by Aimée
Ella led the way back to the arroyo where she’d chased Anderson, then scrambled down, Blalock behind her. “He ran this way, but I lost him for a while.”
“Translation, the shotgun could be stashed anywhere in here,” Blalock snapped.
“It twists and turns, but isn’t really a very big area, and I didn’t see it when I walked back along the top with the prisoner. There are a limited number of possibilities and he only had a few seconds.” She gazed past the wall of tumbleweeds. “There. That’s where I would have stashed it.”
The breeze stirred the dry, prickly balls and they made a hissing sound as if alive. She glanced at Blalock, hoping he’d have the gentlemanly urge to spare her having to step into the bristly tangle. She wasn’t about to mention she was allergic to tumbleweeds. It wasn’t something a male cop would do. He’d razz her about being a wimp.
Typical for Blalock, he gave her a blank look. “No sense in both of us getting scratched up. You’ve got the gloves and are already halfway there. Since it’s your arrest and your case, go for it.”
So much for chivalry. Women cops were rarely that lucky. Ella began carefully lifting the balls and tossing them aside. The process was slow and painful. Despite her gloves, the needles stung her wrists between the gloves and her shirt cuffs, cutting into her skin and raising little welts. But the effort paid off. At the back of the pile, jammed down as far as it would go, she found the shotgun.
“Here it is. We need to bag it.”
Blalock motioned for one of the deputies who’d been searching a nearby channel.
Ella’s arms were sore and scratchy, and to make matters worse, unless she washed up soon, the small cuts would swell and hurt even more. FB-Eyes would have laughed himself stupid, had he known.
As two deputies eased the weapon into a pair of large grocery bags and wrapped the package with string, Ella felt the itching sensation around the scratches growing in intensity. She struggled not to touch them, knowing it would make things worse.
“Come on, Ella,” Blalock said. “We better head back in.” He took two steps back, lunged forward and, with a mighty leap, was at the surface again.
Ella scrambled up, surprised at Blalock’s agility. “Fill me in on Anderson. I’m sure you ran a make on him when this chase started. I found nothing noteworthy on him, did you?”
“He has no criminal record, and he’s not half as interesting as something Jesse Woody said, though he glossed over it. Woody alluded to an organization of Anglos at the mine who try to undermine the Navajo workers. You think that’s The Brotherhood Truman mentioned?”
Ella shrugged. “Probably. I know that the mine has always been a center of controversy. Billy Pete said something about workers having problems there, but nothing specific.
“My gut tells me that the mine is at the center of what’s happening, though,” Ella continued. “For example, I recently found out that there’s a company incorporated in Angelina Yellowhair’s name—just a paper company without any employees—that owns shares in the corporation that runs the power plant and the coal mine operation.”
Blalock raised his eyebrows. “That’s some connection! You know the money for that had to have come from the senator.”
“The more I learn, the more this case bothers me. Let’s see what we can get from Anderson while my assistant talks to Woody. If anyone can get more information from him, she should be able to.”
“Maybe Anderson will turn out to be Bitah’s killer, and we can close at least one case right away,” Blalock suggested.
Ella shook her head. “That’s too simple. I never expect things to be easy, and I’m seldom disappointed.”
* * *
A half hour later, Ella joined Blalock at the Farmington jail. She’d had a chance to wash up and her arms had stopped itching. The scratches still hurt, but it was a vast improvement. The shotgun was still being processed for prints, but tests run on Anderson substantiated that he had fired a weapon. Forensics could probably even confirm the gunpowder residue was from the same brand of shells found in the recovered shotgun.
As she walked down the hall to the room used for questioning, she saw Justine coming out of one of the offices. Her expression was one of frustration and anger.
“Did Woody give you anything at all?” Ella asked.
“He told me to go play cop with someone who hadn’t been around when I was still in diapers.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ll give it a try.”
Blalock nodded in agreement. “I’ll grill Anderson while you talk to Woody.”
Ella nodded. Considering what they were up against, Blalock’s chances of getting somewhere with Anderson would increase if she wasn’t around. She didn’t want to repeat the fiasco with Truman, and the situations were all too similar.
Ella strode into the office where Woody waited. The short, round-faced Navajo man stood by the window, staring at the parking lot outside. He turned his head to look at her then, pointedly ignoring her, turned away.
“I need to talk to you,” Ella said, “and believe it or not, you need to talk to me.”
“Don’t speak for me. If you knew one thing about our ways, you would know it’s not right.”
“You want to talk about right and wrong?” she countered. “We’ve had two deaths on the reservation, all in less than a day. I have my hands full, and unless I get some leads on the miner’s death soon, I won’t be able to track down his killer. The person responsible will go free, and that serves no one’s sense of justice.”
Woody didn’t respond. Ella sat down to wait. Long pauses were not uncommon among The People.
Finally Woody turned around. “I have no knowledge that can help you. I’m a supervisor,” he said, measuring his words carefully. “To do my job I have to stay neutral and not get involved in controversies that interfere with business.”
“If the lines at the mine are being drawn according to race, you’ll be assigned a side whether or not you choose one.”
He nodded slowly then pulled out a chair and sat down. “My division isn’t plagued by troubles like some of the others have been, and it won’t ever be. I can spot a troublemaker miles away, and as soon as I do, I have him transferred.”
She watched Woody. It was evident in his features and the way he bit off each sentence that there was an internal struggle going on. “Was Anderson in your division?”
He nodded. “The bilagáana, Anglo if you prefer, spent only a few weeks working for me. I suggested he transfer to another section, and he took my advice. Then, a few weeks later, he quit. That surprised me, but I never asked why.”
“Who are the other troublemakers?”
“There is a group of bilagáana workers who call themselves The Brotherhood. I don’t know who they are and, in fact, the only reason I know they exist is because of their calling cards. Every time there’s a dispute between an Anglo and a Navajo worker, the Navajo worker pays a price, whether or not the problem was his fault. Billy Pete, for one, got his truck vandalized. Did you know about that?”
She shook her head.
“The murdered man you spoke of, and others like him, are the counterpart to The Brotherhood. Anderson, judging from his actions and his talk, is part of The Brotherhood. They advocate violence to get their way. The Navajo group, formed by the man who was killed, kept the scales balanced.”
“What will happen now that he’s gone?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve already seen more signs of trouble. Some of the men are restless and searching for answers on their own. They want revenge. And let me tell you, it’s easy to pick a scapegoat when the lines are drawn by race.”
“What exactly does The Brotherhood protest?”
“They oppose the hiring practices enforced on the reservation. They believe we are the ones who are racist.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Outside the reservation, race can’t be a factor influencing employment. Theoretically, Navajos compete with Anglos and vice versa w
ithout preference on either side. On our land, Navajos are given priority. Anderson and others like him have vowed to fight that policy. What they forget is that we mine the gift that comes from our land. But it isn’t something that is renewable. When it is gone, the income it gives the tribe will be gone forever. When an Anglo man owns property and there is something of value in it, he can tell the company he authorizes to extract it to hire his relatives. It then becomes part of the deal the company accepts in exchange for the right to extract what is of value. The Dineh is doing the same thing with the resource we hold in common, acting as an extension of the small family units that exist on the outside.”
Ella nodded. It was a concept that was hard for many outsiders to accept but it seemed clear and fair to her. “Is Truman part of The Brotherhood?”
Woody again said nothing for a long time. His gaze settled across the room, watching as the wind coming in from the open window pushed the blinds away from the wall, only to rattle back in place as each gust died down. “I believe he is, and so do others,” he said at length.
“Are you part of the Navajo group that is trying to keep the scales balanced?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s my way of protecting the mine and those who work there. I don’t tolerate anything that fosters chaos.”
“Is that what you feel The Brotherhood is doing?”
“They’re bringing outside problems onto our land. We have precious few resources. This reservation was given to us, a land considered practically worthless by everyone else. Now that we find a few things of value on it, they want to dictate new terms.” He shook his head. “We’re bound by the old treaties. They should be bound by them also.”
She nodded. “Does management at the mine acknowledge the existence of The Brotherhood?”
“If you’re asking me whether they know about it, the answer is yes. On the other hand, if you’re asking if they acknowledge it officially, the answer is no. And they won’t. Not in a million years. It’s the wrong kind of publicity for the stockholders.”
“Who else is a member of The Brotherhood?”
“I don’t know.”
Ella gave him an incredulous look.
“It’s true,” he said wearily. “We learn who stands with them only by accident most of the time. They don’t exactly wear uniforms. Secrecy serves them far better than publicity. What makes them even harder to fight is that most of the Anglos at the mine aren’t involved, so it’s hard to pick out the guilty.”
“If you find out the names of others in the Brotherhood, will you tell me?”
He considered it, then at last shook his head. “I think police involvement will only bring more unrest. This needs to be handled behind the scenes, and decisively.”
“Then you also advocate violence?”
“Not murder, no, but a certain amount of retaliation is right and necessary. The Dineh must protect itself.”
Ella placed her card on the table before him. “If you change your mind, or if you need help, day or night, call me.”
SIX
Blalock was waiting in the hall when she emerged from the room. “How did it go?” he asked.
“Better than I expected,” she said, filling him in.
“You’re not sure where your sympathies lie, are you, Clah?” Blalock observed.
She took a deep breath, giving herself time to think. “Where my sympathies lie is not the point. I don’t condone murder,” she answered. “How did you fare with Anderson?”
“He’s one tough buzzard,” Blalock spat out. “He claims he didn’t fire into Jesse Woody’s home, though the powder residue test came out positive.”
“Did he happen to say why he doesn’t work at the mine anymore?”
“He claims he quit for personal reasons. That would be easy enough to check, so I think he’s telling the truth.”
“Woody didn’t fire him,” Ella said. “But for Anderson to blaze away at the man’s home with a shotgun in broad daylight implies a lot more is going on there.”
“Keep digging from your end,” Blalock said. “And I’ll do the same.”
“Did Anderson say anything about The Brotherhood?”
Blalock smirked. “He asked me if that was some kind of civil rights organization. After that, he refused to answer any more questions until he had an attorney.”
“Well, that scarcely comes as a surprise.”
“I’m getting a search warrant delivered and I’ve going to go over every inch of Anderson’s home. You want to come along?
“You bet.” Ella found Justine waiting for her by the damaged Jeep and asked her to come along to Anderson’s house. If by chance they got lucky, either Justine or she could follow up immediately on any name they turned up, while the other continued the search.
* * *
They went through the house methodically, working with the precision only years of training could bring. Ella sat with a large photo album she’d found stashed on the bookshelf, searching through it for anything that would lead her to other members of The Brotherhood, or the opposing faction made up of Navajos that Jesse Woody had mentioned.
Blalock came back into the room. “Unless you find something there, we’ll be leaving empty handed.”
Ella showed him the page she was looking at. “All these are candid shots of mostly Navajo company employees, and none are looking at the camera. They either didn’t care, or else didn’t know they were being photographed. The page before is loaded with snapshots taken during official group functions, but most were obviously posed.” Ella stood and walked to the shelf where three cameras had been placed side by side. “Look at these. They’re all high quality, and the fast telephoto lens on the one on the left is worth some serious money.”
“Like surveillance cameras?” Blalock glanced down at the open page of the photo album. “These remind me of the photos our guys take at funerals and parties when we’re tracking criminal activities. Except in this case, Navajos seemed to have been singled out.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. I’d like to make a note of all the Navajos pictured in there. Any objections to my tagging it and taking it to our lab? We can make copies there of any interesting-looking photographs, then return them to you.”
“Go for it, but I’ll need it all back ASAP.”
Ella handed the album to Justine. “Give it top priority. Go.”
Blalock’s face was grim. “When will you have the final paperwork on Bitah’s death?”
“I’m not sure, but I can call our M.E. and find out.”
He handed her his cellular.
Ella dialed, then waited. She spoke to Carolyn briefly, then handed the phone back to Blalock. “She has it ready now.”
“Have her fax me a copy as soon as possible. If we don’t clear this case right away, the Bureau is going to send someone to help us. With all the press hate groups like this have been getting, it’s a very touchy subject in the Bureau. The higher-ups won’t want another front-page story. Get my drift?”
“Yeah, unfortunately.” She knew from experience that having two agencies involved in one case only made it murkier.
“I’ll see if the local narcotics teams or the DEA have anything on peyote dealers that would help us out. The Yellowhair girl was getting her stuff from someone around here, I’ll wager. Maybe from one of the gangs, or else one of those churches that uses peyote in their rituals. You might check out whether she was a member,” Blalock suggested.
Ella gave him a steely look. “Already on it.”
* * *
Ella drove back to the reservation, her mind filled with speculation. If only she could rid herself of the certainty that the worst was yet to come. As the sun slipped below the horizon, she could feel the power of the night. It was as if something was holding its breath out there, the darkness resonating with a pulse of its own.
Ella raced along the nearly deserted highway, taking comfort from traveling at high speed. It forced her to concentrate on the road and helped her fo
rget her troubles. Funny how danger could soothe her at times.
By the time she reached the hospital, she felt focused and ready to work the case again. As usual, the elevator going down to the basement was infernally slow, making Ella wish she hadn’t taken the lazy route and had opted for the stairs instead. Waiting was always the hard part for her.
As the door slid open, she saw Howard Lee talking to someone down the hall. Automatically, she noted the orderly’s name tag. What was Nelson Yellowhair doing down here, talking to Carolyn’s student assistant? As soon as Yellowhair spotted her, he stepped into the stairwell, disappearing from her view.
Ella felt her skin prickle with a coldness different from that familiar to the basement. Brushing the sensation aside, along with her usual distaste for the morgue, she forced herself to look confident and waved at Howard. “Wait up.”
Howard looked reluctant, but did as she asked. As she drew near he glanced at a clock on the wall. “I’m in a terrible rush. If I’m late one more time, Dr. Roanhorse is going to have my hide.”
“Let’s go, then,” Ella said, quickening her steps. “We can talk while we walk. What was Nelson Yellowhair doing down here?”
Howard shrugged. “Not much. He was on break and came down to talk.”
Ella watched Lee, certain the man was lying but not knowing why. “How long have you been friends with Yellowhair?”
“Friends?” Lee shook his head. “I wouldn’t call us friends exactly. We’re coworkers. He comes down here every once in a while because his supervisor wouldn’t be caught de … well, he can take a break here without anyone bugging him.”
Carolyn came out of the autopsy suite just as Howard and Ella arrived. “You’re late,” she said, glancing at Lee. “I’m not going to stand for this nonsense.”
“Doctor, the detective needed—”
“Save it. Get the tissue samples I left for you and prepare those slides. Let me know when you finish.”
“Right away, Doctor.”