by Aimée Thurlo
“Whoa!” Justine exclaimed suddenly, maneuvering their vehicle around a large boulder that had washed off the hillside and into the one-lane road. It had been barely visible, even with the windshield wipers at high speed.
“To hell with this, I’m pulling over now until the downpour subsides. I’m not used to rain this heavy,” Justine grumbled, slowing and watching over to her left. “Help me look, will you?”
“Right,” Ella added, hearing the beat of water on the hood and roof of the vehicle. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Hang on.” Justine touched the brake lights and pulled over as far as possible but suddenly there was an increase in the glare from behind. “Go ahead, you bas—”
Justine’s curse was cut off by a loud thump on the hood of their car. Ella saw something red hit the hood, bounce off the windshield right in front of her, then pass over the car, landing somewhere behind them in the road.
Their unit slid to a stop. “Call it in,” Ella yelled, jumping out into the rain to see what had struck them.
The rain was freezing and Ella began shivering, but it was the scent of gasoline that got her heart beating overtime. “Turn off the engine,” she shouted back at Justine.
Looking over at the windshield, she saw a thin stream of clear, pungent liquid that was obviously not water flowing down the glass. Turning, Ella spotted the outline of a plastic gasoline container lying by the side of the road.
“I smell gasoline,” Justine yelled across the hood of the car. “Did we break a fuel line?”
“No, that idiot hit us with an open gas can when he passed by. Talk about road rage!” Ella yelled back.
“At least the rain will wash it off.” Justine looked back toward where the red container was resting, now in the stream of muddy water flowing beside the inside slope of the road.
“You don’t suppose that was Benally?” Ella yelled, ignoring the downpour and checking the car, looking for damage or any place the gasoline might have seeped inside.
“If so, he’s getting away. Do I risk starting the car again? One spark and we’re an instant bonfire,” Justine said.
“Use the radio, I’ll grab the container in case he left some prints. In a minute, we should be safe enough to roll.” Ella looked up into the rain, her face soaked along with her clothes. It was easy to wish she were out on the front porch at home, watching this downpour from a dry spot, a cup of coffee in her hand, like a normal New Mexican.
Neither of them had been able to read the vehicle plates, and they had no luck finding the silver pickup. Neither did the county sheriff’s deputies. But the water had washed away the gasoline, along with most of the vehicle’s wax job, and the smell was gone by the time Ella and Justine reached the reservation.
The rain was just a memory now, and the ground here, out of the mountains and over forty miles away, was dry. Though tired and uncomfortable in her still damp clothes, Ella’s thoughts remained on the case.
“I have a real bad feeling about this manhunt,” Ella said. “Despite what I told Lucas earlier, I think we’re facing a big problem. People need heroes, and stories about someone like Cardell can grow into legends in a hurry. If the pickup that doused us with gas turns out to be his, he’s also on to us in a big way, and is not above trying to stop us permanently. If we don’t get results fast, we’ll never be able to build a case against him or Lewis Hunt. Any evidence can disappear, and alibis can be bought and paid for if we give them enough time. Call Sheriff Taylor and Farmington PD and ask them to bring in Benally if they locate him. And when we get to the station, check that gas can carefully for prints. If we can lift any that belong to Cardell, Hunt can squawk all he wants and it won’t help his brother-in-law get out of this one.”
“Right. I’ll take care of it.”
“And turn up the heat, will you? I’m freezing.”
Sometime later they finally arrived at the station, their clothes dry at last. It had been a miserable, frustrating, nerve-wracking day and the next two hours didn’t improve the matter. Unable to put it off any longer, Ella had been forced to work on some overdue reports.
When she finally finished and reached for her car keys, she’d had it. It was time to go home. She’d take off early tonight and spend some time with her daughter. She wouldn’t be any good on the job if she didn’t wind down.
Ella said good-bye to Justine, who was still in her lab trying to lift some fingerprints from the textured plastic gas container. As Ella walked out to the parking lot and approached her SUV, a cold chill enveloped her. Written in the dried-up water spots of the hood was the word “chindi.”
TEN
Ella stared at the one-word message, anger building inside her. Every day she put on a badge she worked to restore order. To even imply that she was in league with the chindis was beneath contempt. This kind of attack on her—and on her integrity—infuriated her.
Justine walked up to her, followed her line of vision, then glanced back at Ella. “I couldn’t get squat from the gas container, too uneven a surface. But maybe there will be some prints here. Want me to give it a try?”
“Go ahead. I can’t press charges—this isn’t even a misdemeanor—but I’d like to know who did it. The implications go way beyond a joke or harassment—at least to me.”
As Justine went to get her kit, Ella spotted the top half of a bird feather on the ground and picked it up. There was nothing remarkable about it except for the fact that it was dusty and scuffed up. Checking the finish of the car, she saw traces of the feather on the hood. Unless she missed her guess, the perp hadn’t used his finger at all.
Fifteen minutes later they’d checked all the prints they’d lifted, but unfortunately there were no surprises. Most of the ones that had enough points to get a match belonged to either Ella or Larry Jim, the police mechanic.
“The creep used the feather,” Ella said, deep in thought, as she paced inside Justine’s lab. “We both saw traces of it on the hood. I was just hoping . . .”
“Will the type of feather tell us anything?” Justine asked. “For example, if it’s from an owl . . .”
Ella shook her head. “It’s just a pigeon feather, probably selected because it was convenient. Whoever wrote this was particularly careful not to leave prints. I’m thinking that it may have been a cop.”
Justine sat back in her chair. “It could be. Some of the new traditionalists here in the department resent the fact that you came back to work before the Sing was done. To them you’re now like a magnet for bad luck. I’ve seen many of them carrying medicine bundles. Some others have them in their pockets, out of sight, not wanting to look foolish, but not taking any chances either. To them, working around you is like being around an unexploded bomb—it’s possible nothing will happen, but if it does, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Spoken like a Christian,” Ella said with a tiny smile. Yet the knowledge weighed heavily on her. “I sure hope I don’t get into a jam where I need backup.”
“It won’t keep any of them from giving you their support, Ella. They are police officers. But don’t expect them to shake your hand or invite you out for a drink in Farmington.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “You have such a way with words, partner.”
“I calls ’em like I sees ’em.”
Ella reached for the doorknob. “Before I leave, do you know if there’s been any more reports of vandalism against the families who are for gun control?”
“Nothing’s come in so far, but since Arlene Hunt died, it’s been very quiet. By the way, Arlene was buried yesterday after a private ceremony. Her husband insisted on a funeral claiming that his wife was a modernist and would have wanted it that way.”
“I bet Arlene’s clan wasn’t too happy about that,” she said, then added, “I’m going home. And to think I was hoping to quit early!”
Ella drove south slowly down Highway 666. It was dark, but the route was so familiar she knew she could probably drive it in her sleep. Her mind wandered as she
gazed at the moonlit expanse of dry desert that descended to the river valley to her left, and rose gently toward the mountains to her right, the west.
The possibility that a fellow officer had left that message on her vehicle bothered her and she couldn’t quite put it out of her mind. She had to find John Tso and make time to have that Sing done. That was all there was to it.
As she reached the top of a long, gently sloping hill, Ella passed a billboard advertising a guided tour of Navajo cultural sites to visitors on the Rez. Suddenly there was a flash of light near the ground at the base of the sign and she heard a loud pop. The left front of the car trembled and the steering wheel pulled hard to the left, taking her over the center line. Ella gripped the wheel tightly, her heart in her throat as she looked ahead for oncoming traffic.
She knew instantly that the tire had blown out, and reacted automatically, her senses now at their peak. Resisting the urge to hit the brakes, Ella lifted her foot off the gas pedal and allowed the vehicle to slow, compensating for the pull by steering more to the right, bringing the car back over the center line into her own lane. As the car slowed quickly from the drag, she checked the rearview mirror, applied the brakes, and pulled off to the shoulder of the road.
No vehicle lights were visible in either direction, but if this had happened in traffic, she would have had real trouble avoiding a collision. Experience and her own intuition told her this hadn’t been an accident or a faulty tire. The flash of light she’d seen almost at the same time she’d heard the tire blow led her to another conclusion—someone had shot out her tire. The absence of a really loud boom also suggested the shooter had used a small-caliber weapon.
Realizing she could come under fire again, Ella scooped up her flashlight and dove quickly out of the passenger side. Crouched low, she peered back down the road from around the rear bumper. The badger fetish she wore around her neck felt hot against her skin—a sure sign of danger.
Ella brought out her pistol, then called for backup, staying low and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. When dealing with a sniper, patience was crucial. She’d expected more shots, but when none came after five minutes, she worked her way around the vehicle, this time peering out from the left front fender.
In the distance, perhaps several hundred yards away, she could hear the sound of a vehicle. It seemed to be fading, which meant the driver was moving away from her. No vehicles had passed by, so this engine noise was coming from off the main road. Ella holstered her pistol, reached for the cell phone clipped to her belt, and called Justine.
“Are you under fire now?” Justine asked quickly.
“No, and I can’t see any sign of the sniper either. I just heard what may have been a vehicle driving away, so I’m going to wait another few minutes in case it’s a trick, then move to the site where the shot was fired and take a look around.”
“Wait until I get there. There could be more than one perp. If they’re setting you up, you’ll need backup.”
The badger felt cool against Ella’s skin now and she saw a cottontail sitting up watching her from across the highway not far from the sign. “I think the danger’s past.”
“All right. My ETA is less than ten minutes.”
Ella came out from behind cover slowly. The darkness emphasized the silence, which she used to her advantage. Anyone approaching would be heard, because she intended on being as quiet as a jackrabbit. Using a penlight instead of her large flashlight to avoid spotlighting herself, she checked the front tire and confirmed her suspicions. There was a small puncture in the sidewall, but the bullet hadn’t been very large, so the air hadn’t escaped all at once. An almost instantaneous blowout from a heavy-caliber round or a shotgun could have flipped her car or caused her to lose control completely.
Ella crossed the highway quickly, then, after waiting and listening for a moment, walked over to the billboard and used the flashlight to examine the immediate area. Without more light, she could inadvertently end up obscuring evidence if she got any closer to the spot, so she stayed where she was and scanned the area with her flashlight. There was a flattened place in the dirt where someone had obviously been, and she could also see a pair of tracks leading away from the road and over a small rise. The trail led toward the spot where she’d heard the vehicle earlier, confirming her belief that the shooter was long gone.
As Ella returned to her SUV ready to change the tire, she canceled her request for backup. All she needed now was her crime-scene team.
Several minutes later, Ella pulled the damaged tire free, examined the outside, and located the small entry hole. Turning the tire over, she looked at the back of the sidewall and, unable to find an exit hole, rotated the tire. Something made a tiny thunk inside the tire casing. The bullet was still in there. That would give them something to work with.
Ella got busy replacing the tire with the spare and was just hand-tightening the lug nuts when Justine pulled up. “Tache and Neskahi are right behind me. What’s the situation?”
Ella filled her in as she lowered the jack. “He was over there on the ground just below the billboard. The bullet trajectory supports that.” Ella stood up and glanced around. “And there’s a round still inside the tire. My guess is that it came from a twenty-two,” she said, nodding to Neskahi and Tache, who’d just driven up.
“Only one shot was fired?” Justine asked.
“Yeah. He had to time it just perfectly and lead the target—which isn’t easy even at close range,” Ella said. “I wonder if this attack is connected to the one-word message written on my unit.”
“The two incidents happened within a few hours of each other, that’s true.”
“Most officers wouldn’t ordinarily pick a twenty-two caliber, but to make a difficult shot like this one—where the target is a moving car—it’s not out of the question. If I’d been attempting the same shot, I would have chosen it—or a shotgun.”
“We should also consider Cardell Benally as a possibility,” Justine said thoughtfully. “You pass by here on your way to and from home every day. Maybe he decided to find you before you could find him.”
Ella nodded slowly, speaking loud enough so the two approaching officers could hear, “I’m not high on Lewis Hunt’s favorite people list either. Maybe he sent someone after me—to throw me off the search for Cardell. If I’d had a wreck or been forced into the path of an oncoming car and put out of action, I’d be out of their hair, possibly permanently.”
“Quite a fan club you have there, boss,” Neskahi said.
As they began working the scene, they found several eight-and-a-half-size shoe prints behind the base of the billboard, and signs that a vehicle had been parked just over the next rise. There were also impressions leading to the vehicle, where the shooter had probably run right after taking the shot.
“It’s still not much to go on,” Ella said. “There wasn’t even a shell casing left behind, which means he either picked it up or was using a revolver—which would have been a really tough shot. We need more.”
She considered their options silently, then looked at Justine. “This is a bit of a long shot, but go to the closest business south of here that sells twenty-two shells. Then try to find out who has purchased a box, say within the past few days,” Ella said. “I’ll take the businesses leading into Shiprock in the opposite direction. Tache, I need you to go develop the photos you took here and see if they’ll give us any more info about the shooter—height, weight, make of shoe—like that. Neskahi, take all the light you need from the van and follow the trail the shooter took after reaching the vehicle. Any house within sight of that route will need to be visited. Interview the residents and see if they saw or heard anything we can use. Also, when you reach the highway, see if the dirt tracks on the asphalt tell you which direction he went. If you can tell for sure, go in that direction and check every house you pass for a reasonable distance.
“You’ve got it.”
“Talk to as many area residents as you can an
d find out if they’ve seen anyone walking around studying the terrain, or shooting a rifle or pistol. The sniper planned this very carefully and may have done a trial run with some dry firing, studying the angles and so forth.”
As Ella went back to her SUV, she realized that, by now, Dawn would be getting ready for bed. Once she finished questioning the clerk at the convenience store and she finally got home, Dawn would be asleep.
She took a deep breath and pushed her personal concerns aside. She had a job to do, and it was time to get to work again. At least the shooter hadn’t been gunning for her directly. If he could hit a moving tire, he could have also easily taken a shot at her head. The shooter had either wanted to put her out of action or else scare her silly. But obviously didn’t know much about her. All he’d succeeded in doing was pissing her off.
Although Ella spoke to everyone, even the regulars who stopped by to get their oversized soft drinks or snow cones on the way home, no one had seen anyone rabbit hunting or just hiking around the hillsides that bordered the highway.
By the time she got back into her unit, Ella was tired, frustrated, and angry. It was nearly nine o’clock and she still hadn’t had any dinner.
Going home in her current mood didn’t seem like such a good idea, so she reached for the card Emily—Sergeant Marquez—had given her and dialed her cell.
Emily answered on the first ring.
“It’s Ella Clah. I’m just getting off work but I’m not ready to go home. Do you want to meet me for a late dinner in Farmington?”
There was no hesitation. “You know what? I’d love to. I’m just getting off work myself. I’ve been filling out reports and I’m ready to go nuts.”
Ella had no doubt now that they were kindred spirits. “Do you have a favorite spot?” Ella asked, suddenly looking forward to this.