s vital signs were stable. It was all in the hands of the gods.
Books decided to retrace the route traveled by the suspect until he reached the intersection with U.S. Highway 89. Then he decided to play a hunch. Anybody who was brazen enough to intentionally engage in a hit-and-run in broad daylight would be smart enough to have an escape plan, he reasoned. It seemed unlikely that the suspect would leave Kanab by any of the three state highway routes. Those were lightly traveled two-lane roads where he would easily be spotted. Books began cruising commercial parking lots looking for an abandoned suspect vehicle.
If his hunch was correct, t
he perp would have either had someone pick him up, or he would have stashed a getaway car somewhere nearby and dumped the Explorer.
He checked the parking lots of Glazier’s Family Market, Ace Hardware, McDonalds, and the Chevron station without success. Then he cruised several blocks south of town and turned around at the local Pizza Hut. Again, he came up empty. Back in the center of town, Books turned east on to U.S. Highway 89 and drove slowly to the east end of town, checking side streets and parking lots along the route.
He was about to give up when his eye caught a dark colored SUV parked on a dead-end street next to the cemetery. He wasn’t sure this vehicle was a Ford Explorer. He made a U-turn on 89 and drove slowly past the vehicle. A closer look confirmed that it was an Explorer, but was it the right one? He didn’t notice any obvious front-end damage.
Books parked the Tahoe and radioed the dispatcher with his location and the SUV’s license plate number. He drew his service revolver and cautiously approached the passenger side of the vehicle on full alert for anyone who might be hiding inside. Satisfied that the Explorer was unoccupied, Books placed his hand on top of the hood and found the engine was still warm. The grill and hood showed minor damage on the front passenger side. A closer examination revealed what Books believed to be bits of clothing fabric and several strands of dark brown hair.
Books felt confident that he had found the hit-and-run vehicle. Evidence technicians would be able to determine whether the clothing fabric and hair matched samples they would take from Joe Benally. Unless he was mistaken, Books thought it highly unlikely that the suspect would have had the time to wipe the vehicle down. That should provide a treasure trove of latent fingerprints and other evidence that might lead them to a suspect.
A Kanab Police Department patrol car pulled in behind him, and Charley Sutter followed in an unmarked sheriff’s department car. Sutter and Kanab Police Chief George Spencer got out of their vehicles and walked over to the Explorer.
“How’s the kid doing?” Books asked.
Spencer shrugged. “He was alive when they got him to the hospital. That’s all I know.”
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