Mourning Dove

by Aimée

  “I guess it’s easier to save money when you’re overseas. No groceries, no rent, no new clothes,” Samuel said.

  “You still have to play it smart with your bucks,” Ben said. “Date cheap, and save your money for beer.”

  “Beer!” Ella heard two men yell at once, then a clink of glass, like two bottles being touched together.

  Samuel laughed, but stayed on the subject. “I don’t think I could have made much of a soldier. I can handle the department, but that’s because I run my own life off duty. But the Army owns you when you’re, like, in Iraq or Afghanistan. I’d question some dumbass order, and get thrown in the stockade. These days you can’t defend a wrong action by saying your captain told you to do it, you know?” Samuel said.

  “True, but you gotta know not to fight the small stuff,” Bobby said. “Like in the department. You don’t narc on your own guys.”

  “Yeah,” Ben piped in.

  “Most of the guys over there, maybe eighty percent, are righteous,” the one called Jake said. “They just want to get the job done and come back home in one piece. But like you said, there’s always some kind of black market action. In countries where it’s forbidden, you can still get your girlie magazines, DVDs, pirated CDs, looted merchandise—all kinds of contraband from local merchants, for a price. Sometimes you go along with it, because the guy who’s selling Johnny Walker out of his Humvee may be the one working the fifty the next day, covering your butt in a fire-fight. The lines between right and wrong start to fade when it comes to the little crap.”

  “Yeah,” Bobby said. “I served in ’Nam, not in the Gulf, but I hear you. Hell, there were times when we had to buy flares on the black market. Now that pissed me off.”

  “Yeah. You liberate more than people,” Ben added, then they all laughed. “Now shut up, give me another beer, and deal.”

  “Here you go, Richardson. Light beer. Gotta watch your figure,” the one called Jake said, then laughed.

  The talk switched to poker and sports. Ella crept silently back to the unit where Justine was waiting, then quickly conveyed what she’d learned. “Get hold of Neil Carson, the CID guy, and apprise him. Ask him to get us more information on Ben Richardson, one of the men in Jimmy’s Guard unit—the one who’s the mechanic at FPD. While you’re getting Carson, I’ll call Blalock.”

  Moments later, after Ella finished her conversation with Blalock, Justine glanced over at her. “I’ve left voice mail for Neil Carson. He’s unavailable.”

  “I’m not surprised. But Blalock’s already working on what we need,” Ella replied.

  “So what next?” Justine asked.

  “We need someone who can get us some fast information on Richardson—someone who’s not afraid to cut corners.”

  They looked at each other, both already smiling. “Teeny!”

  FOURTEEN

  Ella called her old friend at home, then, not getting an answer, tried his cell, with the same results. “Teeny must have turned off his voice mail for some reason. Let’s go by his office. Sometimes he’s there late but won’t answer the phone unless he’s actively working for a client.”

  “I know he loves to tinker with computers—adding memory, tweaking the operating system, anything to make them faster or more efficient,” Justine said with a nod. “I remember when he’d fix the ones at the station. He’d concentrate so totally on what he was doing he wouldn’t have heard a nuclear blast one desk over. When his special assignment for the department got swept up by the budget cuts and he quit, we ended up losing a good cop and our best tech.”

  It took just five minutes to reach the stone-and-metal office building where Teeny and Blalock both had their offices. Blalock’s office door was closed, but Teeny’s door was wide open and beyond it they could hear country-western music.

  Ella knocked on the door as they walked inside, and predictably, Teeny, who was sitting before one of the computers, didn’t stir or take his eyes off the screen.

  “Earth calling,” Justine muttered.

  Ella stepped around Teeny’s chair—which was like circling a major appliance—and stood in front of him. Noticing her at last, he glanced up and smiled.

  “Hey, good to see ya. I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, then turning his chair and seeing Justine, added, “You, too, girl.”

  “I wanted to make sure I didn’t startle you,” Ella said, remembering one instance when Teeny had been on a stakeout and another officer had come up from behind him. He’d bounced the two-hundred-pound rookie against a wall before realizing the man was a fellow officer.

  “You two want something to eat?” He pointed to a plate half full of his favorite apple-filled doughnuts. “The cinnamon helps you think.”

  “And the sugar rush helps you work?” Ella added with a grin. His computer screen was split into two windows, one with some kind of codes related to computerese, and the other with a colorful graphic display that responded to the music coming from the computer speakers.

  Teeny touched a button on his keyboard twice and the music went down about half in volume. “Go on. Help yourselves. Neither of you have to worry about calories, so enjoy,” he said, noting that Justine had already picked one up.

  Ella did the same. They’d be here for a while. “I need your help. I want anything and everything I can get on Ben Richardson, a mechanic working for the Farmington Police Department in their motor pool. He’s also in the same National Guard transportation unit as our recent murder victim. He was interviewed initially after Jimmy’s death, but didn’t add anything we didn’t already know. Richardson said he knew Jimmy only in passing and hadn’t seen him for several days because he’d come back earlier at his department’s request. There are some additional questions I have for him now, but I’d like more background on the guy before I go talk to him.”

  “I can’t go through channels—don’t have official authorization or current passwords. But I do service their network and . . .” His words trailed off then he shook his head. “Why don’t you two wait for me in the outer office? You can’t be held accountable for something you never saw or heard.”

  Ella took him at his word, and they left the room, closing the door behind them. As they waited, she glanced at Justine, who’d just finished the doughnut.

  “These are great. Look homemade,” Justine said.

  Ella nodded. “They are. Teeny bakes them himself. He’s a great cook.”

  “You should have married him. In fact, I may ask him if you don’t,” Justine said. “I wonder if he likes to shop. . . .”

  It took a full fifteen minutes before Teeny opened the door again, which, overall, wasn’t very much time at all.

  “Okay, some of this you probably already know, but here’s what I’ve got,” Teeny said, gesturing for them to join him. “Your white boy worked as a mechanic overseas, keeping the heavy equipment running and going on some dangerous missions to recover broken-down vehicles. He and Blacksheep shared quarters for a while at their base north of Baghdad.”

  Justine and Ella exchanged glances. “I don’t remember reading that in Joe’s report. He’s the one who spoke to Richardson.”

  “I don’t either. Maybe it was in his notes and we missed it,” Justine answered. “But I was under the impression that Richardson barely knew Jimmy.”

  “Either way, we should follow it up some more. Ben might have some insight into what was going on inside Jimmy’s head. I want to have a real sit-down talk with this guy. You don’t happen to have an address, do you?” Ella asked, looking at Teeny.

  He smiled slowly. “Have some faith, little girl.”

  Ella was tall for a Navajo, but next to Teeny she was practically a hobbit. “I owe you dinner,” she said, taking the slip of paper he handed her.

  “Someday, I’d like to get your recipe for these doughnuts,” Justine said, licking her fingers. “They’re really top of the line.”

  “All I could give you would be an estimate,” Teeny answered with a proud smile. “Al
l my recipes are spur of the moment. Gut instinct, if you’ll pardon the comparison. I like it that way,” he answered, then growing serious once more, added, “Ella, can I have a word with you in private?”

  Ella looked at him in surprise.

  “I’ll meet you outside,” Justine said, then walked out the door, giving them some privacy.

  Ella followed him back into his office. “What’s up? I’d trust Justine with my life, you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah, but this is personal. I heard about what happened at the Totah. Gossip from those who saw the action from inside, report that the Reverend has some well honed-fighting skills. That got me curious, so I did a little checking.”

  “What’d you find out?” Ella asked quickly.

  “It’s not what I found out—it’s that I couldn’t, and didn’t. Usually, given enough time, I can dig up information on just about anyone. But when I looked into the Reverend’s past I ran into a firewall that just screamed Fed. That he’d worked for a government agency quickly became obvious, but he’s being protected, and in a big way. My background search resulted in an all-out attack on my own system. It would have nailed me for sure if I hadn’t been protected by the best hacker-proof stuff available. Of course I intend to make breaking through all those barriers my new mission in life—unless the Feds come knocking at my door.”

  “If I said you didn’t have to do that, would it stop you?”

  Teeny grinned—a truly frightening gesture that only passed as a smile to the ones who knew him. “What do you think?”

  “Okay—if you get anything I should know about . . .” she said, letting it hang.

  “You’ve got it. Ella, are you serious about this guy? Serious, serious?”

  Ella smiled. “I wouldn’t say that. At the moment, we both have something in common, and it’s in our benefit to be seen together. It seems that everyone who knows the Reverend isn’t married wants to fix him up. That’s a nuisance I can relate to personally, and I think it might make my life easier as well, if people make the assumption that we’re dating. So we’re taking advantage of the gossip, that’s all.”

  “You doing this so Kevin’ll back off? I hear that your mom’s getting married soon. Without her at home, Kevin might just make a move for joint custody. Everyone knows he’s crazy about Dawn and, with no adult at home and the long hours you put in at work . . . Of course, if he plays his cards right, he’ll get to fix two problems at once. If he’s got Dawn, you’ll be coming around almost constantly. That’ll make it much easier for him to provide you with an obvious solution—you and Dawn can both move in with him permanently. Problem solved.”

  Teeny’s scenario took her by complete surprise. “You think that’s what he’s really angling for?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Listen, friend to friend?” he said, then seeing her nod, continued. “Move slowly with the Reverend. Nothing draws you in faster than a puzzle or an unanswered question. If you like the guy, that’s one thing, but curiosity may not be healthy in this case. That guy has a seriously heavy past. You may be better off never knowing what he did before he took up the ministry.”

  Ella nodded somberly. Teeny was right. But now that she knew this much, she’d never be able to let it rest. “Makes perfect sense. Too bad I’m so lousy taking advice.”

  It was dark by the time they drove down the street in the old Farmington neighborhood where Ben Richardson’s modest three-bedroom home was located. The streets were quiet and the house lights, for the most part, were off.

  “Richardson works the day shift, so it’s possible he bowed out of the poker game early. His car could be in the garage,” Justine said. “Want to go up and knock?”

  “Yeah, but wait a sec,” Ella said, checking out the street. A few cars were parked at the curb, but in every case there was already a full driveway. “That car—the four-door sedan parked across the street and two houses down from Richardson’s. There’s a big guy inside, slumped down. He’s got the side mirror angled so he can see across the street and behind him—like a stakeout.”

  Justine watched through the rearview mirror as they continued down the street. “I see him, behind the steering wheel. How do you want to handle it?”

  “Drive around the corner, then I’ll double back on foot. It could just be a guy pulled over using his cell phone. Let’s try to figure out what’s going on first.”

  “We could be stirring up a hornet’s nest, partner. Without backup . . .”

  “We can handle it if we tread carefully and keep in contact with each other. I want to avoid calling in for backup now since the situation could be perfectly harmless, and it’ll tell way too many people what we’re doing,” she said. As soon as they’d driven around the corner, Justine stopped the car and Ella stepped out.

  Moving through the darkest nighttime shadows was second nature to Ella. She’d been doing this as far back as she could remember. Childhood games of hide-and-seek with her brother Clifford had taught her how to be a good tracker and rely on her senses to guide her. Right now, her intuition was telling her that she wasn’t facing a crisis situation. Yet, whoever was watching Richardson’s house was doing that for a reason, and she intended to find out what was going on.

  Ella moved toward the car, positioning herself so she’d be coming up directly behind the vehicle. He wouldn’t be able to see out of the rearview mirror without shifting and sitting up and, if he did, she’d see it happening and be ready.

  As she came within twenty feet of the car, the door opened and a man stepped out. The fact that the dome light didn’t come on told her he was a pro. She froze, watching his hands for a weapon, ready to duck to the right, screening herself with his car.

  He turned and looked right at her, as if he could see her easily despite the surrounding darkness and silently motioned her to approach. Ella recognized the CID man immediately. Neil Carson was staking out Richardson’s house. “I’ll save you some time,” he said. “He’s still not home. I came directly here after your partner called.”

  “Why are you here?” she whispered, quickly getting into his car.

  “I wanted to question Richardson first.”

  “This is my case. I think it’s time we—” Ella felt her phone vibrate. “Wait. I need to notify my partner.”

  After Ella assured Justine that she was all right, Justine gave her some puzzling news.

  “I’ve just heard from Dispatch,” Justine said. “The duty officer got an anonymous call from someone who sounded like a kid and he claimed that there was a vehicle in an irrigation ditch several miles from the crime scene.”

  “Has anyone verified that yet?”

  “Yeah. Dispatch sent a unit right away.”

  “My guess is that the tip came from the Many Devils, and it’s Jimmy’s rental car,” Ella said.

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  Ella closed the phone and turned to Carson. “I’ve got another lead I need to check out.” She decided not to share the information with him until she’d personally verified that they’d really found Jimmy’s car.

  “Go ahead, Investigator Clah. I’m going to stay put. If he shows, you can have a shot at him after I’m through.”

  Ella debated whether or not to tell Carson about the poker game then decided against it. There’d be time for all that later. “You and I have to talk. Soon,” she added with emphasis.

  “Noted,” he said with a nod.

  Justine was pulling up as Ella stepped out of the car. They were underway again in seconds. “You’ve got a location?” Ella asked.

  Justine nodded. “I’ve also called Neskahi and Tache and asked them to meet us there.”

  “Good.”

  “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to work a job that had regular hours?” Justine mused as they sped down the highway.

  “We’d be bored stiff,” Ella answered with a tiny smile. “I don’t think sameness suits us, partner.”

  A half hour later, they
were walking along the ditch bank northwest of Shiprock a quarter mile from the river. The crime scene unit was there, and lights had been set up.

  As soon as photos had been taken of the submerged vehicle, Ella waved to the tow-truck driver. He started the winch, and the sedan, connected via a cable to its tow hook, rolled up the bank onto the service road atop the levee. Ella watched as hundreds of gallons of foul-smelling water flowed from the vehicle through the broken front-door windows. Smaller amounts trickled through the half dozen or more bullet holes on the driver’s side, particularly the door, leaving little doubt that it was Jimmy Blacksheep’s rental. The condition of the vehicle confirmed what had happened to the car and Jimmy.

  Ella watched, hoping that they’d have some answers soon—connections and physical evidence that would pull the fragmented picture together and bring the resolution they all needed. As the water drained, something large and frighteningly familiar descended from where it had been trapped atop the interior roof of the sedan, coming to rest on the backseat.

  FIFTEEN

  Now we know why they dumped the car,” Ella said, ignoring the stench and studying the rotting corpse. It was still wallowing faceup in the dirty water that covered the seat cushion.

  Water and dead flesh were adversaries. The body was bloated and discolored—the stuff of nightmares—a caricature of a human drawn by death. There were also crawdads and scavenger fish in the ditches, and some had paid the rental vehicle a dinner call.

  Ella glanced at Justine, who’d turned away after seeing what was left of the victim’s face. “Call Carolyn,” Ella said. “The M.E. needs to be here.”