She glanced around, but neither businessman was in sight. Quickly she called Justine and apprised her of what had just happened.
“Simmons is leaving now,” Justine interrupted. “I’ll stay with him.”
“Good. I’m going to join Sheriff Taylor and see what we can get out of Betsy. Maybe he got a look at the businessmen that were on that elevator. I was so intent on Betsy, I never even checked out their faces.”
At the county lockup, Ella and Sheriff Taylor tried for a half hour to get Betsy to reveal something that would lead them to Agent Thomas or incriminate the mortuary but Betsy was sullen and refused to cooperate. She wouldn’t even answer their questions about the elevator ride. Despite the outward bravado, Ella could sense that she was really scared.
Leaving her alone to brood for a while and bumping up the room temperature by cutting off the air conditioning, Ella stood with Sheriff Taylor just outside the two-way mirror, waiting for the room to get uncomfortably stuffy. Ordinarily this interview room was pleasant, with a soothing light blue paint scheme and curtains on the window. The table and chairs matched. It was all designed to put a witness at ease.
Another interview room across the hall was stark—only a table, one uncomfortable and two comfortable chairs, and an institutional puke green paint scheme on four bare walls. That room was intended to set an entirely different mood, and now Ella was regretting not having gone with it—the bad-cop environment.
“I think she’s terrified of Simmons,” Ella said. “I suspected as much and that’s why I picked this room over the other one. But, even so, whenever we brought up his name, she still freezes on us.”
“She won’t even admit she knows him, though we already know that he visited her apartment. And no explanation at all why she was carrying around a briefcase full of old newspapers. She must have made a switch, there’s no other answer.”
“It’s not just that she’s stonewalling us, Paul. Betsy actually locks up. That’s either paralyzing fear or experience under questioning.”
“She has a record for embezzlement and two prior convictions for credit card fraud in Arizona. She left those off her résumé with the county. So much for background checks. I can’t wait to see what her supervisor over in Records has to say.”
“The weird thing is that she just sat there expressionless when we confronted her with the rap sheet Phoenix sent us. Most suspects who’ve been in the system would have started screaming for an attorney from the get-go. But she didn’t—in fact, she waived her rights. That makes absolutely no sense to me,” Ella said, shaking her head.
“Nor does her silence about changing the names on those death certificates. Most people would have at least tried to defend themselves,” Taylor said, “or played dumb.”
“Maybe she believes that even if she spills everything, the courts will take the word of an FBI agent over hers. Could be that Betsy thinks she’s safer in jail than on the outside.” Ella remained silent for several moments. “I’ve got an idea,” she said at last. “Let’s use her fear against her,” she said, then led the way back into the interrogation room.
Betsy’s short dark hair was damp with perspiration by now. “Can I have some water, please?”
“Certainly.” Ella nodded to Sheriff Taylor, who stepped out into the hall, called out to a deputy, then returned with a bottle of water. “Betsy, you know you’re in way over your head, don’t you?” Ella asked, then without waiting for an answer, continued. “If we let you walk now, how long do you think it’ll be before your partners—maybe you-know-who from the elevator—will make sure you die in a car accident? Maybe he’ll shine a mirror in your eyes and blind you in heavy traffic, or something like that?”
Betsy inhaled sharply, then quickly looked down at her hands, composing herself again.
“Or maybe they’ll make it look like you took your own life in some horrible, excruciatingly painful way.”
“I don’t know where any of this is leading,” Betsy said flatly. “And I don’t know any man from the elevator either.”
“Of course you do,” Ella answered. “But just to make your life interesting, maybe we’ll let you go after exercising our own freedom of speech and telling all our snitches that you decided to cut a deal.”
“If you do that, I’m as good as dead. Don’t you get it?” Betsy demanded, her eyes filling up with tears.
“We can protect you. But we’ll need a really good reason. You help us, we’ll help you.”
“I—” Betsy shook her head, then leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know anything. Arrest me for carrying concealed newspapers. That’s about the only thing you’ll be able to prove.”
Ella nodded to Sheriff Taylor, and the two of them stepped back out of the interview room together. “She’s not going to crack.”
“If we let her go now, she’ll either contact Simmons or Krause and blow the whole thing, or skip town. I say we keep her for the maximum time allowed—twenty—four hours.”
Ella considered it, then agreed. “Okay. After that, cut her loose and put a tail on her. Use the best you’ve got on this assignment. I’m betting she’ll do her level best to avoid being anywhere near Simmons or Krause. But she’ll need an ally, so she may lead us to other players we don’t even know about yet.”
“Okay, I’ll delay her for as long as I can, then get my people in position before we release her. Let’s see where she takes us.”
“You might have a deputy check on the possibility of a mall security camera picking up the occupants of that elevator. Maybe they’ll have video that’ll give us a hit on who might have made the briefcase switch with Betsy,” Ella said.
“Good idea, Ella. I’ll put someone on it.”
Ella was on her way back to her unit when Blalock called. “I just got back to my Shiprock office, and I want in on the investigation. How close are you to finding Agent Thomas?”
“Closer than I’ve ever been, but not close enough,” Ella said, then told him about his supervisor, Simmons, and what she’d set into motion with Melvin Rainwater and Betsy Weaver.
“Damn Simmons. I never could stand him and now I know why. If one of the Bureau’s own is dirty, I have to be part of the operation that takes him down. The Bureau cleans up its own messes.”
“I hear you, but right now we have a problem. All we’ve really got against Simmons is circumstantial, and he could worm his way out by insisting he was working the case undercover on his own. He might have even left a fake paper trail just for this eventuality,” she said. “And we have another problem. Strictly speaking, you’re not off the suspect list—not conclusively.”
“That’s a load of crap and you know it.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. But I need something solid that will establish your innocence … .”
“When was Agent Thomas last seen?”
“Three days ago,” Ella replied, “after sunset.”
“I can prove I was in Colorado at that time.”
“A relative that can vouch for you?” Ella said, not bothering to hide her disappointment.
“Yes, that, but there’s also the coffee shop owner near Lake Granby who can verify I came in at around six-thirty and stayed for at least an hour. That’s northwest of Boulder. I couldn’t have possibly made it here and back in time. And you can check out my credit card records. I’ll give the department permission.”
“You could have loaned your credit card to someone. We need to rely on people who actually saw you and remember.”
“There are witnesses who can identify me, people I’ve known for years who were at that coffee shop and the lodge where I was staying. There’s my signature on the charge slips for every gas station and motel I stopped at coming and going, and perhaps a security camera or two at the lodge’s front desk up near the lake. You can check my phone records too. I’ve had no contact with the mortuary or any of the key players other than Simmons at his Albuquerque office. Put it all together and I think it’ll stack up.”
>
“This will all have to be checked out, unless we nail Simmons solidly before then. You know how it works.”
“Put it all in motion now, Ella. I need a clean bill of health if I’m going after my supervisor.”
“While I’m making the calls, look around for the case file you said you gave Agent Thomas. We haven’t been able to find it.”
Ella walked back into the station a short time later and began to check out Blalock’s accounts. He’d already called the bank and the phone company, paving the way for her inquiries.
Ella called Colorado’s Grand County Sheriff’s Department next, asking them to verify Blalock’s alibi for her. The sheriff knew Blalock, who’d been a resident agent in Boulder years ago, and a deputy was being sent to the coffee shop, and to the lodge where Blalock had been staying.
By the time the Grand County sheriff called back a half hour later to confirm Blalock’s statement, Ella had made up her mind to include Blalock in the operation even before he could be checked out completely. The simple truth was that the evidence pointed to Simmons, not Blalock, and right now Blalock’s assistance would be invaluable. He understood the current protocols at the local Bureau offices, knew how to get around Simmons, and was in a position to give her the tactical and technical support she needed.
She was about to leave the office when the phone rang again. Ella picked it up and identified herself. “It’s Carolyn, working for my best customer.” The ME’s familiar voice came through clearly. “I’ve got some news on the body you found. The description—estimated height, weight, coloring, and even the scar on his left leg—matches that of an accident victim that was taken to Mesa Vista a few days ago, according to the Farmington PD officer I spoke to. I’ll be filing a full report within the hour.”
“Thanks, Carolyn. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Save the sweet talk. Just remember this next week during lunch.”
Ella chuckled. “Okay. We’re due for a lunch date anyway.”
Ella placed the phone down, satisfaction and excitement pounding through her. This was the first piece of hard evidence linking the mortuary to their investigation—and the body. She had them now. She’d wanted leverage and this, at long last, was it.
EIGHTEEN
There was no time to indulge the feeling of victory. Before she could even take a breath, the phone rang again. It was Justine.
“Bad news—big—time. Simmons left the main highway and went into Kirtland, then made some turns and stops designed to make sure no one was following him. I was overly cautious and hung back more than I should have—and lost sight of him in the dark,” she said, frustration evident in her voice. “But he has to come back to the main road eventually if he’s going on to Shiprock.”
“Where were you when you lost him?”
“At the turnoff opposite the old El Paso Gas site with the flare tower,” she replied. “He stopped at Nakai’s Feed Store and bought a big coil of rope, so maybe he’s going after Agent Thomas. If Thomas is trapped inside a mine or well, he’s going to need that rope to get to him. What do you think—logic or reaching?”
“It’s a good theory. Simmons doesn’t seem the macrame type, so let’s get people we trust in on this and find him. But stay off the law-enforcement frequencies. Simmons is bound to be listening in.”
“I’ve already asked Neskahi, Tache, and the Cloud brothers to join us. They’re converging on the area right now.”
“Good choices.” Ella trusted Philip and Michael Cloud with her life, and she knew they weren’t dirty. “Once we find him we’ll see what kind of Bureau support Blalock can bring in when forced to bypass his supervisor. In the meantime, we need someone to stick to Krause, too,” Ella said. “Let me see what I can work out with Sheriff Taylor.”
Ella telephoned Paul Taylor next, and the sheriff quickly agreed. “Not a problem. We’ll put a deputy on the mortuary and one on Krause’s home, with backup standing by. Once the officers are all in position I’ll let you know. After that, if Krause goes on the move or we learn anything new, you’ll be notified immediately.”
Ella hurried down the highway toward Shiprock. If Simmons was on his way to find Agent Thomas, and the missing agent was still in the general area south of Shiprock where he’d disappeared, the best chance she had of catching up to Simmons was to wait south of the intersection of Highway 64 and old 666, now renamed 491. If her guess was on target, he’d have to pass that way and, with luck, she’d be right there waiting. But it would be tricky. In the dark, she’d have to be close enough to the road to recognize him, or at least get a look at his vehicle tag. Yet if she did that, he’d be likely to spot her too.
She’d have to disguise herself somehow—and that meant a trip home. Ella drove quickly, sirens on, calling Justine so they could implement a stop-gap plan. Ella wanted to make sure both intersections—the eastern one in downtown Shiprock and the western one across the river—were covered by plainclothes officers until she could get into position.
Fifteen minutes later as she passed through the area she’d targeted, she saw officers already there, one pretending to be working on a stalled pickup, the other “changing” a flat tire. Both of them saw her, but neither gave any sign of recognition—which was exactly as it should have been.
After a quick acceleration, now south of Shiprock, Ella turned off the sirens and drove west up the road leading to her mother’s house. It was seven-thirty now, and Dawn was miles away at her father’s, probably curled up on Kevin’s sofa, reading, or watching a children’s or nature video he’d rented for both of them. Kevin thoroughly enjoyed any chance he got to spend time with their daughter.
Ella thought about calling Dawn just to tell her she loved her, but knew she’d then have to explain why she couldn’t take time to stop by even though she was in the neighborhood. Dawn understood her mother was a police officer, but it still didn’t make their long hours apart any easier for Ella. The good thing was that Dawn was becoming more and more independent. But as a mom, that wasn’t a trend she really welcomed wholeheartedly.
Ella pulled up to the house a few minutes later. It was encased in darkness, except for the small lamp in the living room. Ella tiptoed inside through the kitchen. Everything was still and she could hear the soft rumble of Rose’s snoring.
Ella tiptoed past her mother, who was leaning back in her comfortable chair, eyes closed and head turned away from the reading lamp. A mystery novel was on Rose’s lap, still open.
Two, their mutt, was lying down in the hall and seeing her, stood up and followed Ella into her room. Two liked to sleep at the foot of her bed, and was undeniably the best foot warmer around.
Ella gave him a quick pat on the head, then got down to business. First, she took an old long skirt from the closet and pulled it up over her slacks. A dark long-sleeved tunic slipped over her own lighter top easily. Going to the bathroom mirror, she covered her shoulders with a towel and shook talcum powder liberally over her hair until it was mostly gray, then pulled it back into a bun at the nape of her neck. A pair of reading glasses grabbed from her mother’s knitting basket, slipped down upon her nose, would also help.
Pushing the small, folding grocery cart she’d grabbed from the kitchen, Ella was sure she’d be indistinguishable from many of the elderly Navajos who still walked for miles on the reservation. She also had a paper sack from a local store to put in the cart, to complete the illusion.
Ella walked back through the house noiselessly. Her mother had shifted her head slightly, still sleeping peacefully despite the fact that she’d stopped snoring.
Once she reached her vehicle, carrying the items picked up from the kitchen, Ella put everything in the back and focused solely on the case. A quick call confirmed that Simmons hadn’t passed either checkpoint, which meant that he was probably taking his time, making sure he wasn’t being followed. She wondered briefly where Melvin Rainwater was right now, and what he was doing to cover his trail.
Rus
hing back north down the highway, she arrived at the turnoff to a tribal industry warehouse. As she pulled up, Ella released the officer who’d been faking the car problem, instructing him to return to the station and await her call for backup.
Making sure her unit was parked out of sight from the road, she hurried back on foot to the intersection of the highway and the secondary road. There she set up her mother’s grocery cart, placing her jacket inside the empty paper bag to fill it up. Ella then waited, sitting down on the ground, and watching in the direction Simmons would have to take to approach. She’d be able to see headlights coming miles away.
Time passed slowly. Three or four sets of headlights had traveled south in her direction, but then had taken a turn west on Highway 64. With nothing to do until Simmons passed by, Ella let her thoughts wander.
Although her priority on this case had been clear from the start—she had to find Agent Thomas—she’d known in her heart that it would be a no-win situation for her and for the department. First, Agent Thomas had interrupted a Sing, and trying to rescue him would be seen by traditionalists as proof that the tribal police was nothing more than a servant of Anglo law.
Second, although the tribal police was doing its best to track down a missing Bureau agent, there would be a long list of feds who’d resent them for taking point on the investigation. Making that situation even worse was the fact that the tribal police had been the ones to discover that an FBI supervisor had gone bad. When that news hit the media, and it would, relations between the Bureau and the tribe would plummet.
An incoming call on her cell phone reminded her with a start that she’d forgotten to turn the ringer off. “We’ve got Jack Krause under surveillance, Ella,” Sheriff Taylor said. “So far, so good. That big SUV is hard to miss, even at night. But he’s on the reservation now. Our deputy called Sergeant Joseph Neskahi in for backup, and both officers are working the tail. Krause made a turn to the west on Shiprock’s southwest side, and is now on Highway Sixty-four.”
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