Ghost Medicine

by Aimée

  “So we’ll play it by the book but stay on target,” Ella said. “Search for evidence that’ll show a link between Billy and Harry.”

  “If it exists,” Blalock said. “I hate to say this, but there’s a chance all we’ll end up finding is more evidence of a stolen-property operation.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, they stood on the front porch of O’Donnell’s Bloomfield residence, a sprawling ranch house surrounded by a well-maintained lawn beneath the shade of a half dozen pine trees. County Detective Velasquez, a dark-skinned Hispanic with huge biceps, was waiting for them, warrant in hand.

  “I’ve rung the bell, pounded on the door, even circled the house and tried the back, but I can’t get a response,” he said. “I checked with our tech people back at the station, and according to them, O’Donnell’s inside.”

  “His ankle bracelet is, but maybe he cut it off and left it there,” Blalock said, banging on the door. “We have a warrant to search the property, O’Donnell,” he called out after identifying himself. “Open up or we’ll break the door down.”

  There was no answer, so Velasquez stepped up. “I’ve got this.” He kicked hard, aiming his boot heel at a spot just below the doorknob. The wood splintered and the door swung open.

  “That’s some kick,” Ella said, her pistol out now and at her side.

  “Tae kwon do—black belt,” he said, flashing a wicked grin.

  Blalock pushed his way in, pistol ready as he checked the front room. “Come on, O’Donnell. Don’t make me shoot you.”

  “No chance of that,” Ella said, pointing to the ankle bracelet that lay on the floor beneath a glass-topped coffee table. “He’s in the wind.”

  After issuing an ATL, attempt to locate, they began a thorough search of the house. An hour passed, but their efforts failed to turn up any new evidence.

  As they worked, Blalock stepped away to answer a phone call. He returned moments later. “We’ve got a lead. O’Donnell’s phone at the Emporium showed that he made several dozen calls to a burn phone, not the one that county’s holding. Mandy hasn’t been able to get anything on the phone’s owner, but each time, the call went through a cell tower in Fruitland.”

  “West of Kirtland … Isn’t that where Robert Kirk lives?” Ella said.

  “Yep. The calls reveal a pattern, too, and give us probable cause, so I’m going to ask Judge Harris for a warrant to search Kirk’s home next. If we find something, we’ll place him under arrest,” Blalock said. “Damn, I hate dirty cops.”

  As Ella went into the bedroom, where Justine was continuing to search, something shiny on the floor by the edge of the bed caught her eye. “This money clip … I gave Harry one that looked just like it,” she said, bending down to retrieve it.

  Justine came over to take a closer look. “I noticed it before. It’s sterling silver, but besides that, there’s nothing distinctive about it. Can you say for sure that it’s the same one?”

  Having overheard their conversation, Blalock hurried over. “If you could prove this was Harry’s, then we’d have the link we’ve been looking for.”

  Ella shook her head. “No, I can’t swear it’s the same one. I bought the clip at the Outpost, a trading post outside the Rez, but it wasn’t a one-of-a-kind.”

  “According to the conversation I just had with Sheriff Taylor, Sergeant Kirk’s off duty and should be at home now,” Blalock said. “You want to go pay him a visit? He won’t know we’re waiting for a warrant and we might be able to convince him to talk to us.”

  “Keep him busy till it comes in?” Ella nodded. “Good idea. With Billy O’Donnell on the run, something tells me that we need to get there quickly or we’ll be looking for two missing suspects, not just one.”

  * * *

  Ella knew that because it was possible O’Donnell had already contacted Kirk, they had to go in prepared. If the sergeant was involved in the crimes, he could decide to make a run for it, or resist being taken into custody. Although from what she’d seen that day at the range, that Kirk wasn’t that good a shot, facing a well-armed opponent was always dangerous.

  It was eight thirty, close to dark and well past sunset, when Ella and Blalock pulled into the driveway of Kirk’s modest tract home. There was a light on somewhere inside, but the room facing the front was dark.

  They parked beside a brown Jeep Wrangler loaded up with duffel bags and several suitcases. “Looks like someone is about to go on vacation,” Blalock said, gesturing to the Jeep as he stepped out of his unmarked unit.

  “Must be a road trip, I don’t see any camping gear,” Ella said, maintaining the “business as usual” tactic they’d decided upon before arriving.

  Ella walked with Blalock up the sidewalk. Though they were both wearing vests beneath their jackets, she still regretted not having argued with Dwayne when he’d decided to ignore tactical training and approach the front door together. He wanted to make it all seem more casual and avoid putting Kirk on the defensive. Yet by grouping like this, they were also easier targets.

  Although they were obviously hoping to avoid a firefight, they’d also taken steps to protect the residents. Deputies had evacuated Kirk’s neighbors, and a SWAT team was positioned behind the corner of the now-empty house to her left. A sniper was also set up across the street, behind some low junipers.

  “Once we’re done here, wanna grab a late dinner?” Blalock said, making conversation. His casual tone was in direct contrast to the intensity of his searching gaze—and the fact that his hand was inches away from his handgun.

  When they stepped up onto the front porch, Ella noticed movement behind the curtained window. “Looks like somebody’s home,” she announced pleasantly, not moving her head but showing Blalock the direction with her eyes.

  The badger fetish around her throat suddenly felt very warm. Heeding the warning, she stepped back from the door and reached down to her waist, removing her Glock.

  Blalock nodded, then rang the doorbell and also stepped back. Drawing his own weapon, he kept it at his side, down low. “Sergeant Kirk—Robert. Got a minute?”

  “Back!” Ella yelled, instantly pushing Blalock with the heel of her left hand.

  The sleeve of Ella’s jacket fluttered, and she felt a slight tug just as the left center of the door splintered from two rapid bullet blasts.

  “Down!” Blalock yelled.

  Ella sank to one knee, held her weapon out at an angle with her left hand, and fired two shots blindly into the door.

  The heavily armed and armored SWAT team came down the side of the house at a practiced jog. The lead officer was holding up a metal shield to protect himself and the three men behind him. All the officers had on gas masks and radio headsets.

  “You okay?” the fourth officer in line asked as they passed Blalock. Dwayne was prone now, his pistol aimed at the window.

  “Fine. Clah?” Blalock asked, not taking his eyes off the window.

  “I’m okay,” Ella said, staying low but inching out from the wall, hoping to provide cover for the upcoming assault.

  Two SWAT members carrying MP-5 submachine guns with attached flashlights provided cover for a third officer, who carried a battering ram.

  The officer looked at the lead officer to his right and, getting a nod, swung the ram, breaking the lock away from the jamb.

  The SWAT leader, pistol in one hand and the shield in the other, gave the door a mighty kick, and it swung open with a crunch.

  A shot went off inside, and the officer with the shield flinched as a bullet clanged against the metal shield, ricocheting off into the wall.

  Both men beside him returned fire, then advanced into the room. “Drop your weapon!” one of the SWAT team members yelled.

  There was another shot, then the sound of a door slamming.

  Ella reached the shattered entrance, Blalock behind her, and in the soft glow of a hall light saw the silhouettes of the SWAT team. All four were crouched low in the living room, their weapons trained on
a door down a short hall. The SWAT leader called for the next move via his radio link. “Tear gas, front bedroom.”

  Ten seconds passed before there was a muffled bang; then tear gas began to seep from beneath the door. Ella quickly detected the fumes, and her lungs started to react. Moving fast, she and Blalock backed out of the house and into the yard.

  Less than a minute later, they heard the sound of loud coughing, followed by several men yelling “Clear!” in succession.

  Robert Kirk, coughing and cursing, was led out of the house by two members of the SWAT team. His hands were handcuffed behind his back.

  One of the officers still inside turned on the porch and house lights, and suddenly everything became brighter.

  Kirk was ordered to lie facedown on the grass by the SWAT team leader, but seeing he was still in distress, Blalock jogged over to a garden hose coiled by a faucet. “He needs to be hosed down,” he said.

  The SWAT leader nodded his okay, and Blalock turned on the water. “Sit up and close your eyes,” Blalock told Kirk, coming closer, then spraying his face and hands with a fine mist from the sprinkler head.

  After the SWAT team’s medic wiped the prisoner’s face and arms with a cloth soaked in some kind of neutralizer, Kirk was ready to be questioned.

  Ella and Blalock were soon joined by a young sheriff’s deputy, who began reading Kirk his rights.

  “Save it for someone who cares, kid,” Kirk said, shaking his head. His eyes were red, floating in tears from the aftereffects.

  “You might want to save yourself some prison time by helping us out, Kirk. Where’s your partner?” Blalock asked.

  “If you’re looking for Billy, you’re wasting your time. He’s long gone.”

  “Where is he?” Blalock said.

  “How should I know?”

  “How long have you been selling O’Donnell county property?” Blalock demanded.

  Kirk sighed, a sad, resigned expression on his face. “A year and half, maybe two. In the beginning, it was a real sweet deal—no one got hurt, not even the department. I only removed inventory that was scheduled to be destroyed, either because it was confiscated weaponry, obsolete, or surplus. All that crap was just taking up space. I had a set of keys that gave me access, and it seemed a shame not to get rid of the stuff and make a buck. Billy’s old man didn’t have a clue what was going on.…” His voice trailed off at the end, and he shook his head slowly, clearly defeated.

  Ella looked at him curiously. Though it wasn’t fancy, Sergeant Kirk had a nice home, a decent vehicle, and, being employed and single, was probably not hurting for money. “You draw a good salary from county. Why did you risk it all like this?”

  “I gave twenty years to the department, but I never made it past sergeant. My time was almost up, so this was my last chance to score before I was put out to pasture. I wanted money to travel anywhere I chose—first class. The way I saw it, I had nothing to lose,” he said, and shrugged.

  “But why get greedy now?” Ella pressed. “You could have retired with a decent pension and taken it easy for the rest of your life. Or you could have chosen a new career. Now you’ll be going to prison.”

  “Six months—max.”

  “Not with Harry Ute’s death on your hands,” Ella said, pushing just to see how he would react.

  “You mean the Navajo PI on Billy’s trail?” Seeing her nod, he perked up and continued. “Hell, Billy and I had nothing to do with his death. Okay, we’ll cop to firebombing your unit with that cooking oil. I was the guy behind the wheel. But that was just a sideshow to misdirect the investigation of the stolen inventory. Trust me, neither of us were involved in any shooting.”

  “If that’s true, and you give us something we can use, we might be able to cut you a deal,” Blalock said. “You don’t want to go into the general population with the other inmates.”

  “Billy’s not a killer. A thief, yes, a con man, absolutely, but a killer? No way. He doesn’t have the stones.”

  “Do you?” Ella asked, continuing to push.

  “If you think I blew that PI away, you’re way off the mark. Okay, so I took stuff the county was going to end up chopping into scrap metal or recycling, but murder?” He shook his head. “No way. In twenty years, I’ve never even fired my weapon on duty. I know what it’s like to have your days cut short.”

  “I don’t follow you,” Ella said.

  “I’m dying. I’ve got pancreatic cancer. I look perfectly normal, don’t I?” He shrugged. “They found a mass, and what lies ahead for me ain’t pretty.”

  “Then why on earth did you risk the time you had left?” Ella said.

  “Don’t you want to die on your own terms? I was hoping to take the dirt nap while lying on a beach in Costa Rica. I wanted to know how the one percent lives for a month or two. You read me?”

  “Yeah. But now you’ll die in jail, or prison,” Ella said.

  “Hey, all I needed was a few more months and I’d be outta here. It was a calculated risk,” he said.

  “You should have taken longer to calculate,” Blalock said. “Where were you last Tuesday between noon and four?”

  “At the hospital, getting more tests. I spent the whole day there. You’ll have plenty of corroboration,” Kirk said.

  As the county officers led him over to a squad car, Ella and Blalock talked to the county crime team now working the scene. A big exhaust fan had been set up and was venting the gas from the interior of the house.

  Justine, who’d been with the officers covering the back, joined them inside once it was safe to enter without a mask.

  “Deputies have already found items stolen from county in two closets, including computers with altered serial numbers, four handguns, and two vests with ceramic body armor inserts,” Justine reported. “But there’s nothing here that connects him to Harry’s murder.”

  “Then there’s a third player out there, one we haven’t identified yet—maybe the shooter.” Ella examined the vests found in a box in the study. “Kirk didn’t bother wearing either of these. I think once he realized that he wasn’t getting away, his plan shifted to suicide by cop. That would have solved his biggest problem.”

  “Pancreatic cancer is particularly nasty, Ella. I had a cousin who passed away from that. Believe me, it’s a real hard way to go,” Blalock said, his voice somber. “I think that once Kirk found out what he was up against, he laid it all on the line, figuring he’d either get rich or eat a bullet. I don’t think he factored in the possibility that he’d end up in jail.”

  “All things considered, does it really matter?” Justine said. “If you’re going to die and there’s no hope, what difference does it make where you are at the time? If it was me, all I’d really want is enough morphine to be in la-la land when the reaper showed up.”

  “I’d fight every step of the way,” Ella said.

  Blalock shrugged. “There are battles you can’t win. Face it, we’re here, then we’re gone. No one checks out alive.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Once the house was searched, Justine was given permission to access Kirk’s laptop computer. Typing with gloved hands, she got down to work quickly.

  “His files aren’t encrypted,” she told Ella, “and there’s one in particular you’re going to find interesting. It has the list of items he’s taken from county, apparently for years, and it includes a lot more than what we saw on Harry’s list. Kirk even snagged an old trencher used for heavy-duty digging, a radial arm saw, and a drill press taken from a burglary raid. The rightful owners were never found, so they stayed locked up in storage.”

  “Why on earth would he keep a list like that?” Blalock asked. “That’s as good as a signed confession.”

  “Thieves rarely believe they’ll get caught,” Ella said. “Or in this case, maybe Kirk wanted people to know what he’d done after he died—a last in-your-face type of thing.”

  “Maybe,” Blalock said, “but none of this ties him directly to Harry Ute. Is it possible for us
to get a look at Ute’s actual case file? Even in the private sector, he must have had some written record of what he’d done up to the time he died.”

  “Teeny said he gave Harry plenty of space. We accessed the backups of his laptop files but there were no specifics other than what I’ve already told you about,” Ella said. “It’s possible Teeny’s got more information he hasn’t shared with me in addition to his client’s name, but legally I can’t force his hand. All I can do is go talk to him again.”

  “You’ll have better luck without me there,” Blalock said. “I’ll follow the deputies to the station and give them a statement. While I’m there, I’ll check to see if their people lifted any prints off that money clip—other than O’Donnell’s, that is.”

  About fifteen minutes later, Ella and Justine were on their way back to the Rez. It was already nearly nine thirty, but their workday wasn’t over yet. As they crossed the border into tribal land, Justine’s phone rang and she spoke to Benny briefly.

  After she hung up, Ella looked at her partner. “I didn’t hear his side, but from what you said, it sounded like Benny was upset.”

  “No, that’s not it. He knows we work long hours. He’s a police officer, too. It’s just that…”

  Ella didn’t interrupt. Long pauses were common among Navajos. She’d learned to wait.

  “He has a double standard. He can’t always call me ahead of time when he’s working a case, and I don’t sweat it, because I figure it goes with the badge. Yet when the reverse happens, like me not calling, he acts as if I’ve let him down, that I should have found a way to let him know. It’s been hours since I called and canceled dinner. He was worried, not hearing from me.”

  “If you want to keep Benny around, find a way to work it out. Ignoring the problem means it’ll stay beneath the surface and blow up when you least expect it.”

  “Is that why you’re so careful around Dan? You’re afraid your relationship will blow up in your face?” Justine said.

  “You bet,” Ella said. “He’s fun, Justine, and sexy, too, but there are a lot of things I still don’t know about him. He’s not the type to talk about his feelings over tea.”