Changing Woman

by Thurlo, David

  “I can’t believe this! Somebody is taking potshots at us down here and our alleged police force is standing around in the street chatting! What are you people waiting for? Go and arrest whoever’s doing this.”

  “We will as soon as we know who to take into custody,” Ella said patiently. She couldn’t help but notice that Justine had slipped away and was doing her best to avoid eye contact with her. She was trying hard to appear as busy as possible near the stop sign as she helped the ongoing search for evidence. “Since we were unable to catch the sniper, we’ll have to collect what evidence we can find here and up on the hill, and search for clues and a motive.”

  “Then get busy!”

  “As a concerned citizen,” Ella added pointedly, “do you happen to have any useful information you can share that will point us in the right direction? I know this is a real reach, but does anyone have a reason to consider you their enemy? Or maybe you know of someone else in the neighborhood who’s pissed someone off recently? Do you know anyone who might be inclined to pick up a gun and start shooting at people?”

  “From what I heard, the sniper was shooting at you, not one of my neighbors. Of course he might have easily hit any one of us. If I had to lay odds, I’d say it was a recent vandalism victim upset because none of you cops are doing your job.”

  Seeing other people starting to come outside, Ella hardened her expression. “Go back inside, Myrna, and quit distracting us with your unproductive dialogue. Give us a chance to work here.”

  “That’s just it. You’re not doing anything.”

  “Are you going home under your own power, or would you prefer that I escort you there myself?”

  Myrna’s eyes grew wide. “You’ll hear about this, Ella. I promise you that,” she said and stalked back to her house.

  “You’d think the cold weather would freeze that tongue,” Sergeant Neskahi said as he walked up to Ella.

  “Nothing would freeze that tongue. It’s always moving too fast. She’s a pain in the—neck.”

  “Sure that’s the place?” he said with a chuckle.

  Leaving a team to continue processing the scene, Ella gave Neskahi and another officer instructions to take lanterns and check out the suspected sniper area once more tonight. Once that was covered, Ella joined Justine in her police unit and they drove toward the Stop and Go, about a half mile north of the shooter’s position.

  “Ernest Ration, the night manager, is no stranger to violence,” Justine said. “If he heard the gunshot he would have recognized it for what it was and grabbed a weapon. He wouldn’t stand around wondering what was going on.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Not that well, actually. He’s never paid much attention to me. He’s an ex-Ranger and friend of George, my oldest brother.”

  “But you would have loved a chance to get to know him better, right?” Ella teased.

  “Maybe at one time,” she admitted. “But he’s dating a tall blonde from Farmington these days. My brother described her as having legs that took a week to get to the ground.”

  Ella smiled. “I’m getting the picture. What is it with our men and blondes? They see yellow hair and salivate.”

  “I think it’s got something to do with testosterone. Anglo men show a preference for yellow hair too, I’m told. Look what they’re missing,” she added, making Ella laugh.

  As they pulled up to the small convenience store, a stocky, broad-shouldered Navajo man carrying a carbine came out. He held it with both hands, ready to fire from the hip or bring it up to his shoulders. Ella tensed, and reached down to unsnap the strap of her holster.

  “Easy. That’s Ernest. He won’t shoot. I’d bet he was expecting us,” Justine said.

  Justine stepped out of the car. “Hi, Ernest. Remember me? I’m George’s sister—the cop. Would you put the rifle away, please?”

  He nodded once, lowered the weapon so he was holding it in one hand down by his side, then gestured for them to come inside the store.

  Ella looked him over carefully. He wasn’t tense, the way an amped-up shooter often was. He was simply carrying the carbine as casually as a hunter might on the way back to camp. Yet there was something about him that made her uneasy. She didn’t refasten the strap of her holster as she left the car and went inside.

  “I was wondering if something happened up there,” he said. “I heard the shot, definitely from a big, highvelocity weapon. Then I saw a silver pickup come hauling down this side of the mesa cross-country, hit the road burning rubber, and take off toward Cortez.”

  “Did you notice the make and model?” Ella asked.

  “No, but I think it was a big Ford or Chevy. He was hauling ass and, in the dark, there was no way I could get a better look.”

  “Call the Colorado state police and put an APB on a metallic gray or silver large-frame pickup,” Ella told Justine.

  “What about a roadblock?” Justine asked.

  “I doubt we have an officer between here and the Colorado state line right now. But, in this case, it doesn’t make any difference. Face it, the perp could take one of a dozen side roads along the way and we’d just waste manpower running up and down the highway.”

  As Justine went back to the unit to put in the call, Ella studied Ernest, who was taking off his brown leather jacket now that he was inside again. He still wore the military buzz haircut and had the confidence of a man who didn’t have to work up much of a sweat to get troublemakers to back down. “You always keep that carbine handy?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. If I hear shooting, I don’t wait to see how close it can get before I’m ready to deal with it.”

  “You might end up walking into a really bad situation someday.”

  “I was trained to deal with that. The other guy’s going to be the one in trouble.”

  His eyes were focused and direct. He might have been the man who’d fired at her, though it would have been a nearly impossible shot over open sights, especially with a carbine. “Would you mind if I took a look at your weapon?”

  He handed it to her.

  Ella opened the bolt of the semiauto, sniffed for the scent of burned gunpowder, and found none. There was a round in the chamber so she unloaded the weapon by pushing the round back down into the box magazine with her thumb, then closed the bolt on the empty chamber and snapped the trigger. Then she handed the weapon back to Ernest.

  To her, this was a guy hoping to find trouble—a bored serviceman who still hadn’t readjusted to civilian life. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing clerking at a convenience store?”

  “That’s where the action is late at night.” Ernest smiled and shrugged. “Actually, I’m just making a living while I’m trying to figure out what to do next. I may even join the Tribal PD.”

  She studied him for a moment before answering. They could use more manpower, but instinct told her he wasn’t cut out for the job. “Police work takes a lot more restraint than the kind of missions you had in the armed forces.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m still thinking it over.” “Stay out of trouble,” Ella said, and headed for the door.

  Ella met Justine back at the unit. “Drive back to that stop sign. We need to track down the bullet that was fired at me. By tomorrow, kids will be all over the place and evidence will disappear.”

  Joining the officers already there, Ella and Justine studied the size of the hole in the metal stop sign. Only a large, powerful weapon would be capable of punching a hole that big.

  “What do you think, an elephant gun?” Justine asked.

  “Could be, and because of the range, it had to be high velocity as well. Maybe more like a fifty-caliber. It looks like we’re dealing with one heck of a marksman, too. He didn’t miss me by much, despite a good cross wind.” Ella studied the copper traces around the puncture. “It was a jacketed bullet.”

  “A few manufacturers make sniper-style weapons of that caliber, but they’re big, heavy, and very ex
pensive. Around these parts, they’re primarily used for long-range competitions. But, even so, they’re few and far between,” Justine said. “That should help us.”

  Seeing Officer Tache, Ella joined him. The roundfaced crime-scene investigator was taking photographs with a flash. Seeing Ella, he looked up. “I came up with an approximate trajectory by shining a narrow flashlight beam through the hole in the sign from the direction you indicated the shot had come from.” He pointed toward three white stakes he’d placed in a line on the big lawn across the street. “It’s the best we can do for the moment. But I haven’t found the bullet yet. Any suggestions?”

  “No. Let’s work together walking down the sight line. I don’t think it would have ricocheted off the street or sidewalk, judging from the angle.”

  Justine stayed close to Ella as they worked, trying to watch Ella’s back. Justine had been bloodied, but her spirit was strong, and her determination and instincts were still 100 percent cop.

  “He’s long gone, Justine. You can relax,” Ella said quietly.

  “We’re assuming he’s long gone. He could come back, or have an accomplice. Obviously, shooting at a cop isn’t a problem for him.”

  They used their flashlights to look for indications along the stunted grass that it had been disturbed or gouged. “Ration seems eager to find trouble,” Ella commented. “What’s your brother say about him?”

  “Not much, but I’d have a hard time believing he was the shooter, if that’s what you’re thinking. Talking from strictly a cop’s point of view, the carbine isn’t a sniper’s weapon of choice—not for a target at that range.”

  “He could have switched weapons before we got there to throw us off. Maybe he’s talent someone hired. Some of the gung-ho types harbor the notion of becoming mercenaries.”

  Justine hesitated. “Taken from that perspective, he could have been the sniper, I suppose. He’s got the skill level. He went to one of the turkey shoots last Thanksgiving with one of our patrolmen and won two birds with two shots.”

  “But you’re not convinced?”

  “No, not really. From what I know and have heard about him, he’s the type who likes having people know all about his accomplishments. My feeling is that becoming a hit man—a job where he couldn’t brag about how good he was, or at least get a pat on the shoulder—isn’t his style at all.”

  Ella nodded thoughtfully. That fit her impression of him as well. Cocky and not subtle about it. “Okay. I just wanted to sound you out on that. Let’s keep looking.”

  “Whoever took a shot at us wasn’t playing around, Ella. Somebody’s gunning for a cop, and a jacketed round like that would pierce our vests.”

  “I know,” she said in a taut voice. “Front and back.” After searching for over an hour with a metal detector, they found nothing except roofing nails, a few coins, some bottle caps, and several of those aluminum lift tabs that would probably be around for the next millennium. Disappointed, but hoping they’d have better luck after sunrise, Ella made arrangements to have a two-man team remain in the area to discourage scavengers until the crime-scene team returned at dawn. The residential street couldn’t be completely cordoned off without preventing people from getting out of their homes, so Criminalistics would have to work quickly tomorrow.

  Twenty-five minutes later, her hands wrapped around a Styrofoam cup of coffee, Ella sat down at her desk at the station. Justine took the chair across from her.

  “I was right beside you when the sniper fired, but you were his target,” Justine said, voicing Ella’s thoughts. “The stop sign was on your side.”

  “Maybe it was a random decision.”

  “I don’t think so. My guess is that somebody with a grudge is gunning for you.”

  “You could be right. I’ll make a list of my known enemies, and we can check on those people first,” Ella said.

  Justine left Ella, intending to work in her office on the crime-scene report, but returned a few minutes later, paper in hand. “This just came in on the fax. Artie, one of Jeremiah Manyfarms’s twin sons, escaped from a federal prison in California.”

  Ella noted that Justine’s hand was shaking as she handed her the bulletin. Artie had been one of the men who’d kidnapped her and cut off her finger in an elaborate plan to frame Ella last year.

  “Don’t let them get to you, cousin.”

  “Easier for you to say.” Justine’s eyes blazed with fire. “That ordeal is over as far as you’re concerned, but I’m still paying for what happened.”

  Ella glanced down at the fax. The twins, twenty years old now, had apparently used the fact that they were identical to confuse the guards. It had taken a fingerprint comparison to confirm which of the two was missing. The escape had gone undetected until a few hours ago and, in that time, Artie would have had plenty of time to fly to New Mexico and take a shot at her.

  “I think we just identified our sniper,” Justine said, voicing Ella’s thoughts.

  “We don’t know for sure that this was Artie’s work,” Ella said slowly.

  “Sorry, but I don’t buy it as an amazing coincidence.” Ella nodded. “It’s true that all the Manyfarmses hate my guts. They blame the department, and especially me, for their troubles, especially now since we busted the lot of them and sent them to prison.”

  “If Artie Manyfarms is our sniper,” Justine said, “he’s acting alone now. Jeremiah Manyfarms was placed in a different lockup in the Midwest because the authorities felt he was too dangerous to put into the same prison as his sons. What we’re probably seeing is a plan the twins hatched up to exact revenge, as opposed to their father’s more sophisticated schemes.”

  Ella was considering Justine’s words when she heard someone knock on her open door.

  “Hey, Ella,” Dwayne Blalock smiled as he walked into her office carrying a large duffle bag. “Justine,” he added, nodding to Ella’s assistant.

  “It’s one in the morning. What brings you here now?” Ella asked with raised eyebrows.

  “I just heard about Artie Manyfarms. He’s gone fugitive”

  “Yeah, we got the fax.”

  “Let me guess. You didn’t find out until after the sniper incident?” Blalock asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Dwayne Blalock hadn’t changed much physically since Ella had first met him during the investigation of her father’s death several years ago. The tall senior FBI agent had grown a little thicker around the middle and his brown hair was now tinged with gray, but otherwise the years had been kind to him. Known as FB-Eyes to the people on the Rez, a nickname he’d earned because one of his eyes was brown and the other blue, he sometimes put in longer hours than Ella did. If he had a personal life, Ella certainly didn’t know about it.

  “Deputy Marshal Harry Ute is already en route to New Mexico from California. If Artie Manyfarms has returned to the Rez, we’ll catch him before long.”

  The news about Harry’s return cheered her up a bit. It would be good to see him again. Lately, her thoughts often turned to her former special investigations team member. There was a new awareness between them these days that was sexy and exciting. She’d hoped for a chance to be around him and see if the spark she’d felt last time was still there.

  “Harry will catch up to you sometime tomorrow. And Ella, what have you got by way of a vest?”

  “Department issue. You’ve seen them.”

  “That’s not good enough—not anymore.” He unzipped the duffle bag, and brought out a thick, black bullet-resistant vest that looked more like a ski jacket. “I’m going to give you this on loan. It’s a new model with better ballistic properties and designed to be worn on the outside. It passes for a winter jacket, but it’ll stop most rifle-caliber rounds outside a hundred yards,” he said. “Not tremendously comfortable, mind you, but who cares, right?”

  “Thanks, Dwayne. I appreciate it.”

  Once she was alone again in her office, Ella sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. Her stomach was still in knots
. That had been a very close call tonight and, despite Blalock’s intent, no vest could stop a highvelocity fifty-caliber bullet—at least none she’d ever seen. And if it was a head shot...

  Ella took a deep breath, then let it out again, staring down at her hands and willing them not to tremble. Now that she was a mom, incidents like tonight’s shook her up more than ever. Yet leaving the department was not an option. Despite her responsibility to her daughter, she also had a debt of honor to pay the tribe who’d financed her education and her training. The tribe needed its cops, and Ella knew she was exactly where she belonged.

  Dawn deserved to grow up proud of her mother and to know that she’d always stood for the right. It would be testimony enough of a life well spent, and would speak for her long after she was gone, and serve as an example of courage to her daughter.

  As the phone rang, Ella focused back on the job. It was Big Ed, calling from home. He’d been notified about the shooting by the watch commander, and wanted to know all about it. Ella began to go over the evening events, minute by minute, with her boss. A time for work and a time for family, that was the way to walk in beauty.

  FOUR

  Despite the late hour, Ella got busy at her computer terminal checking through police data files and the federal crime base for a hit on a sporting goods store, or a collector. Very large bore target rifles weren’t in great demand, so it wasn’t long before she found a likely connection to the sniper attack.

  Hunter’s Emporium in Farmington had reported the theft of a fifty-caliber telescope-equipped target rifle, a night scope, and fifty rounds of match ammunition. The video camera at the establishment had captured the fleeting image of a tall, slender man wearing a mask, but no ID was possible. A second parking lot camera showed the thief leaving in a metallic gray late-model pickup. The vehicle tags had been stolen as well.

  Justine came in a moment later. “I retrieved the file on Artie Manyfarms. He still has a lot of relatives in this area, including his mom in Gallup. I also read that he and his brother have years of experience in hunting and competitive shooting. Artie was the better shot of the two.” She paused. “Ella, for what it’s worth, my money’s on this guy.”