by Aimée
Ella glanced at Justine. “Please tell me that you read him his rights.”
“Of course. Twice. I’ve got it on tape.”
“Good,” Ella answered, then climbed into the front seat, sat down, and turned to face the prisoner. “If you and your carjacking buddies didn’t kill that soldier, Fermin, then who did?”
“Probably some copycat who wanted us to take the blame. But it wasn’t one of our guys. We only steal junkers to set up the marks, and our targets are always newer-model pickups and trucks, not cheap rental cars. Check your records.”
“You sure about that?” Ella asked.
He nodded, then leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “That’s all I’m saying until I see a lawyer.”
“You realize that we caught you red-handed,” Ella said. “In that phony uniform, in a stolen police car, with two police officers as the main witnesses, you don’t have a prayer in court. But if you’re willing to cooperate, we’ll make you a one-time offer and get some of the charges reduced. You’re still going down, but it’s up to you for how long—a few years or a couple dozen.”
His eyes remained glued on the fiery wreck. “Felice always said she’d never go to jail,” Dodge said softly, then lapsed into silence.
“We’re missing one,” Ella told Justine softly. “The gang usually works in teams of three.”
Justine nodded but didn’t comment.
Ella looked at Fermin. “So where’s the third member of your team? Was somebody else in that van?”
“It was just the two of us,” he said, his tone and gaze revealing nothing else.
The M.E. was called, and Tache and Neskahi were left behind to process the scene of the accident, while Justine headed back to the station with the suspect. Blalock, who’d arrived from the east, followed Justine down the highway, and Ella joined them a short time later after briefing the county deputies.
When Ella arrived at the station, Dodge’s attorney had already joined his client and Justine and Blalock were questioning him. The station’s duty officer was watching from the outside, but left when Ella nodded. Then Blalock knocked, and Ella let him out of the interrogation room. “How long have you been out here?” he asked.
“Just arrived. What does Dodge have to say?”
“For what it’s worth, Ella, I don’t think he’s our killer. According to him, he spent the night with the deceased, Felice Maples, and was in bed with her until midmorning the day Jimmy Blacksheep was killed. It’s totally unverifiable from that standpoint, but he said that the woman’s neighbor saw him shortly before seven because he had to get up and yell at her dog, who’d been barking nonstop. I’ve got the address.” Blalock looked at her. “For my money, he’s telling the truth.”
Justine came out next, and, after a few words to verify she’d made no further progress, Ella handed her Felice’s neighbor’s address. “See if you can get Farmington PD to check this out.”
As Justine walked off, Ella led Blalock back to her office. “We may have a third carjacker to track down, and even if these two were alone, there are probably others. I’m getting our suspect’s phone records and will try to backtrack on his contacts, friends, et cetera. We’ll be processing the stolen cruiser shortly, too. Maybe that’ll give us some more prints to work with.”
“All good,” Blalock said. “And on what’s looking more and more like a case totally unrelated to the carjackings, I spoke to Neil Carson when I first got to the station. He said that Richardson received an e-mail request sometime after midnight to make a drop-off. He’s got several ex-Iraqi assault rifles that are already cleared of markings and stashed in a rental self-storage place. Carson’s beginning to think that Richardson may have been telling the truth—he has no direct contact with the others. But he still believes the man knows who he worked with in Iraq.”
“Looks like we have another stakeout coming. Anything on a drop-off time or location? Or a trace on the e-mail?”
“Not yet. I’ve got somebody from the Bureau trying to backtrack the e-mail and nail down a user, but nothing so far. Until then, we have to wait for the next e-mail,” he said, then added, “I’ve spent twenty-five years in the Bureau. And the waiting part never gets easier.”
Ella didn’t get home until 8 A.M. and went straight to bed. The sun streaming in between the part in her curtains woke her up at ten in the morning. Getting her bearings, she noticed that Two was lying at the foot of the bed, sleeping. His soft snoring was the only sound that marred the all-encompassing silence. That atypical stillness pressed down on her as she showered and dressed. She missed hearing Rose’s and Dawn’s voices. Laughter and love defined the spirit of their household. If this oppressive, near-total absence of sound was what lay ahead of her, with Dawn at her father’s half the time and Rose gone, she wasn’t sure how she’d cope.
The emptiness of the house disturbed her. As she passed the phone on the counter on her way to the kitchen, she almost stopped to call her daughter, then changed her mind.
Once they started talking, it would be impossible to say no when Dawn asked her to stop by. Kevin was probably going bananas right now as well, and she didn’t want a confrontation in front of her daughter. Then, there was the time factor. Ella had to get back to work soon.
Tearing her hand away, she went to get herself a breakfast bar. It tasted like cardboard and sawdust in comparison to her mom’s breakfast burritos, but she wasn’t hungry anyway, just in need of a few calories. Ella fixed herself a cup of instant coffee, then placed a bowl of kibbles on Two’s rug. The dog picked at his food, not much more interested in eating than she was.
She’d miss the old boy when he moved away. Maybe her mom would bring him with her when she visited. Certainly, she’d give him a hug and a walk whenever she dropped by her mother’s new home.
The ringing of the phone made her jump, and Ella hurried over to answer it. It wouldn’t be the station—they’d use the cell. But maybe it was Rose.
To her surprise, she heard Kevin’s voice at the other end. “What are you doing home at this hour?” he said.
“Good morning to you, too.” She could hear the squeals and laughter coming from Dawn and her friend as they played. Ella felt her heart tighten at the sound.
“You usually don’t spend much time around home when there’s a case this big on your desk. I’ve heard all about it from my tribal contacts.”
“I just caught a few hours of sleep, and, actually, I was about to head out again.”
“Can I speak to Rose?” he asked.
“She’s not here,” she said. “Mom and Herman are off planning their wedding. It’s coming up this weekend, and they’ve got a ton of arrangements to make even though they’ve both decided to keep it small.”
“You know if she’ll be back soon?”
Ella knew desperation when she heard it. Then there was a klunk as Kevin dropped the phone and yelled, “No, the puppy cannot come inside my office. It’s off-limits. Why don’t you two go outside and play for a while?” He came back on. “Sorry. The puppy is a hit, but he’s not housebroken. So far he’s chewed my shoelaces and carried two socks into the kitchen while I was making breakfast.”
Ella smiled.
“The reason I’m calling is that I need to run over to the tribal office, but I don’t want to take the girls along. I was hoping that Rose . . .”
“Sorry. Like I said, she’s not here,” Ella repeated, glad for the first time this morning that Rose wasn’t home. “And I have to go back to the station right now. Good luck. I know you can deal with these last-minute problems without my help.”
“And how will you handle them without Rose?”
She chuckled. “Nice try, counselor. Find your own answers.”
“I’m in a bind, Ella.”
“In that case, it looks like you’re going to have to take Dawn and Beth Ann with you,” Ella said, unable to suppress a tiny smile. “Or maybe you can get Beth Ann’s mom to help you,” she added, not totally without sympat
hy.
“She’s gone to Gallup for the day on business and I can’t reach her.”
“I suggest you lay down some rules for the girls, then take them with you to your office. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”
She heard Kevin mutter something incomprehensible, then, with a curt good-bye, he hung up.
Ella laughed as she placed the phone down. She was in a far better mood now. Whether he’d realized it or not, he’d already started to lay down some rules. More rules would follow; any good lawyer could think of a hundred right off the bat. Before long Kevin would learn that keeping a home office full time with a kid around wasn’t as simple as he’d believed. Up to now, he’d only scheduled fun weekends—and everything had revolved around Dawn. But, now, he was seeing what it would be like to have her around when he had work to do. It would be hard for all his theories about child-rearing to survive in the face of that reality.
Ella was two minutes away from the station when her cell phone rang. “I’ve found some prints in the stolen cruiser,” Justine said. “We’ve sorted out those of our own people and are trying to ID the rest. We also confirmed the ID of the dead woman, Felice Maples, and tracked the suspects’ phone records and found a lot of calls made to an old riding school in Waterflow just north of the Rez, and several from Ms. Maples to a man from Farmington who happens to be a locksmith.”
Justine paused for a moment, apparently looking at her notes, then continued. “The locksmith’s name is Burt Greenwood. One of the Farmington PD’s unmarked units has Greenwood staked out, and followed him to the riding school about an hour ago. The county and Farmington SWAT teams want to move in as quickly as possible, and Sergeant Sanders recommended that our team take part in the raid since we broke the case. He’s back on the team, bumping Samuel Blacksheep, apparently.”
“Why am I not surprised? Get ready, and give Blalock a heads-up.” Ella slowed, then turned her vehicle into the station parking lot.
“He’s here,” Justine said. “We’re just waiting for you now.”
Ella walked through the doors, cell phone still in hand, then seeing Justine standing in the hall, closed it up. “Ready to roll?”
“We all are,” Blalock said, stepping out from Justine’s office. “Here’s a vest. You might need it.”
They met with the Farmington SWAT and Sergeant Sanders less than twenty minutes later beside the highway, a quarter mile from the riding academy, which was hidden from the road by an orchard. Sanders had been given tactical command of the operation. Both SWAT teams were moving into position on foot, and everyone, including Ella’s team, had been given radio headsets and black raid jackets for ID purposes.
“The riding academy has been closed for several months, but someone’s still doing business there, judging from the vehicle tracks. We called the company that manages the property, and they said it had been rented out as a storage facility,” Sanders said.
“That indoor riding arena could house several dozen pickups,” Ella said, “and a chop shop.”
Sanders nodded. “The big building, like a hangar, is sheet metal and steel with a dirt floor. No interior rooms, just a big overhead garage-type door at the west end, and a standard metal door halfway down the south wall. There’s another building, cinder block, on the south side, facing the access road, but it’s tiny by comparison. It houses a bathroom and the business office. If we get any resistance, it’ll probably be from inside the big building, where there’s bound to be more cover for the perps, depending on how many vehicles are still inside. Our surveillance team has already spotted four men in there, and three vehicles are parked outside by the overhead door. The smaller structure has only one south-facing window and a steel door facing west, so anyone in there can be quickly isolated.”
“How come you know the place so well?” Justine asked.
“My daughter took riding lessons here for a while . . . before my divorce. My wife got custody.”
Ella heard regret and sadness in his voice as he’d spoken of his family. She wondered how any parent made it through the day knowing they wouldn’t be coming home to their child. “Divorces and cops—they go together, don’t they?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, but before he could say anything else, a call over the radio brought his thoughts back to the present. “Okay. Both teams are in position,” he told Ella after he finished the transmission. “FPD SWAT will make a move on the smaller building, approaching from the east side. While they’re clearing the small building, we’ll hit the big structure with county SWAT. As soon as they block the overhead door with their vehicle we’ll enter the south door of the hangar. Once we’re inside and can determine the layout, I’ll call out the assignment for each team. By then, the office building should be secure, and FPD can back us up, coming in as a third team, if necessary.”
“SWAT snipers covering the doors, right?” Ella asked.
“One from the orchard, and the second across the field on the north side of the main building. No one’s getting away today.”
It took five more minutes for Ella, Sanders, and her people to move in from the west inside the county SWAT vehicle, a step van much like a delivery truck except for the armed officers crowded inside.
They bounced over the soft ground, then stopped with a lurch. Three heavily armored deputies, one of them carrying a bag containing explosive charges, jumped out of the rear, followed by Sanders and Ella.
Her back against the cool metal west wall of the hangar, Ella waited, her pistol out, for the next step of the operation. She could hear shouts inside, and wondered how well armed the perps were. The walls of the building might stop or slow down a pistol bullet, but not one from a rifle.
Sanders gave the signal, and one of the deputies stepped around the corner, brought a bullhorn up, and called for those inside to come out with their hands up. There was silence for a long moment, then several shots rang out, forcing the officer with the mike to duck back as more than one round penetrated the door and whistled across the perimeter.
“Okay, it’s going down,” Sanders said, scrambling forward in a crouch toward the corner of the building.
There was a loud crunch, shouting, then someone in the direction of the small office yelled, “Clear.”
“Okay. Blow the door,” Sanders whispered.
Standing away from the wall but still out of the line of sight from the south door of the hangar, Ella could see FPD SWAT officers crouched behind the walls of the block building, their weapons covering the three county men as they quickly worked, attaching a charge around the latch of the metal door.
The operation took about fifteen seconds, then all three men sprinted back around the corner. Ella could see the short fuse burning before she ducked back. “Fire in the hole,” the third man to turn the corner yelled.
Five seconds later, there was a loud, hollow metallic bang and a small cloud of black smoke.
“Execute!” Sanders ordered, and the SWAT men inched around the corner. Sanders and Ella followed, the rest of her team close behind, their weapons ready.
The door had been blown open, and a smoking, jagged hole was all that remained of the knob and latch. Heavy gunfire erupted from inside the old arena, striking the metal door frame and whistling out across the grounds.
Everyone hugged the wall as the covering SWAT team returned fire from the adjacent building. There was a pause, then Sanders tapped one of the deputies on the shoulder. “Two flash-bangs,” he whispered.
The deputy brought out one of the light-and-noise grenades, designed to stun an assailant, then showed it to the deputy next to him. In five seconds, both deputies were ready.
“Now,” he whispered harshly, and the two grenades went into the hanger together.
Everyone outside looked away, Ella included. Even with her eyes closed, she saw the flash, and the concussion made her ears hurt. Three seconds later, they went in.
NINETEEN
The explosions had stirred up the earthen floor, and it was like r
unning through a horse-manure scented duststorm. Ella spotted a bullet-riddled pickup just ten feet away to her left, and ran for its cover. The SWAT officers and Sanders, Team One, had gone to the right, seeking the concealment and protection of a second pickup.
Gunfire filled the big metal enclosure, but at least the dirt floor deadened any echoes. Ella, at the tailgate now, peeked over the top to get a clearer picture of the tactical situation and make sure the bed was empty. Judging from the dozen or more bullet holes in the cab door, nobody inside was likely to still be functional.
“Clah, secure the west end, then advance east down the north row of vehicles. My team will advance east down the south row. We’ll cover each other’s open flank.”
“Ten-four,” Ella replied, knowing everyone with a working headset knew the plan now. The dust was beginning to settle a bit, and she could see the entire length of the building. Across the sandy surface of the former riding arena were about twelve pickups in three loose rows, all facing the west end and far enough apart that they took up most of the interior. At the east end were four other vehicles, two of them SUVs, plus two half-stripped pickups. Two long folding tables, a metal framework with chains and pulleys, and boxes of tools were in the area of the stripped vehicles. The bad guys were somewhere out there, maybe as close as the other side of the truck she was hugging.
Ella felt a presence to her right, and noted the arrival of Justine and Blalock, who were using the engine block for protection. “The bad guys could be behind any vehicle, so we have to clear each one, and keep an eye behind us in case we miss someone,” Ella whispered, pressing the button that kept her words from being picked up via her throat mike and transmitted to the radio headphones they were all wearing.
“There’s one we don’t have to worry about.” Justine pointed to a leg that was sticking out from behind a white Ford 150 just ahead.