“Your gut feelings are legendary, Ella, but the hard truth is that, without evidence, you’ve got zip. You can’t rule FB-Eyes out.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve also got a good idea who’s really behind this game and, if I’m right, we’re going to be facing a world of problems.”
“Let me guess. The suit who came to visit?” he asked, reading her mind.
“Yeah, Simmons. It fits once you put the pieces in the right order. His job requires him to come up into the area from time to time. It would explain why he has been keeping such a low profile recently, deliberately finding reasons to get out of the area and build an alibi, meanwhile getting all the news on the progress of the search. The attempts to slow me down didn’t begin until after we got that phone call proving Thomas was still alive. Only a few people know about that, and I trust everyone who got that information—except Simmons.”
“He must have told Krause about the call right after I told him,” Ella continued. “And they gave Melvin and maybe someone else the job of distracting me. But one thing at a time. First, I want to go to the address Melvin gave us. I need confirmation, and the neighbors must have seen somebody besides the woman come and go. We need to link Simmons physically with the other suspects.”
“I hope for Thomas’s sake that he’s being kept there. If we don’t find him soon …” He let his words trail off knowing Ella would be able to fill in the blanks.
“Don’t count him out yet,” Ella said. “It’s far from hopeless. My guess is that they don’t have him yet—that he’s still out there down a mine shaft. You often hear about people being found alive after being buried in earthquakes for up to a week, sometimes longer,” Ella snapped.
“Be careful, Ella. This case is really getting under your skin.”
Ella nodded. “I know what it’s like to be trapped in a dark place. I was buried alive, Teeny. My memories are all the motivation I need to keep me going.”
Ella drove back to Shiprock, met with Justine less than thirty minutes later at the station, and told her about Melvin Rainwater’s latest revelations.
“That’s scary, having to add an FBI agent to our list of suspects. I sure hope Blalock isn’t involved,” Justine said.
“Me too, and it’s hard not thinking about that, but we really need to focus on finding the missing agent. We’ve got to check every lead.”
But Ella, Agent Thomas said he was in a dark place, “Justine reminded.”How could that be an apartment?”
“His cell phone cut out. Maybe they locked him a closet or someplace like a basement or crawl space where his signal was blocked, and he just didn’t get a chance to tell us exactly what he meant. Or maybe his injuries are affecting his thinking.”
“But why would they keep him alive?”
“Maybe in case they needed leverage to make their getaway,” Ella suggested. “In the long run he’d be a liability, so if they do have him, I doubt they’d keep him alive indefinitely. But considering what our other sources have said, and the possibility that Simmons is involved, I tend to believe that they don’t have him at all. He may have escaped, then gone into hiding and be unable to move or contact anyone. He’s been neutralized in one sense, but is still a danger to them as long as he’s still alive. That would fit in with the roadblocks they keep putting in our way. Simmons, Krause, Rainwater … they want to find him first. But that’s not going to happen. Let’s get going and check out that apartment.”
“And what about FB-Eyes—Blalock?” Justine asked. “What if he’s the one that’s dirty?”
“Justine, you’ve known him almost as long as I have. No way he’s dirty. He’s a straight arrow, bending only enough to work around our culture. If he were the resident agent anywhere else but the Rez, he’d play it by the book all the way,” Ella said. “He’s just being set up to take the fall.”
“By whom?”
“The only one with the clout to deliver the protection Krause is paying for is Simmons. He’s got the power and the know-how, and by remaining a discreet distance away from the situation he covers his own back very effectively. Think about it—it’s brilliant. Should the scam burst open and the fact that an FBI agent is involved come to light, Blalock would go down for the crime while Simmons walks away smelling like a rose. Simmons not only gets to keep the money but he also eliminates Blalock, who’s been a thorn in his side. Thomas, though, who may have gotten too close to the truth, had to be taken out of the picture permanently.”
“The pattern comes together. It fits.”
“This theory would also explain why Simmons didn’t get directly involved in the search for Thomas even though he obviously doesn’t think much of the tribal police department’s capabilities. He didn’t want Thomas to be found alive. He could have backed out of his trip to Washington and stayed on the case, but instead he gave it to someone he believes is inept—me. He’s convinced I’ve been promoted well beyond my own abilities, he made that clear already.”
“His attitude could be his downfall, then. Simmons keeps underestimating us. But he’s coming back now, right?”
“Yeah, but he’s certainly taking his time getting here. There was no need to run off to Flagstaff except to give himself an alibi while Melvin and Krause do his dirty work. If Simmons was really interested in finding Thomas, he’d be here. My guess is when he finally arrives, he’ll probably do his best to make sure his agent stays lost.”
“It’s a good theory, Ella, and the timing fits, but without real physical evidence that’s all it is—a theory. We’ve got nothing to point specifically to anyone except Rainwater and Krause, and even so, we have to establish the social security scam with solid physical evidence.”
“So let’s get busy. I’m going to the apartment Melvin told me about and see who really lives there. Maybe I’ll take a look around, too. If Melvin’s lying again, it won’t take long to prove it. But I could use your help.”
“Of course. But we’ll need a sneak-and-peek warrant. Didn’t Simmons say he had a magistrate advised that we might be needing a quick search warrant?”
“Yeah, but Simmons told me I had to go through him, and I don’t want to tip him off. Once we give him more details he’ll know how close we are. How about I call your grandfather instead? We didn’t give him the specifics on our earlier request, so we can say this was it. And if I can get Sheriff Taylor’s cooperation, it’ll take care of jurisdictional problems. Also call Tache and talk him through whatever steps he needs to take to get us the name and background of the person renting the corner apartment,” Ella said. “It’ll help fill more lines on that warrant.”
“Good idea.”
“I’ll ask Sheriff Taylor to get one of his deputies to do the paperwork and drop it by. We don’t have to bring it with us. All we’ll need is confirmation,” Justine said.
While they were en route to Farmington, they made the calls on their cell phones. By the time Ella hung up, the deputy was on the way to the judge’s office.
“Things have changed a lot for us recently in law enforcement,” Justine said slowly, her eyes on traffic. “Before the Patriot Act we couldn’t have made a covert entry like this. We would have been forced to wait for more evidence and probable cause.”
“I wouldn’t have waited, not in a situation like this,” Ella said quietly. “If a life’s at stake, particularly if it’s someone in law enforcement, I’m willing to do whatever has to be done. When you were missing I took some shortcuts—had the whole police force questioning my judgement, in fact.” After a brief pause she continued. “Since my accident, it’s even more so. I don’t even hesitate because I know how fragile human life is.”
“After what you went through, I expected you to become more detached and less involved in police work. I mean, if you honestly don’t think death is the end, then why worry about things here? You know you’re just passing through.”
Ella considered her answer carefully, trying to find a way to make Justine understand. “We live here and n
ow and this is the place where we can make a real difference—to do something that’ll make everyone else’s life better. As detectives, we play our part by restoring harmony. At the moment we’re the counterbalance to those who are trying to rob Agent Thomas of his life. Even though we may not win, by fighting we stand against evil with the good we manage to do. That’s what it’s all about.”
SIXTEEN
They parked in front of a small one-story complex containing eight apartments. The unit Melvin had told them about was nearly thirty yards away and occupied one corner of the building. Although it had two more windows than most of the others, all the curtains were drawn.
“Someone might be inside,” Justine said. “It’s impossible to see or hear anything from here.”
“Right, so here’s the plan. Since it’s possible that someone who’ll recognize me is in there, I’m going to go next door and talk to the neighbor first and see what I can learn.” Ella gestured toward a woman getting out of a car parked in front of the adjacent apartment. “From her age and all the papers and books she’s juggling, she’s either a college student or a teacher.”
“Okay, I’ll keep an eye on the target apartment.”
“If anyone comes out or arrives while I’m checking the neighbor, let me know right away.”
“You’ve got it.”
Ella walked up to the door the young Anglo woman had just entered, and knocked. A tired-looking brunette in her midtwentiies answered. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders and she wore little or no makeup. Her only jewelry was a pair of small pearl earrings, and her modest-length skirt and loose-fitting sweater were consistent with a school or small business setting.
Ella flipped her badge quickly, and identified herself as a police detective, leaving out the fact that she was a tribal officer. “I need to ask you a few questions about your neighbor,” Ella said, cocking her head to the left. “May I come in?”
The woman opened the door wider, motioning for Ella to enter. The apartment wasn’t particularly messy, just dusty and cluttered, as though it belonged to someone who was seldom home except to change clothes. “Is Betsy in some kind of trouble?” the woman asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to determine. But before we go on, I’d like to ask that you keep my visit confidential,” Ella said.
“Sure,” she said, gesturing for Ella to take a seat. “How can I help you?” The books the woman had brought in were at one end of the couch, so Ella sat on the other side. Glancing down, she could see they were college-level textbooks. One had a “used” sticker on the front cover.
“Why don’t you start by telling me your name and how long you’ve lived here?”
“My name is Margo, Margo Lowry Stewart. I’ve been here for a little less than six months. I’m a student at the community college.”
“Was Betsy already living here when you moved in?” Ella would ask for Betsy’s last name later, if she got the chance. For now she’d get further if the woman assumed that she already knew more about Betsy.
“She and I hardly talk. To be perfectly honest, she’s juggling boyfriends who come over at all hours, and I’m uncomfortable with that.”
“How many men are we talking about?” Ella pressed.
“Two—that I know about. One is supersecretive. He comes over late, always after dark, and leaves early. I’ve heard his voice a few times. It’s deep and it mostly sounds like a rumble since he’s at least considerate enough to speak softly.”
“Is he Hispanic, Anglo, Native American? …”
“I’m not sure. I only saw him once, at night, and he was walking away at the time. Very confident step, but in a hurry.”
“What kind of car or truck does he drive?”
“Can’t say for sure. I was just coming back from the laundry room and had a basket load of clothes, so I didn’t stay around long enough to look. But there weren’t any pickups in the parking lot, so it must have been a car. Nobody walks around here.”
“What about the other man?”
“He only comes over when Mr. Secretive’s not around. He spends most of the time, if not all of it, drinking with her and doing whatever else. I met Betsy at the Dumpster in the morning after one of his visits, and she threw out a whole bag full of bottles and three six-pack cardboard thingies. It’s sad because she doesn’t need any encouragement to drink. She puts away at least a six-pack a day on her own. Betsy’s always half-drunk by the time it gets dark, judging from the times I’ve met her in the laundry room. She’s either really unhappy or stressed out major league.”
“What can you tell me about the second man? Size, description, race, age, stuff like that.”
“Well, I saw him getting into his SUV once, so I know he has dark hair, and is maybe a little shorter than you but weighs more. He struck me as quite a bit younger than the first guy, but I’m not sure why. Maybe it was his walk—more of a lazy killing-time, dragging-your-feet step you see a lot in young people. I was getting into my car at the time, and I didn’t want to make eye contact. The last thing I need is to attract a guy who spends all his free time drinking, you know?”
“I hear you. What kind of SUV did he have?” Ella asked.
Margo considered it for a long time. “It was a dark color, black or blue, but other than that I just don’t recall.”
“Okay. Thanks for your help, and please remember to keep my visit confidential for now.”
“I will, but I should tell you, I’d been thinking of moving out and this just cinches it. This place is already getting noisy, and there are drunks all around. Now with the police asking questions about my neighbors—that’s just too much. What if I overhear the wrong conversation? I’ll end up as a chalk outline out on the sidewalk.”
“So you do overhear some of their conversations?” Ella said picking up on it quickly.
“Pieces sometimes. But then I usually turn up my music. I listen to classical music so I can study without being distracted.”
“Have you ever heard either of the men being mentioned by name?”
Margo thought for a while, her face furrowed in concentration. “No, sorry. I can’t say I have. In fact, the only conversation I ever really overheard completely was one time when I was in my kitchen fixing breakfast. Betsy was with the second guy—the beer guy—and I heard him say something that really bugged me—that there was nothing like the living dead.” Margo shuddered. “But then I realized that he was probably just a George Romero fan.”
Ella gave her a puzzled look.
“Don’t you watch old movies? He directed some real funny classic horror flicks, like Night of the Living Dead, and Dawn of the Dead. One’s been remade recently.”
Ella gave her a blank look.
“You can rent them. They’re really a lot of fun, though I’m not sure if they were meant to be that way or not.” Margo checked her watch. “Is there anything else? I need to grab a bite to eat, then it’s back to school. I’ve still got another class today.”
“That’s all I have for you right now. Thanks for your help,” Ella said. Just as Margo opened the door, her cell phone started vibrating.
Ella brought the phone to her ear, and looked outside casually to make sure nobody was near Betsy’s apartment. If at all possible she still wanted to avoid being seen.
“Betsy Weaver is the renter’s name and she works at the county coroner’s office,” Justine said. “She’s a data-entry operator and she’s at work right now. Oh, and I checked and the details have been added to the warrant already.”
“Good, let me know when it’s ready.” Ella nodded to Margo, then headed to her unit as Margo closed the door.
“The warrant has been approved. We’ll pick it up at the station later,” Justine said as Ella reached the vehicle.
“Good.”
Ella slipped into the passenger’s seat, grabbed some latex gloves from a box attached to her sun visor, and stuffed them into her jacket pocket as she filled Justine in on what she’d learned from Margo.
“So Betsy’s the one who has been changing the names,” Justine concluded.
“I’d bet money on it. Now I’m going to check her apartment. Based on what Margo told me, I don’t think Agent Thomas is in there. She would have probably heard something if they’d been keeping someone prisoner and there are no basements in this building. But I still want to look inside the place for anything that might give us a lead. Margo said she’s leaving soon, and, when she does, I’m going to see if I can find a way in.”
“It’s four now, and Betsy will probably get off work at five. Allow fifteen minutes’ travel time from the county offices … . If you get caught inside, Betsy will know what’s going on, and we’ll be screwed.”
“I know,” Ella said calmly.
“You’ll pick the lock?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’ll check the windows first and look under that big flower pot that’s just to the left of her door. People hide keys in case of emergencies, and if she’s a heavy drinker, she would want a backup in case she misplaced hers. Or maybe she’s very hospitable and leaves one in case a boyfriend drops by.”
Margo left less than five minutes later, books and keys in her hands. As soon as the young woman drove away, Ella strolled around the side of the building, checking quickly for an open window. Finding none, she went back to the door and searched beneath the planter. There was no key hidden there or within an inch depth in the soil.
Ella brought out her small pocketknife, which had a lock-pick-type blade, as she continued glancing around for a spare key and making sure she wasn’t being watched. Then she spotted a small rock by itself in the dirt just off the concrete walkway about five feet from the door. Ella lifted the rock and saw a piece of flat aluminum foil beneath. When she picked up the foil, she immediately felt the outline of a key nestled inside it.
Ella unwrapped it, and was inside the apartment less than fifteen seconds later. The place was small, about the same size as Margo’s, and it was easy to search. The complex was relatively new, and offered few cracks, joints, and cubbyholes to hide things. Ella first looked around for photos but only found one. It featured an elderly couple on either side of a slightly overweight, pretty, dark-haired, blue-eyed woman in her early thirties. Betsy and her parents, Ella concluded, studying the image of the youngest person for a moment before moving on.
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