by Aimée
As she drove off the highway and headed down the dusty track, visibility quickly fell to only a quarter mile or less. Walls of sand traveled across the desert floor, one after the other, repeating endlessly. Ella eventually reached the designated spot, parked her vehicle and, covering her nose and face with a handkerchief, made her way forward against the force of the wind.
“You’re here.” Billy Pete came out from behind a cluster of boulders at the base of the mesa.
Sand stung her eyes as Ella turned around. She’d never heard him approaching above the howl of the wind. The knowledge that had he been an enemy, she might have been dead, sobered her.
“What have you got for me?” she yelled above the incessant whine.
“Our slain brother,” he said, without mentioning Bitah by name, “had been following an Anglo by the name of Anderson. He believed that Anderson was the head of The Brotherhood. I’m not so sure of that, but considering his actions against Jesse Woody, shooting into the man’s home like he did, it’s a good bet he is involved. The Fierce Ones believe that Anderson gave the order to kill our friend because he believed our friend was the leader of the faction opposing him.”
“I’ll look into that.”
“Will he be out on bail soon, too?”
“What do you mean ‘too’?”
“Truman was released last night. I heard he came to work this morning claiming he was framed by the Navajo police. He wants to sue the tribe.”
“That figures.” Now Ella knew what had motivated Billy to come forward this morning. He was worried about what The Brotherhood would do next. As a gust of wind blew against them, Ella staggered, pushed by the sheer force of the wind. “We better get out of here,” she said, blinking to clear the sand out of her eyes. When she looked around for his reaction, Billy Pete was gone.
Ella trudged back toward her vehicle, looking down to protect her eyes from blowing dust. She was on a low spot now, and everything in the air seemed to be coming her way. Forced to look up to make sure she was walking in the right direction, Ella spotted a particularly thick cloud of sand headed right for her. Her heart started pounding, as if she were just about to encounter an armed gunman rather than lung-clogging dust!
Trusting her instincts, Ella whirled around quickly, her palm resting on the butt of her pistol. Nothing but dust could be seen in any direction, the wind had whipped up so much earth that it was as if she was walking in a gritty cloud.
Her uneasiness intensified and Ella abruptly realized there was something unusual about that rapidly approaching dust cloud, a darker, inner core, like the heart of an evil thing. Instinct compelled her to try and avoid it. Ella started jogging toward the Jeep she knew she’d left somewhere just ahead.
Suddenly a black van emerged from the cloud, heading right for her. Pulling out her pistol, Ella hoped to be able to ward the driver off without taking out a tire or shooting him. That was assuming he could see her in the first place, and wouldn’t attempt to run her down.
The driver must have noticed both her and her pistol, because he suddenly swerved away, creating another cloud of dust that swept across the desert like a tidal wave, enveloping her completely while it obscured her aim.
She started toward her Jeep again, this time running faster than before. This wasn’t just a couple of kids out to give her a hard time. That van held danger.
The van appeared again out of the dust, this time between her and the Jeep. It had circled around, heading her off like a sheep dog trying to herd the flock in a particular direction.
Ella stopped, uncertain whether she should try to run the other way. If she did, she’d be further from safety, not closer, and the van could move faster than she could, though it couldn’t change direction as fast. The van stopped, too, still between her and where she had left the Jeep.
Ella decided to take the direct approach and call their bluff. Pulling out her pistol again, she ran directly at the van. It was time to force the issue. As she got closer, the van started up again but instead of fleeing, it came right at her.
Ella stopped, assumed a combat stance, and leveled her sights at the driver’s side windshield. The glass had been darkened, but she knew exactly where the driver had to be seated. Abruptly the van wheeled away to the left, shooting up another cloud of dust. Ella didn’t fire. Reacting instantly, she made a frantic dash for her Jeep.
She was almost there when the van skidded around, cutting her off once more. Suddenly another vehicle appeared from the direction of the highway, a pickup. It turned toward her now, and Ella’s heart sank. Perhaps the van’s driver had managed to call in an ally to help run her down.
As the pickup got closer, Ella turned to face it, aiming her pistol toward the cab. That windshield wasn’t tinted, and as the pickup drew near, she made out the face of the driver.
Ella lowered her pistol slightly, but not completely, as Kevin turned the pickup to block the van, and slid to an abrupt stop. “Jump in!” he yelled over the roar of the wind. “Come on, hurry!”
Ella dashed up to grab the door as Kevin threw it open. She jumped inside, her pistol still in hand.
“What the hell is going on?” Kevin’s eyes were wide, focused on the gun, not Ella’s face.
“That van is trying to run me down, I think. The threat of my pistol is all that’s keeping them at bay.” Ella looked around for the van, and noticed it was heading away rapidly. “Quick, don’t let them get away.”
“Right!” Kevin yelled, and hit the gas, turning the pickup around with spinning tires; the truck fishtailed as he accelerated. Ella reached down to her hip for her cellular phone, but remembered it was still in the Jeep. There was no way to call for backup, not without letting the van get out of sight.
“What were you doing out there in the open, on foot, in this dust storm?” Kevin shouted, trying to drive as fast as he could without losing control on the dirt track.
“Police work. Sorry, I can’t tell you more.” Ella noticed the van was pulling away and was nearly out of sight. “Can’t you go any faster?”
“Not unless you want to risk me rolling this baby. This sand isn’t the best place for racing, especially with me at the wheel. Those guys might be running for their life, but I’m not!” Kevin tried to smile, but Ella could see he wasn’t used to living on the edge.
Just then, they hit a tremendous bump, and the truck flew up in the air, landing with a thump that sent them bouncing off their seats, cracking their heads on the top of the cab roof. The truck slid to a stop in a particularly sandy spot.
“Sorry. They didn’t offer combat driving one-oh-one at the college I attended. You want to give it a try?” Kevin smiled weakly.
Ella looked out the side window. The van was long gone, probably to the highway by now. “No, I don’t think it would be worth our time trying. Just take me back to my Jeep so I can call this in, okay?”
“I can do that. I was on my way home, but what about you? Are you sure you can’t tell me what you’re doing out here?” Kevin asked.
“I’m sure. But I do need a favor from you,” Ella replied. “I’m trying to find a connection between the senator’s daughter and those involved in the peyote cult. Do you know of one?”
“No, can’t say I do.”
“Will you keep your ears open for me?”
“I’m a defense attorney, not a police informant.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re not interested in justice. Will you do it anyway?” she insisted.
He smiled. “I’ll see what I can do. And there’s your Jeep. Want me to wait around until you start it up?”
“It might be a good idea, just in case the guy in the van did something to it. One more thing—may be related to what happened today. You’ve chosen to build in this area. That’s your right, but that choice may end up costing you. I think you’ve already seen that you may be drawn into a conflict you never intended to make yours.”
“I won’t be drawn into anything I don’t choose to get
involved in. If I have to defend myself or a neighbor, I will. That’s the extent of what you can expect from me. I’m not here to fight, but to build a life for myself.”
Ella gazed into his eyes and found them to be unreadable black pools. “Your plans and the reality of what’s around you are two separate things. You may yet find that fate makes its own rules.”
FIFTEEN
Ella met Blalock at the agent’s favorite diner in west Farmington, at the mall. He was in his usual surly mood.
“I’m getting a lot of flak about this problem with Bitah and the mine. My bosses are demanding results. To make matters worse, Truman was released last night. I grilled him for over an hour before he got his walking papers, but I got nothing out of him. His wife maintains he was home with her from the time he got off work at midnight to around noon the following morning. That gives him an alibi for Bitah’s time of death, though it isn’t much of one.”
“I have some new information. Anderson is still in jail, correct?”
“Yeah. The judge setting bail was half Navajo and didn’t take it kindly when Anderson mouthed off. Bail’s astronomical.”
“Mouthed off to a judge? He’s dumber than I thought. Or else he thinks he’s safer in jail. Either way it works to our advantage. I have a lead. One of my sources told me that Bitah had been following Anderson,” Ella said, and filled him in.
“So Anderson might be the leader of The Brotherhood after all? Now wouldn’t that be convenient! But we still have to place him at the crime scene, and find evidence that he struck the fatal blows.”
“Let’s go see what we can get from him today.”
Ella followed Blalock to the city jail where Anderson was being held. As they went inside to the cell block, Blalock glanced at her. “You want to take the lead?”
“No. Let’s play bad cop—really bad cop. You be the lesser of the two evils. I’m almost certain I can make Anderson angry enough to say something stupid that we may be able to use.”
Anderson, in chains and handcuffs, was escorted into the small room by a burly jailer. “I’m going to give you a break,” Blalock said, taking the cuffs off Anderson but leaving the leg bracelets in place. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Anderson nodded once, scarcely looking at Ella. “I have nowhere to go, not dressed in prison orange and leg irons. What is it that you want? My attorney isn’t available right now.”
“Some new information has come to our attention about your involvement in The Brotherhood.”
“Still never heard of it,” he answered, a trace of a smile on his face.
“We’ve learned from witnesses that Bitah was following you prior to his death. In fact, he may have been following you the night he died. Did you lead him over to the power plant?”
Anderson stared at him, expressionless. “If you’re suggesting what I think you are, you’re being mislead.” He glanced at Ella and gave her a look of utter contempt. “It’s no secret that I have philosophical differences with the hiring practices of the tribe. But I did not murder anyone.”
“I didn’t think The Brotherhood cared whether things got violent or not.” Ella kept her voice deceptively soft.
“I never heard of that organization. You can believe that or not. I don’t care. But I’m no murderer. If I was, I’d have a solid alibi, with plenty of witnesses. I’m many things but I’m not stupid,” he said, glaring at Ella.
“If you think I’m going to let this drop then you are very, very stupid,” Ella baited. “I’m betting you killed Bitah, with a little help from your racist friends.”
Anderson’s eyes darkened and his expression became one of unbridled hatred. “Just what I expected from you, squaw. You want to hang an Anglo for this crime, whether he did it or not. It fits the theory about how oppressed your people are.”
She would have loved to bring up specifics about the treatment the Indians had received at the hand of the white man, but now wasn’t the time to get sidetracked. “I’m trying to find the truth,” she answered coldly. “Something you’ve been hiding all along. If you know I’m after the wrong man, then show a little backbone and steer me in the right direction.”
Anderson smiled, then leaned forward in his chair. “Then look among your own people. You’ll find that there are plans to sabotage the mine and shut down the entire power plant.”
“What do you mean? What plans?”
He leaned back, smug once again. “I’m not going to do your work for you. Do I look dumb enough to be a cop?”
Blalock leaned against the wall and watched him. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Anderson, but maybe you’re starting to see the light. If you have information to trade, now is the time, while we still can use your help. If we get this on our own, you won’t have anything to bargain with.”
“You’ve got nothing on me because there’s nothing to find,” he answered. “With an Indian judge, you might be able to get a conviction on that trumped-up shooting incident, but that’s all you’re going to get.” He stood up. “That’s it. From now on, we meet only when my attorney is present.”
As an officer came to take Anderson back to his cell, Blalock stared at the wall, his face pensive.
“Shall we get out of here?” Ella asked, as soon as Anderson was handcuffed and led out.
“Yeah. I have an idea. I think I know a way to track down some of Anderson’s cronies. Today’s Saturday, though. Are you willing to put in a full day?”
She nodded. “I never take time off when I’m working on a pressing case.”
“Good. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
* * *
Ella watched Blalock as he signed up for the gun club’s shooting competition. She had to admit this had been a great idea. The background report Blalock had run on Anderson had revealed that they both used the same private firing range.
“Okay, I’m registered and assigned to a relay. Joining the competition is going to tie me up, so you’ll have to do the leg work.”
“No problem. I think you’re right about competing. That way, our real reason for being here won’t be as obvious.” Ella glanced around trying to find any faces she recognized from the mine. “Do you remember ever seeing Anderson at this range?”
He shook his head. “I shoot in black powder competition. That’s a different bunch of people and a completely different mind set, too. Black powder appeals to history buffs, and to those who like shooting a weapon that’s more of a challenge. Let’s face it, with some modern guns equipped with laser sights, electronic triggers, and custom wraparound stocks, anybody can put a bullet in the black.”
Ella watched the shooters warming up at the firing line. There were as many misses as hits. “Not everyone would agree with you.” She gestured toward one of the men on the sidelines. “Look at Randy Watson. He’s here with a back brace on. I didn’t know he was even getting out of the house yet.”
Blalock glanced at Watson. “Steve Chambers, the young-looking guy with him, is one of the miners, too. He tried to convince me that he was practically sainted. The other is Tony Prentiss. I interviewed all those men, but none were any help at all. Yet I’m sure that they’re involved in whatever’s happening. The way they went round and round but never answered my questions was so practiced—part of a predetermined strategy. It set off alarm bells something fierce.”
She nodded. “You can sometimes learn a lot about a person from the way they don’t tell you anything.”
Tony Prentiss was a bulky man in his mid thirties. He sauntered over, his gaze faintly mocking. “I see you brought your girlfriend along as a guest.”
Blalock glowered at Prentiss, but didn’t speak.
Prentiss gave Ella a derisive smile. “I hear you tribal cops can’t hit a sheep at ten paces. Smart move to stay out of this competition. Could be real embarrassing.”
Ella met his gaze but remained silent.
“Maybe you just like to see how a real man handles his weapon,” Prentiss goaded.
Bl
alock stepped in front of Ella. “I’m surprised you can even find yours, tubby.”
Ella fought the urge to kick Blalock. She didn’t need anyone to protect her. She was hoping Prentiss would get all wound up and say something he really hadn’t intended to reveal.
“She’s a law enforcement officer,” Blalock growled. “Show some respect.”
“You guys are up right now, I believe,” Ella said, as the first relay of competitors was called to the firing line.
Blalock nodded, then checked his nine-millimeter service pistol. Following the rules, he opened the action and unloaded his weapon before approaching the firing line. Until the ready command was given and the shooting field was declared clear, no one would be allowed to load their weapons.
Ella watched Blalock outshoot everyone in the first round, knocking down all ten metal silhouettes at the twenty-five-yard range.
During the subsequent rounds, Ella walked behind the lines, watching, making careful note of the weapons used by the men from the mine. Although most were fairly competent with their handguns, they really weren’t at the same skill level as a trained agent from the FBI or Treasury Department.
Leaving them to their contest, which had several categories based upon the type of firearm, and glad that Blalock had diverted them by joining the competition, she went to the parking area and wrote down the license plate codes and vehicle types. One never knew where a lead would turn up.
A beat-up old pickup at the end of a row of vehicles carried a tribal sticker from the power plant parking lot. She glanced inside the rolled-up window. A zippered rifle case had been laid on the seat. She saw the initials S.C. Later, she’d verify it was Steve Chambers, but at the moment she figured it was a good bet that Chambers shot different types of weapons.
By the time she returned, all rounds had been completed and Blalock still had the top score. His closest competitor was four points behind, and Prentiss had failed to place. Ella watched Blalock collect his pin and the small trophy.