Ghost Medicine

by Aimée

  “The charges may tell us what he’s been doing and where he’s been,” Justine said.

  Ella opened the envelope and studied the lengthy multipage bill. “Here’s something. It’s a monthly fee paid to an Internet data-storage service. It looks like he backed up all his laptop files online, automatically. We need to take a look at those.”

  “We’ll need another court order,” Justine said.

  “It would be faster to get permission from Harry’s family,” Ella said slowly.

  “Not really. Harry’s daughter is most likely the primary heir, and Selina’s her guardian. After all the noise Selina’s already made—”

  “I know, but I wasn’t planning on being the one doing the asking, not directly, anyway. I have another idea. Stop by the Totah.”

  * * *

  They pulled up in front of Teeny’s place twenty minutes later.

  “Have you ever noticed that Teeny looks mean even when he smiles? It comes out looking more like a snarl. Yet when the guy wants something, he can charm the heck out of people,” Ella said.

  “Let me guess. You want him to ask Selina?”

  “Yeah. I don’t think she’ll turn him down. She knows that Harry was working for Teeny and any job-related files are also company files. It makes logical sense for the request to come from him.”

  “So all you need to do now is convince Teeny to ask her, and then give you a look at the files.”

  Ella glanced down at the four covered Styrofoam plates. “Two for Teeny and one apiece for us. Stuffed sopaipillas with fresh green chile are his all-time favorites—particularly when Mrs. Curley makes them.”

  “We lucked out there.”

  Teeny was waiting for them at the front door. “Good to see you both.” He sniffed the air. “A bribe! Did you happen to stop by the Totah?”

  “You bet. Mrs. Curley works there on Saturday.”

  His face broke out in a wide grin that to the uninitiated might have looked positively frightening. “Stuffed sopaipillas with green chile. The favor you want must be a doozy,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen.

  Ella told him what she needed as they began to eat.

  “Selina hates your guts. You know that, right?” Teeny said.

  “Yeah, which is why I’m asking you to do the asking,” Ella said.

  “All right. I’ll do it after lunch, but you might want to watch yourself, Ella. She intends to do everything in her power to hurt you.”

  “Yeah, I know. She doesn’t realize that I was just a footnote in H’s past.”

  “You were more than that,” Teeny said. “A lot more.”

  “Not you, too!” Ella shook her head. “There was nothing there after our breakup.”

  Teeny stared at her for a long time. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  She opened her arms, palms up. “What?”

  “His ex-wife is right—he never really got over you. Every time your name came up, his voice changed and he couldn’t look at me. I think he wished he’d stuck around and fought to change your mind.”

  “You think he still had feelings for me? You’re wrong,” Ella said.

  “I’m not saying he was still in love with you, but he never forgot the time you two were together.” He took another huge bite as he thought things out and then tried to explain. “It’s kind of like a guy’s first car. Sooner or later, it’s gotta go, but that feeling he had for it never goes away.”

  “I wasn’t his first … anything,” she said.

  “You were the first woman he actually wanted to marry.”

  “No way. H had loads of girlfriends—before and after me.”

  “Sure, he dated a lot, but what he felt for you was on a whole different level. You were the love of his life.”

  Ella stared at him for a moment, then took a bite, mostly to have another few seconds to think. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Think what you want, but I’m still right,” he said, finishing his meal. “Thanks for the sopaipillas, Ella. I don’t know what Mrs. Curley does to her fry bread, but she’s the best cook around.”

  “Coming from you, that’s a huge compliment,” Ella said, knowing that Teeny was a master chef. She’d tasted some of his creations, and they were second to none.

  “I’ll go make that call now. Give me a few minutes,” he said, rising from the table.

  Teeny walked into the next room, closed the door behind him, and Ella and Justine ate in silence.

  He came back ten minutes later and gave her a thumbs-up. “Selina said okay. I also spoke to my client. Since his name is not on H’s files, he has no objection to you having the information. I’ve downloaded what H stored with that online backup service onto a flash drive for you. For future reference, his password is ‘19Hosteen70,’ all lowercase except for the H,” he said. He handed her the flash drive and a folder containing several sheets of printouts.

  “I also printed out something I think you’ll find particularly interesting,” he said, continuing. “He made a list of missing county inventory, including some serial numbers. In addition to that, you’ll find the names of county employees who have direct access, or supervise those who had access to the inventory. The list includes warehouse employees, the sheriff, county commissioner, unit leaders, and their various office staffs. In that same file I also found the name of those civilians known to have purchased stolen items. Most were returned to the county once the buyer discovered they were hot.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate this.”

  “Pay particular attention to the name at the top. You might have noticed in the past that H arranged lists in order of significance, not alphabetically. Billy O’Donnell is out of your jurisdiction, so you may need county cooperation, but he’s worth checking out closely. He runs a huge retail store—almost a warehouse, located between Farmington and Bloomfield. The Emporium offers almost anything and everything you can think of—new or used. The county cops have been keeping a close eye on that place for months now because they suspect it’s an outlet for stolen property. No one’s been able to prove anything, though.”

  “Did H have any evidence against O’Donnell?”

  “If he did, it went to the grave with him,” Teeny said.

  “Which may explain why he was killed,” Ella said.

  “Thieves aren’t necessarily murderers,” Teeny said.

  Ella nodded slowly. “True, but skinwalkers are both.”

  “I can’t shake the feeling that H was killed because he saw someone or something he shouldn’t have,” Teeny said.

  “At first I thought that, too, but now I’m thinking he may have been set up,” Ella said.

  “Like you and Big Ed were when you came under fire?”

  Ella looked up at him quickly. “How—?”

  He held up one hand. “Come on, of course I heard. People know and trust me.”

  She shouldn’t have been surprised. Teeny had sources all over the reservation. “Are there any rumors about who may have been responsible for that shooting incident?”

  “No, not a peep, and I’ve been pushing,” he said. “Go check out O’Donnell. Greed’s always a motive, and good ole Billy knows a lot of Navajos.” He walked with them to the door. “One last thing. I have it on good authority, via a woman deputy, that he finds ladies who carry a badge a real turn-on.”

  Ella rolled her eyes. “Good to know. Thanks.”

  As they went back outside, Justine glanced at Ella. “I’ve met a few guys who are really into women cops, but I’ve never understood the attraction. Is it the idea that they could dominate an authority figure?”

  “I’m not sure, but to be fair, plenty of women find the idea of a male police officer a turn-on, too. Maybe it’s the opposite of what you just said—wanting to be dominated by what they consider an alpha personality.”

  “I’m no shrink, but what’s the big deal? If that’s your thing, you can buy a real-enough-looking badge on eBay, pin it on any guy or woman you want, and play ar
ound.”

  “Role-playing versus the real thing?” Ella laughed. “Our problem is that we deal with the reality of the job on a daily basis. It’s hard to even want to envision a fantasy around something you know so well.”

  As they pulled out of Teeny’s compound, Justine at the wheel, Ella glanced over. “Head for Blalock’s office next. I’ll call him on the way.”

  While Justine drove, Ella texted Dan, telling him that she had the names she needed. Right after that, she called Blalock.

  Special Agent Blalock answered his phone after the third or fourth ring, then growled his name.

  “Is it that bad a day?” Ella asked.

  “Computer problems, Clah,” he snapped. “The thing keeps locking up on me. I’ve rebooted three times today already. It’s making me crazy.”

  “Let me guess. You still haven’t hired a new office assistant?”

  “Not yet. I’m thinking of leaving that to the next resident agent. You know I’ll be fifty-seven soon, which means mandatory retirement in the FBI. I could apply for a couple of years’ extension, sure, but why postpone the inevitable?”

  “So, have you figured out what you’ll do next? Join a security firm? Set up a business?”

  “Hell no. I’m ready for a little Dwayne time. I’m going to remodel half of the garage into a train room and build a replica of the Georgetown Loop. That’s an old mining line west of Denver. My grandfather worked as an engineer there. Dad and I would drive up from time to time to see the depot, and Grandpa would tell me stories about the place.”

  “I never realized you were into all that.”

  “I love everything to do with the rails, and now I’ll finally have the opportunity to indulge myself. Ruthann is going to help with the construction and scenery.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Ella said, knowing how close Dwayne and his wife were, now that they’d found each other again and remarried.

  “But that’s not why you called. How soon will you be here?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  After Ella hung up, she stared out the passenger window for a while, noting how different the landscape was from when she was a kid. Everything was changing. Almost everyone she knew was moving in a new direction.

  “What’s up?” Justine asked, looking over.

  She told Justine what Blalock had said. “I’ve never had a hobby like that, something I want to do but just never had the time. My life’s always been centered around my family and police work.”

  “You love horseback riding.”

  “Yeah, I enjoy that, but a few hours a week is enough for me.”

  “Maybe your problem is that you don’t have a grand passion outside your family.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Ella said. “It’s investigative work. I like digging for answers, interviewing witnesses, and trying to get into someone else’s head so I can solve the puzzle. It gives me an incredible sense of accomplishment and it’s one helluva rush.”

  “You were born to be a cop, Ella,” Justine said .

  “No, you’re wrong,” she said after a beat. “What I love most about our work isn’t necessarily tied to my badge.”

  “In that case, I hope O’Donnell doesn’t fantasize too much about you.”

  Ella burst out laughing. “Drive, partner, and keep your mind on the road.”

  They soon arrived at Blalock’s office, located in Shiprock on the northern mesa among various tribal agency buildings. He was standing behind the computer terminal, checking connections as they entered the cool, air-conditioned office.

  “Can I help?” Justine asked as Blalock looked up.

  “If you get this thing to stay up and running, I’ll adopt you, Officer Goodluck.”

  Justine laughed. “Let me take a look.”

  “While she’s doing that, I need to talk to you,” Ella said, then sat atop an adjacent empty desk. Though it had been originally intended for a second resident agent, none of the ones who came had ever stayed for more than a few years. This wasn’t the kind of field assignment most young agents wanted, particularly those intent on climbing that proverbial career ladder.

  Ella told Blalock about her conversation with Teeny. “I want to interview Billy O’Donnell regarding possible crimes on the Rez and in county, and you’re the only one here with joint jurisdiction. I need you to be there, Dwayne.”

  “No problem.”

  “You can try to boot up your network again,” Justine said. “Your ethernet cable has been damaged and has probably been cutting out. I think it got pinched between the wall and the desktop and the insulation wore off. I straightened out the kink, but you need to replace it or your Internet will be coming and going.”

  “Thanks,” Blalock said, then started searching through desk drawers. After a few minutes, he brought out a yellow cable in a plastic bag. “Will this work?”

  “That’s the one. Let me switch out the cables for you,” Justine offered, taking the bag.

  A few minutes later, Blalock nodded and sat back in his chair. “Finally. I’ll print out the file I need, then we’ll go.”

  They left in two separate vehicles and, forty-five minutes later, pulled into the large asphalt parking lot in front of the Emporium. The front had been designed like an Old West general store, with a false second story. Facing a major intrastate highway, this was clearly an attempt to appeal to the tourist trade, not just county residents.

  Once they were inside, Ella looked around, circling the inside perimeter of the main display area while Blalock introduced himself to the clerk and asked to see the owner. Seeing an open doorway on one side of the hall, Ella positioned herself at an angle so she could see inside the small room. On a table with a photo-studio-type curtain backdrop rested a Native American clay pot decorated in grays and black. A camera on a tripod, flanked by two lights on stands, was aimed at the object.

  Ella stepped into the hallway and took a closer look, trying to recall if there had been any reports at department briefings of museum thefts or pieces stolen from private collectors. The pot on the table looked really old and genuine, at least to her untrained eye.

  As she crossed the hall, a man coming out of the next room saw her. He turned around in a flash and headed toward a door at the opposite end of the hall.

  “Stop!” she said. “Police.”

  The man doubled his pace.

  “Runner! Cover the rear,” Ella called out to Justine.

  As the man ran outside, Ella raced down the hall. Help was already on its way. She could hear Blalock’s heavy footsteps right behind her.

  By the time she reached the loading dock, the man had jumped onto ground level and was running toward the far corner of the building.

  THIRTEEN

  Justine was waiting in ambush. She appeared from around the corner and tripped the man as he cut the corner, knocking him to the ground.

  When Ella and Blalock caught up, the suspect was already lying facedown on the ground. Justine handcuffed him and began reading him his rights.

  “No tribal cops have jurisdiction here!” he yelled. “This is San Juan County, not a reservation.”

  “I’m Special Agent Dwayne Blalock of the FBI, and you’re under arrest for fleeing an officer and possibly theft,” he said. “What’s your name?” he asked as Ella helped Justine haul the thirty-something Anglo to his feet.

  “I’m Billy O’Donnell.” He was wearing a Western-cut short-sleeved dress shirt, blue jeans, and a wide leather belt with a big silver and turquoise buckle. His boots looked expensive, either snake or alligator. “I’m not a thief, I’m the owner of the Emporium.”

  “Then why did you run?” Blalock asked. “The lady identified herself as a police officer. We all heard.”

  “At the time, I didn’t believe her. I saw three people come into my business carrying guns,” O’Donnell said smoothly. “I thought I’d better take off and call the cops.”

  “The phone inside doesn’t work?”

  “I had to get away be
fore I could call, didn’t I?”

  “So you fled because you wanted to protect your customers and employees,” Ella said. “That’s your story?”

  “You understand me perfectly,” O’Donnell said.

  Blalock laughed derisively. “Better than you realize, buddy. Let’s go inside. We need to talk.”

  “You have no right to keep me cuffed,” O’Donnell said. “Not unless you’re charging me with something.”

  “Evading an officer is at the top of my current list, but we’ll uncuff you,” Blalock said, and gave Justine a nod. “If you try to run, your next stop will be the county jail. You get me?”

  “Sure,” he said as the cuffs came off. “My office?”

  O’Donnell led the way to a large room at the far end of the building. A beautifully crafted mahogany desk had been carefully positioned opposite a window with a view of the river valley and mesas rising to the south. Closer to the center of the room was a comfortable-looking brown leather couch and several matching leather easy chairs.

  “Nice setup,” Ella said.

  “I never settle for second best. You only live once, pretty lady,” he said, giving her a wink.

  Ella suppressed the urge to punch him. “Then why risk spending some of that precious time in jail for dealing in stolen merchandise?”

  His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “I thought I’d settled all that nonsense last month. I admitted using poor judgment buying those laptops at the flea market. I had no idea they were stolen.”

  “Forget the laptops. I’m talking about that pottery in the back room, the jug you’re set up to photograph,” Ella said. “Do thieves issue four-color catalogs to their buyers now?”

  “That’s a private room. You have a search warrant?” he clipped.

  “The door was open, Einstein, and what I saw was from the customer area. If you wanted it to remain private, you should have closed the door. I now have all the probable cause I need,” Ella said. “I’m very familiar with the laws dealing with antiquities. Are you? Give yourself a break and tell us about that artifact.”