White Thunder

by Thurlo, Aimée

  Next she went through the desk in the living room. There were no locks on the inexpensive piece of furniture. Among the usual stack of bills that had piled up she found a cell phone bill that listed at least two dozen calls made to the same number. She jotted it down, intending to cross-reference it later.

  Seeing some bank statements, Ella took a look at the opened envelopes. A fast glance revealed that Betsy had three separate accounts, all in different banks. There was a modest savings account, and regular checking with direct deposits every two weeks that Ella figured came from Betsy’s job for the county. The third account showed larger monthly deposits totally out of line with the modest earnings of a data-entry clerk.

  Ella placed the two nondescript statements back in their envelopes, but instead of placing the third with the other two, she slipped it beneath the large TV armoire. Maybe later, once she’d gathered hard evidence from the leads she’d picked up here today, she’d be able to return with a standard search warrant listing specifics. Even if Betsy managed to destroy the rest of the evidence, this one statement would hopefully remain hidden, and go unnoticed.

  Ella went to the bathroom and looked inside the cabinet. There were two sticks of deodorant, one new and unopened, the other nearly depleted. Following a burst of inspiration, she took the old canister of deodorant she found there and placed it into a plastic evidence pouch and then in her pocket. Maybe she could lift prints from it. Then she opened the new one, wiped it on her arm to make it look as if it had been used, then placed it where the old one had been.

  Her guess was that Betsy’s primary boyfriend, the one Margo had called secretive, was Simmons. He was well trained when it came to finding—or leaving—evidence, so he’d know how to avoid the latter. The other, based on the description of the dark SUV, might turn out to be Krause, though the described walk didn’t fit the funeral director, unless it was deliberately done to mislead anyone who might be watching. After all, Rainwater had followed him here. Krause and the agent had probably chosen to meet at Betsy’s so they could let her know which death certificates would need to be altered.

  Each man had his own relationship with Betsy and Ella suspected that they were both using Betsy, to one degree or another, as an informant in an effort to keep an eye on each other. Betsy, of course, was quite possibly using both of the men, too, playing them for all she could get.

  Ella made one last stop, peering into the hall closet. Inside, along with a few jackets and a coat, was a straw cowboy hat and a smaller red cap. The most interesting discovery, however, was a round mirror about eighteen inches in diameter. The near-fatal accident with Herman Cloud came to mind instantly. But if Betsy had been the one with the cap and mirror, who’d been at the wheel, Krause or Melvin? Unfortunately, this evidence would have to remain behind for now or Betsy would know someone had been in her apartment.

  Ella opened the door slightly, peered outside, then moving fast, locked the door behind her. She then wrapped the key in the foil again and placed it under the rock.

  Ella and Justine were soon on their way back to the reservation. After Ella described her search, the items in the hall closet, and the photo she’d seen of Betsy, she brought the bag containing the deodorant out of her pocket. “I really need you to try and lift prints off this deodorant canister. I also want you to check the number I picked up from her cell phone bill and find out who Betsy’s been calling.”

  “It’s the mortuary’s number. I recognize it,” Justine said.

  Ella nodded. “I had a feeling I’d seen it before. Now I’m anxious to see what the prints tell us. I wish I’d had time to dust for latents in the apartment.”

  “If we’re really lucky we’ll be able to ID both men,” Justine said, looking at the deodorant.

  “I doubt we’d be that lucky,” Ella answered. “Betsy might have smudged the other prints even if both men have used the stuff. The one Margo called Mr. Secretive could be Simmons, and I doubt he’d leave personal items behind, which explains the absence of obvious ‘men’s’ items—not even a second toothbrush. And the other guy wouldn’t leave anything because it would give him away to Simmons. But then again, you never know. Neither man wore latex gloves while inside, I’m sure.”

  “One of the things you’re really hoping to do is rule out Blalock once and for all. Am I right?”

  Ella sighed. “Yeah, but just the absence of his prints on the deodorant won’t do that. I know in my head that he’s innocent, but I need proof that either clears him or incriminates another FBI agent.”

  When they reached the station, Justine got out, holding the pouch containing the canister of deodorant. “You’re not coming in?” she asked, seeing Ella slip behind the wheel.

  “No, I’ve got some more things to check out,” Ella said. “I’ll be back later. Pick up the warrant and put it on my desk, okay? I’ll sign it later and send it on to Sheriff Taylor’s office.”

  Justine nodded. “Shall I call you on the cell if I get some prints other than Betsy’s?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As Ella drove out of the parking lot, she picked up her cell phone and called Teeny. “Anything yet?”

  “No, he’s been laying low. I think he’s scared and trying to figure out how to ditch me. Even though he can’t see me at the moment, he probably suspects I’m around.”

  “Where’s he now?”

  “Same place—the house in Fruitland.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty. I have a plan.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Ella arrived at Teeny’s truck thirty minutes later. The simple truth was that she had to start rattling some people real hard or Agent Thomas was as good as dead.

  Ella briefed Teeny quickly, then they went up to the porch together, ready to set her plan into motion. Teeny knocked, and his fist reminded her of a battering ram. The door actually shook under the impact.

  “Open up, Melvin, or we’ll break the door down,” Teeny called out cheerfully.

  Melvin came to the door a second later, opening it wide enough for even the big man to enter. “Jeez, man. It takes a few seconds to cross the room, you know.”

  Ella strolled in and made herself comfortable on the sofa, and Rainwater forced himself down uneasily onto a recliner. Teeny remained standing, taking a position close enough to grab their suspect if he made a sudden move. “Relax. I’m here to give you some good news, Melvin. You’re going to be off the hook, finally, at least concerning Special Agent Thomas.”

  “Yeah?” His expression brightened considerably and he leaned forward.

  She waited, taking her time before enlightening him. Seeing Melvin almost squirming, she finally continued. “We received a very short phone call from Agent Thomas the day all this began. We kept that piece of information under wraps until now because his cell phone lost battery power during his call and the information we had was sketchy. But now, through Homeland Security channels, we’ve managed to borrow some special equipment. It’s the same stuff they use to track cell phone conversations and locations of terrorist groups in the Middle East and Asia. This state-of-the-art hardware is able to electronically activate the GPS chip in his cell phone and get a return signal despite the fact that the battery has run down. We’ll be able to triangulate Thomas’s location—that of his phone, actually—and track him down within an hour or so.”

  Melvin leaned back, trying to look casual but having a hard time of it. “The Rez is a large place and cell phone signals get blocked all the time. How did the techno-geeks get around that?”

  Ella shook her head. “I can’t go into details—that’s classified—and I’d probably screw up the technical explanation anyway. But I can tell you that they’re using satellites and the whole nine yards, so no mountains or canyons will be in the way. Not from a hundred miles or whatever overhead.”

  “So since you know that he’s still alive, I’m officially off the hook?” Melvin actually stretched and managed a bored yawn
.

  “Not exactly. Providing Agent Thomas is still alive when we find him, he’ll be able to tell us exactly what happened, and that should clear you—if you’ve played it straight with us. If that’s the case, you won’t be facing kidnapping charges.”

  Melvin sat up again. “Then find him fast, will you? I want you two out of my hair permanently.”

  “Aw, gee, Melvin, you disappoint me,” Ella said. “And here I thought you liked us.”

  Teeny and Ella left the house and as soon as she was sure they were out of earshot, Ella spoke. “He’s such a bad actor, pretending his innocence. I saw my pen sitting on his desk. Keep monitoring him, Teeny.”

  When they reached the van, Teeny glanced at the small recorder he had attached to the pen monitoring receiver. The device was sound activated, and a white light indicated that it was recording. Currently only the green light was on.

  “You think he’ll alert the others and lead you to Agent Thomas?” Teeny asked.

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” Ella said.

  “He bought your techno-speak, and you did a pretty good job of tying together fiction and reality. The intelligence community is pretty close to doing just what you described. There are chips in just about everything these days, including FBI cell phones. The only problem is that the chips run on battery power, and if the battery is dead, or the cell phone is shielded or underground …”

  “I get it. Well, let’s see what he does next,” Ella said.

  Her cell phone rang, and Ella picked it up. Her heart almost stopped when she recognized Greg Simmons’s voice. “Clah, it’s me, Simmons. I’m driving through from Flagstaff, and should be in Shiprock by midnight. Any news from your end?”

  Ella thought about it for a moment. She had to make sure nothing was said that would disrupt Simmons’s plans. She had to catch him with his hands dirty—before he got to Andy Thomas.

  “You deaf, Clah?” Simmons’s grumbled.

  “No, sorry, I was going to tell you that the body of the red-haired man we found—minus his head—isn’t Agent Thomas. We’re still checking out the people from the Sing he interrupted. That’s our best lead right now.”

  “Sounds like you and your tribal cops are still chasing smoke. Listen, Clah, if you don’t find our agent or his body by daylight tomorrow, I’m calling in the calvary. By noon, every back road in the Four Corners will have a carful of feds. Pass that on to Big Ed Atcitty for me.” He hung up.

  “Jackass,” Ella mumbled, then looked up to see Teeny’s curious expression. Holding up her hand to assure him she’d fill him in soon, she called Justine immediately.

  “Simmons is driving back from Arizona, but doesn’t expect to arrive here before midnight. He says he’s going to give us another eight hours to find Simmons before the feds take over.” Ella glanced at Teeny, who nodded.

  “What do you want me to do?” Justine asked.

  “Get to Farmington and stake out Betsy Weaver’s place. My guess is Simmons will go there. Krause knows he’s under suspicion and probably has advised his partner to avoid being seen with him, and Simmons has to know we’re onto Melvin. Just keep your distance, cuz, we don’t want to tip anyone off or Andy Thomas will lose big-time. Use the cell phone to contact me or our people. Simmons, once he’s within range, will have access to their radio frequencies. And let me know if you spot any of our players.” Ella ended the call.

  After bringing Teeny up to speed on what he hadn’t managed to infer, Ella said good-bye and got into her unit. Justine whizzed by in her car, heading east, and Ella waved. She, in turn, headed west, toward Shiprock.

  Fifteen minutes later, while stopped for gas in downtown Shiprock, Ella’s cell phone rang. She stepped away from the pumps to take the call.

  “He’s here!” Justine whispered.

  “Simmons? In Farmington already?” Ella whispered back.

  “Yeah. He lied to you, boss. Not five minutes after I arrived at Betsy Weaver’s apartment complex Simmons pulled up. He parked his car right in front of her door. Betsy, or a person who fits the description you gave me, let him in. She’s got shorter hair now, though, and may have put on a few more pounds. And Simmons had a purposeful walk, not one of those ‘I’m bad’ shuffles—if that matters.”

  “It might. Stay low but keep an eye on the place and don’t let him slip away. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Knowing she was still out of her jurisdiction, and things would get really complicated if she had to make a move, Ella called Sheriff Taylor again as she sped back east toward Farmington.

  “I’ve got a sticky situation here, Paul,” she explained, “and I need your help.” She gave him a brief rundown. “If I’m right and Simmons is dirty, the fact that he’s running the show puts us at a dear disadvantage. We just don’t know for sure who else might be in on his operation, or if he has any snitches that could blow the whistle on us.”

  “So what’s your plan, Ella?”

  “For now, I’m waiting at the Weaver apartment to see what course of action he takes. I’ll call you the second something happens.”

  “Do that. I have a feeling we’re going to be up to our necks in feds, regulations, and recriminations before this is over. I just hope we can find Agent Thomas alive, or we’re all going to make the national news.”

  Waiting was the most difficult thing to do, knowing that every hour placed Andy Thomas even closer to death—from injuries, thirst, or a half dozen other possibilities a fertile mind could generate.

  Ella had parked down the street from Betsy Weaver’s apartment, not wanting to have two police units, even unmarked ones, that close to their quarry. She’d contacted Big Ed and briefed him, and been able to continue directing some of the logistics of the field search via telephone, but Simmons and Betsy seemed to be the key. Rainwater and Krause were covered and the only thing required from Ella now was patience. It was going to be hell—patience was highly overrated, but at least she had time to switch to a fresh cell phone battery.

  It was after dark when Justine finally called her with the news. “Something’s finally going down. Simmons is still inside the apartment but Betsy’s pulling out now in a blue four-door sedan. She had a briefcase with her and was acting as jumpy as you can get. Something tells me she’s going to make a delivery.”

  “Okay. Stay with Simmons, Justine, I’ll pick Betsy up after she goes by. Just in case I have to tail her on foot, what’s she wearing?”

  “A dark blue jacket, slacks, and a red blouse.”

  Staying well behind the woman’s car, but keeping the taillights in sight, Ella followed while she got Sheriff Taylor on the phone. “I want to bring this woman in for questioning after we see what she’s up to with that briefcase. But I need to keep Simmons in the dark. I’d like Betsy to just disappear for a while and let Simmons worry about it.”

  “Where’s the Weaver woman headed now?” Taylor asked.

  Ella followed her vehicle a while longer, giving general directions as the woman drove west down a major Farmington street. “She’s slowing and getting into the left lane. The west-side mall is just ahead.”

  She paused, waited a minute and watched, then confirmed it to Taylor. “Yeah, I was right. She just pulled into the mall parking area and is cruising through the east lot. I’ll park close enough to be able to follow her on foot when she gets out and I’ll stay on the line. Every other person around here is on their cell phone anyway, so it shouldn’t attract any attention.”

  “Give me a description of the woman,” he asked, then listened as Ella gave him the details that Justine had reported, including the clothing and short hair. “Okay. I’ll back you up,” Taylor added. “I’ll be there in five. I’ll go into the mall from the north side.”

  Betsy parked, then took the brown leather briefcase out of the passenger’s seat, glanced around nervously like an amateur spy, then headed for the closest mall entrance. Ella gave her plenty of room, hanging back and blending into the gathering of early evening sh
oppers. The mall didn’t close until nine and there were plenty of people around.

  Ella updated Sheriff Taylor as she stopped and pretended to be window shopping, telling him what Betsy was doing and where she was at. “Paul, I want to stay with the briefcase, so I’d like you to focus on Betsy. As soon as she makes the drop, take her into custody.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Ella stayed as far back as she could, but always kept Betsy in sight, then Betsy stepped into the elevator. Since it only went up one floor, it was used mainly by handicapped people, the elderly, moms with strollers, and the extremely lazy. Not knowing if Simmons had given Betsy her description, Ella decided to avoid the elevator altogether. Instead, she raced up the stairs and caught up with the woman on the second floor.

  Betsy stepped out between two men in business suits. A pregnant woman who’d also come out of the elevator stepped around Betsy, blocking Ella’s view momentarily. Ella moved aside quickly and saw Betsy leave the briefcase on top of a banco provided for shoppers needing a seat, then walk away quickly.

  Seeing Sheriff Taylor coming toward her in the center aisle, Ella pointed to Betsy, then hurried to get the briefcase. Ella opened it carefully in case it was booby-trapped, but when she looked inside all she saw were old copies of the Denver Post, the Albuquerque Journal, and the local newspaper. Her stomach plummeted.

  “We’ve been had,” she warned Taylor over the open line. “Keep Ms. Weaver in custody. I need to question her.” Ella checked the elevator for another briefcase, then remembered the businessmen who’d stepped out with Betsy. One had been carrying a briefcase, and she tried to remember what color it was.