“Why did you run?” Blalock demanded.
“I didn’t know you were cops. I owe money to the pueblo casinos and I thought you guys were here to collect.”
“Try the truth,” Ella said.
“I want a lawyer,” he answered.
“Okay, play it your way,” Blalock said. “Makes my life easier, turning you over to Homeland Security. The bombing of a school . . . well, that goes under the category of terrorism.” Blalock shrugged.
“No, wait a minute,” he said quickly. “Terrorist? No way, man. I’m a good American.”
“Thing is, Ernest, you’ve got access to explosives. In fact, you’re the one who buys them for Valley Construction, and we know there’s a big discrepancy between what was ordered and what Gary Ute has on hand. Since he doesn’t order the explosives—you do—that makes you a person of interest,” Blalock said. “Hey, don’t worry. I hear Guantanamo isn’t all that hot this time of year.”
“No, listen, you can’t turn me over to the military. I’ve got nothing to do with that bombing. I just do a little business on the side, that’s all.”
“What kind of business?” Ella snapped, urging him back down the mountain.
“A lot of small construction companies on the Rez are subcontractors on bigger jobs. Problem is, they don’t have the permits they need to get explosives that’ll cut away a hillside or break loose stubborn rocks. That’s when they come to me. I provide them with small amounts of both explosives and detonators—just enough to do the job,” he said, then added, “We make a small profit, that’s all.”
“Meaning you and Gary Ute?” Ella pressed.
“Well, um, Gary’s doing real well for himself, and subcontractors get paid, too, so actually I’m picking up the extra money. That way Gary doesn’t have to give me a raise.”
“How noble of you,” Ella said. “Then Gary approves of this little side operation—which, of course, is illegal?”
“I never told him about it. I work long, hard hours, and I never complain. I figure it all balances out in the long run.”
“You’re a treasure,” Blalock spat out.
As Ella loaded him into the back of the tribal SUV, Gary Ute came over. Once the prisoner was secure, Ella told Gary what they’d learned.
“That piece of slime,” he said, his fists clenched. “I trusted him, and now he’s going to rain down all kinds of crap on my company.”
“We’ll need to track down the people he sold the explosives to, but you’ll probably be cleared of any charges. He’s already admitted that you were in the dark about this. Unless we discover otherwise, you’ll undoubtedly keep your license,” Ella said.
“Will I need an attorney?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t hurt to provide initial representation for him and yourself in order to protect your company, but from what we’ve heard so far, it’s likely he’ll be the only one going down. You’ll be called to testify against him, though,” she responded.
“No problem,” he said, understandably relieved.
On the way back to the station, Ella noted that Blalock’s color and breathing were normal now.
“I’m going to have to start working out again,” he muttered.
“If you want a jogging partner, I’d be glad to come along.”
“Great. You’re bound to have enough breath left over to call the paramedics,” Blalock said, laughing.
NINETEEN
Ella and Blalock split a can of soda while taking a break in Ella’s office. They’d wanted to let Haske wait—and worry—before questioning him.
After thirty minutes they went into the interrogation room, and found Haske eager to cooperate.
Ella slid a notepad and pen across the desk. “You can start by giving me a list of your customers.”
“They’re all legitimate businesses.” He wrote down four names and the companies they worked for, then pushed the notepad back to Ella. “I was making their lives a little easier, that’s all. Permits cost money. This way, they saved some, I made some, and nobody got hurt.”
Ella studied the list. She recognized all but one of the names. “Anyone else? And keep in mind that if I find out that this is incomplete, I’ll fry your butt. You get me?”
“That’s it, I swear.”
Ella reached into the file she’d brought in and pulled out Whitefeather’s photo. It had been cropped so that only his face showed. “Do you recognize this man?”
He studied the photo, then leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Don’t know him.”
“Take another look,” Blalock said.
Haske did as he asked, and then shook his head once again.
“I recognize three of the names and the companies on your list, but not this last one,” Ella said. “I’ve never heard of Jim Nafus or Roadrunner Construction.”
“Guy’s an Anglo. He works off the Rez.”
“So how did you two hook up?” Ella asked.
“He used to work for Valley Construction as a day laborer. We sometimes need extra help, so we hire temporary workers.”
“How often did you sell explosives to Nafus?”
He considered the question for several moments. “I think I’ve sold to him twice. He’s the new foreman at Roadrunner Construction. They’ve got a small operating budget and low credit, so he was looking for ways to save the company money up front.”
“We’ll be back in a few minutes.” Ella stood and signaled Blalock. “See if you can remember anything else. If you do, write it down.”
Blalock met her out in the hall. “What’s up?”
Seeing Justine farther down the hall, Ella called her over. “Forget about seeing Kim Mike at all today. I want you to check out Jim Nafus and Roadrunner Construction,” Ella said, then motioned Blalock back to her office. “I’m trying to figure out the best way to proceed with Haske,” she said, still standing, but offering him a seat.
“What have you got in mind?” Blalock responded, sitting and putting his feet up on her desk.
“With his access to explosives, Haske might be an asset we can turn. . . .” Before she could continue, Justine came to the door.
“I couldn’t find Nafus or Roadrunner in the phone book. I’ll need a little more time.”
“Okay. Think in terms of a small company—and new. Check with the phone company and county records.”
As Justine walked away, Blalock spoke. “Haske would be a great asset, but let’s give him a few more minutes to worry before we offer him a deal.”
A moment later Justine ducked her head into Ella’s office. “I just got a call from Betsy at the Save More. Whitefeather’s there. He’s driving an oversized white truck, but she can’t see what make it is from where she’s standing. She did notice that it has a PAL, Police Athletic League, sticker on the rear bumper. If we hurry, we might be able to get there before he leaves.”
“Let’s go,” Ella said. “Blalock and I will ride together. You take another unmarked and we’ll work in tandem so he can’t make us.”
Seeing Anna coming out of the lab, Ella went over to meet her. “We’ve got Ernest Haske in room B. If we’re gone for more than thirty minutes, offer him a cup of coffee and a bathroom break, then put him back in the interrogation room. Tell him we’re checking out his story.”
“No problem.”
Ella and Blalock were back in his sedan five minutes later. “Tailing a suspect at night is going to be tricky,” he said.
“That’s why I’m getting Justine’s help. We’ll have to stick close.”
“What part do you think Whitefeather plays in all this?” Blalock asked. “You think he could have planted the bomb and been the shooter in both incidents?”
“He certainly has the skill levels necessary, and his position of trust would give him some latitude and access. The night of the attempted break-in at Ford’s house, Deputy Whitefeather showed up almost immediately, then admitted being one of the officers who helped at the bomb scene earlier. No better way
than that to get a close look at the results. The county lab also insists he never signed over the bullet I recovered from Ford’s porch. Being Navajo, he might have a serious problem with the power plant, nuclear or not,” she answered. “But what’s really bugging me is that Ford can’t remember where he first met him. My instincts tell me we’re missing an important connection.”
“Trust your instincts. If it happened during Tome’s previous occupation, that could be a motive for the attacks—not Ford’s code-breaking efforts. Whitefeather may have had no problem remembering Ford. Have you been able to find any connection between Whitefeather and Dr. Lee, romantic or otherwise?”
“Not so far, but your speculation about Ford and Whitefeather intrigues me. We’ll have to follow up on that. Without a motive, we can’t be sure, but at this point we’ve got more reason to suspect Whitefeather than we do anyone else who fits the profile.”
“Which makes it even more important that we find out where Whitefeather lives,” Blalock observed.
“Yeah. I’m also trying to find out what clan he belongs to, or anything else that’ll give us some personal information about him. Unfortunately, we can’t get access to his personnel files without turning too many heads.”
“I’m guessing you asked your family to ask around? The Navajo network?”
She nodded. “It was the best way of making off-the-cuff sounding inquiries that wouldn’t necessarily get back to him.”
He nodded slowly.
“In fact, let me call my mother right now and see if she’s got something for me.” Ella tried her mother at home and Rose picked up on the third ring.
“You sound kind of winded, Mom, are you all right?” Ella asked quickly.
“Yes, daughter, I’m fine. I ran to the phone, that’s all. I just got back from my Plant Watchers meeting.”
“Anything on the person I asked you about?” she asked, avoiding the name this time.
“Your brother and I know just about everyone on this part of the reservation—if not individually, we can usually link them to their clan. It’s part of being Navajo and knowing that we’re all connected. But this man is a complete stranger to us.”
Ella heard Clifford’s voice in the background. “What about my brother? Did he have better luck?”
Her mother asked, and Ella heard Clifford’s negative reply. “We’ll keep trying, daughter,” Rose said.
“Thanks, Mom. Thank my brother, too.”
“Are you coming for dinner?”
“Probably not. Just leave a piece of tamale pie in the fridge and I’ll get it when I come home.”
Ella hung up and glanced at Blalock. “A Navajo without family or a clan is almost an impossibility. Clans include second and third cousins and so on. I can’t even imagine not being able to track him down through his relatives.”
They crossed the river on the old steel trestle bridge, heading west. As they rounded the curve in the highway, now running north and south, Ella could see the Save More on the right, just ahead. Blalock slowed as a big white Ford pickup pulled out onto the highway, headed south.
Ella’s cell phone rang with Justine on the line. “He’s on the move,” she said. “Betsy just called.”
“We’ve got him. We’ll follow, then let you pick him up if he makes a turn. At least we’ve got some go-home traffic to blend in with.”
Blalock stayed well behind the truck, focused on the taillights ahead. When the truck turned west on Highway 64, Blalock was forced to brake hard for a car pulling out in front of him.
“Damn. The headlights blinded me for a sec. Where’d he go? He didn’t know he had a tail. I’d stake my life on it,” Blalock said, making the turn and peering ahead.
Ella looked off to the left. The parking lot by the high school was nearly full, and two cars ahead of them had stopped in traffic, waiting for a chance to turn onto campus. “There’s a summer league playoff game tonight. Maybe he slipped in while we were occupied. I don’t see him farther down the highway.”
“It’s either that or we lost him,” Blalock muttered, then in a more hopeful voice, added, “Unless those taillights down the road are his. . . .”
Ella contacted Justine again on the cell phone. Whitefeather was a police officer and if he had the right equipment in his car he could listen in on police frequencies and monitor their communications. “How close are you? We lost visual on the subject.”
“I’m passing the Save More. You want me to go south, or turn west on ’64? I can race ahead and maybe catch up to him.”
“Forget south. He either went west or ducked onto the high school grounds,” Ella said. “We’ll pull off at the gas station just past the campus and keep watch. You drive on and see if he managed to get way ahead. We’ll keep an eye out for anyone coming out of the school parking lot. No one leaves playoff games early. If he turned in there, he’ll have to come back out this way.”
Ella closed up the phone and glanced at Blalock. “If he didn’t spot us, and we’re right about that—”
“We are,” Blalock said interrupting her.
“Then he’s one cool, careful customer.”
“Yeah, one with something to hide,” Blalock said. “He’s working real hard to make sure he’s not followed, that’s for sure.”
As they waited, Ella reached up and touched her badger fetish. It felt cool to the touch. Seeing Blalock looking at her, she placed her hand back on her lap. There was no way she was going to try and explain to him how that worked. She couldn’t even explain it to herself.
They’d only been waiting about five minutes when Justine called. “White Ford pickup, coming your way. It just passed me, moving east on ‘64.”
“Got him,” Ella said, seeing the truck in the glare of the streetlights as it stopped at the red light. When the light changed, it turned left, heading back into Shiprock. Blalock was quick enough getting back on the highway to also make the light, taking a yellow, and keeping Whitefeather in sight.
They followed him back through Shiprock, allowing a vehicle to pass them and provide a screen, yet going slow enough for Justine to close the distance from behind. When Whitefeather turned north onto the Cortez Highway, they followed at a distance, allowing the streetlights to help keep the pickup visible.
Twenty minutes later, north of Shiprock on the open highway, Whitefeather turned left opposite the Black Bear Trading Post. He then drove west up a dirt road that led to several small residences.
“I can’t follow. He’ll see our headlights for sure. We’ll turn into the trading post parking lot and keep watch,” Blalock said.
“You make the turn and see where he went,” Ella told Justine. “Stay on line.”
They waited, watching the fading taillights. Then Justine arrived, making the turn.
A few minutes passed before Justine spoke again. “He made a U-turn at the end of the road and is coming back to the highway. I’ll have to turn into one of the driveways.”
A few seconds later, Justine spoke again. “He just passed by, but he slowed down to take a look at my unit. I think he made me.”
“Okay, in case he’s still watching, get out of your vehicle and walk toward the residence, like you’re visiting. We’ll pick him up once he reaches the highway again,” Ella said, ending the call.
Blalock and she were soon heading back down the highway, south toward Shiprock. They stayed well back, giving Whitefeather lots of room. It was easy keeping him in sight. The desert in that stretch of road was particularly barren, punctuated only by a few tall, isolated columns of rock, east of the highway, remnants of an ancient mesa.
About halfway back to Shiprock, Whitefeather turned east, driving quickly up a dirt track that led to a small dwelling in the middle of the plain.
Blalock who’d maintained his speed to protect their surveillance, glanced at his instrument panel, then set the trip meter as they passed the turn-off. “My guess is that’s his final destination. I say we back off for now, then come take a closer look to
morrow, when he’s at work. Just make sure that on her return trip, Justine verifies Whitefeather really settled in for the night and isn’t waiting us out.”
“Good plan. With the terrain and a rising moon, it’ll be almost impossible not to give ourselves away if we try getting any closer.”
“I’m sure that’s why he chose that place,” Blalock answered.
Ella informed Justine of the situation and their plans, then ended the call. “When we get back to the station, I’ll find out if he rents or owns this house,” Ella told Blalock.
“I thought no one could own a house on the Rez,” Blalock said.
“You can own a house, but the land belongs to the tribe.”
“Once we’re back at the station, we need to start working on Haske again. He’s been cooling his heels for over an hour,” Blalock said, his eyes on the road. “And remind me to check the trip meter to see exactly how many miles it is to where Whitefeather turned off the last time. Otherwise, you might have trouble checking on the right house.”
Ten minutes later, Blalock and Ella entered the station and headed down the hall.
As they passed Anna’s office she came out to meet them. “Justine asked me to track down Jim Nafus and Roadrunner Construction. I searched for new permits issued off the Rez and here, and did a full search. A lot of businesses have the word roadrunner in their name, but there’s no Roadrunner Construction listed. Same thing with Jim Nafus. The man has no driver’s license and no Social Security number. I searched several databases and got zip.”
“Thanks,” Ella said. The news didn’t come as a total surprise, but she had no intention of giving up on that lead yet.
By the time they entered the interrogation room, Haske was pacing nervously. “What took you guys so long?”
“Is there a problem?” Ella asked cooly. “We had to verify some of the names you gave us.” She glanced down at the cup on the table. “I see you got some coffee.”
“Yeah, one of your officers came in, but that was a long time ago,” he said, showing her his empty cup. “I was going to start banging on the door next. I thought you’d forgotten I was here and went home.”
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