“Is there any proof connecting Grady with the corruption in Arizona?” Ella asked.
“Not enough to obtain warrants or bring charges, but the tribal president is being extra careful, politically speaking, and wants to cover his butt. That’s why Grady’s on paid leave.”
“Does Grady have any close contacts on the tribal council, people he might want to rely on now to keep him in place?” Ella asked.
“The only person in the council I know he’s tight with is Cardell Natani. They often have dinner at the casino.”
Ella knew Natani. He’d been pro-casino since the very beginning, seeing it as an expedient way to raise cash and give the tribe a steady flow of income. Although she’d also heard that he had a bit of a gambling problem, no one had ever tried to use that against him.
“So the person we need to talk to is Grady’s assistant, Betsy,” Ella said, thinking out loud.
“Yeah, but don’t tell her you spoke to me. In fact, don’t tell anyone at the casino office that you even know me, okay?”
“No problem,” Ella assured him.
Martin glanced at Justine. “I owe you big time, so whenever you need my help, just ask. Thanks to you, I was finally able to get Dad to accept the fact that I wasn’t going to join the military.” He looked at Ella and continued. “My dad spent his entire life in the Army and he always assumed that I’d follow in his footsteps. But I’m not cut out for that kind of life.”
As they got back into the car, Justine glanced at her and explained. “Martin’s a gentle soul. He never even went out for sports—too much competition. His dad thinks he’s a wuss, but Martin’s just a nice guy who happens to hate violence of any kind.”
“I hate it, too, but it’s part of life,” Ella answered.
“You and I are cut from a different mold.”
On the way, Ella used the onboard computer and printer to generate photos of the shooting victims. “Let’s see if Betsy has seen Kevin or Adam at the casino or with any of the employees.” Ella then accessed some of their available databases.
They arrived at the casino a short time later. “I ran a check on Betsy. She’s clean,” Ella said. “According to what I could find, she’s in her mid-twenties and has been working at the casino since it opened. Everyone employed by the tribe, especially at one of the casinos, has had background checks.”
“Let’s see what Betsy can tell us,” Justine said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that if you want details about the boss, you should ask his assistant.”
They found Betsy Dodge typing away at a computer keyboard, a stack of colored folders on the desk beside her. When Ella introduced herself, Betsy stiffened noticeably and quickly exited the program she was running—something that looked like a personnel file.
“How can I help you?” she asked coldly.
“We’d like to talk to you about an ongoing criminal investigation. Is there someplace we can go?” Ella asked.
“Right now’s a real bad time. My boss is going to be away for a while and I need to get some last minute details sorted for him.”
“Then take us to see him,” Ella said, immediately taking advantage of this unexpected stroke of luck.
As they walked inside the spacious office, they saw Alan Grady, a short, balding Anglo in his sixties, placing several file folders into an expensive looking alligator-skin briefcase. Seeing Ella and Justine, and noting the badges clipped to their belts, he smiled. “How can I help you two officers?”
“We have a few questions for you,” Ella said, closing the door as soon as the young woman stepped out.
Grady sat behind his enormous ebony desk, which was accented by a small bronze sculpture of a spear-wielding warrior on a horse. “Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, waving them to a couple of chairs. “At the moment I’m on paid leave, so I’m in no rush.”
“We understand that you’ve come under investigation by federal and state agencies for your business contacts and operations. But we’re more concerned about offenses you may have committed here.”
Grady steepled his fingers. “If you think that a man in my position has no secrets, then you’re very naïve—which contradicts what I’ve heard about you and your reputation as an investigator for the tribe, Ms. Clah. I’m well aware that there have been some misunderstandings about the compensation I receive for my work here at the casino, but with a lawsuit pending, my attorney has advised me not to comment on these matters. I will tell you this much: I haven’t broken any laws, and no criminal case can be made against me.”
Ella studied Grady. He was calm, almost cocky. This was a man used to bending the rules when it suited him, and one who enjoyed an occasional challenge to his authority.
“Mr. Grady, have you heard about the incident at the airstrip?” Ella asked.
“Who hasn’t?” he countered, and shrugged. “One of the tribal attorneys was attacked—the same one, Tolino, who filed the lawsuit against me and my company. But that’s got nothing to do with me or my people. You need to look to your own backyard for answers.”
Ella’s gaze narrowed. “Do you know something about these crimes that we don’t?”
“You had two very ambitious men on board that plane, and ambitious men always have secrets and enemies,” he answered.
Ella tried to figure out if he knew about the money, but it was impossible to read him. She waited, wondering if he was going to get curious and ask her a question, but he just sat there, staring at his fingernails.
After a minute or two of silence, he stood up, dismissing them. “I’m not in a rush, but I do have some plans today, Detectives, so if you don’t mind . . .” He went to the door and held it open.
Ella and Justine walked out and remained quiet until they were well out of earshot.
“Any vibes?” Justine asked at last as they stopped by a soft drink machine in the wide hall well beyond the office area.
“Nothing. He’s one cool customer—like a professional poker player who knows how to avoid the tells.”
“Well, considering the environment,” Justine replied, waving her hand toward a double row of slot machines, half of them in use by mostly Navajo guests.
A short, big-chested Navajo man in a bolo tie, fancy belt buckle, and expensive-looking suit was standing beside one of the machines, looking in their direction. From this distance she didn’t recognize him, but his posture and casual attentiveness suggested he was undercover security.
“Try to find out if the tribe has anything else on him besides what we already know,” Ella said, avoiding mentioning Martin’s name or even the possibility of a source. With so many security cameras, there was also the possibility of hidden microphones or trained lip readers, and she suspected the guy with the bolo tie was watching them, perhaps because they’d just met with Grady.
Moments later, as they stood drinking sodas, they saw Grady hurry down the other end of the hall carrying his briefcase and a cardboard box.
Justine gave Ella a quick nod, and followed Grady until he went through the last door at the end. After waiting a couple of seconds, she opened the door and took a quick look.
Satisfied, she returned to where Ella waited. “There’s a low-profile employee entrance that requires a security code to open from the outside. He left the building.”
“Let’s go find Betsy,” Ella said, glancing around but no longer seeing the Navajo with the bolo tie.
They found the young woman at her desk. Grady’s office door directly behind her was wide open, but no one was inside.
Noticing Betsy tensing up as she approached, Ella smiled. “Relax. We’re going to keep this informal.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you. Mr. Grady’s a good man. He came here to make sure the Diné’s casino runs smoothly, and he’s got years of experience managing gaming operations. He was involved with helping some of the Rio Grande Valley pueblo casinos get set up, and look how successful they are.”
“Does Mr. Grady
feel that the tribe is targeting him unfairly?” Ella asked.
“No, not at all. He says that the casino business is tough and there are always going to be people in the community opposed to gaming for religious or other reasons. The way he sees it, his goal as casino manager is to make sure the tribe turns a healthy profit. He’s done it for other tribes, and plans to do it here, too. That’s why he’s not worried. He knows he’ll be back at his desk soon.”
“Do you like the way he’s running things?” Justine asked.
Betsy considered it for several long moments. “Yeah, I do. The casinos are in the business of selling dreams. Get rich quick—all it takes is a coin or token in a slot, or a lucky hand with the cards or throw of the dice. The tribe, of course, will make money because people refuse to see the reality of it—that casinos are a business with a built-in profit. The tribe operates this casino to make more money than it gives away. But those who come here to play get something out of it, too. They get hours of excitement dreaming about all the ‘what ifs.’ ”
“You said that Alan believes he’ll be back at his desk before long. Do you think he’s right?” Ella asked her.
“Oh, yeah. He’s got enemies—all successful entrepreneurs do. But it’s results that matter in this business, and he’s getting results.”
“How long have you known Alan Grady?” Justine asked her.
“Since he came on board as casino manager. He trained everyone before opening day.”
Ella reached for the photos she’d printed out. “Do you know either of these men, and have you ever seen them here?”
“I know both of them. That’s Kevin Tolino,” she said, pointing, “the attorney representing the tribe in the lawsuit against Mr. Grady and Casino Enterprises Management. The other man is that soldier who won all the medals fighting in Afghanistan, Sergeant Lonewolf—Adam, I think. I don’t know him personally, but every news program in the state has carried a story about him. He’s an honest-to-gosh hero. There’s a photo of him by the entrance, next to the tribal president and the Council member from this district.”
“Have you ever seen Mr. Tolino here at Mr. Grady’s office?” Ella asked her.
“Sure. He’s been here several times, the most recent being a few weeks ago. The door to Mr. Grady’s office was closed so I didn’t hear what they were saying, but by the time Mr. Tolino left, Mr. Grady was in a really bad mood. He hung up on someone, and yelled at the cleaning crew. I stayed out of his way the rest of the day. A few days later we heard about the lawsuit.”
“What about Adam?”
“I’ve never seen him here—and I would have remembered him,” she added. “Good-looking, but he’s married. Such a tragedy—him getting shot, I mean. I hope he makes it.”
“Me, too,” Ella added.
Ella and Justine left the office and headed for the exit at the far end of the enormous facility. “We need to find out when Kevin learned about Grady’s suspected ties to the mob,” Ella said.
“You’re thinking that was the reason Kevin came by a few weeks ago?” Justine asked.
Ella nodded. “He must have already known. Lawyers are like cops, most of the time they already know the answer to a question and are just looking for a reaction, or setting a trap.”
“Kevin might have been pushing to get Grady out of the casino as soon as possible so he wouldn’t be in a position to cover his trail, or intimidate anyone who might testify against him.”
“I’m sure Grady gathered his own forces just as quickly,” Ella said. “Kevin’s got clout, but Grady’s no pushover. Look at the facts. He managed to stay in control and maintain the status quo—until after the shooting, that is. That incident was what finally motivated the tribal president to remove Grady from the public eye.”
“So where to next?” Justine asked.
“The hospital. I want to talk to Adam’s wife, Marie, then follow up with Kevin.”
Ella and Justine walked down the outside steps and into the parking lot, passing casino patrons along the way. Business seemed to be thriving despite the economy, Ella surmised, noting the cheerful expressions on the faces of the mostly Navajo crowd.
They were nearly to the car when she heard steps coming up from behind. In a heartbeat, an arm snaked around her throat. “This is just a warning, whore!”
Ella instantly slammed her fist back, hammering him in the groin. As he gasped, doubling up, she stomped hard with her heel on his instep, then spun and punched up, catching him in the throat. He staggered back, dazed and off balance.
Justine was fighting her own battle. Her partner had been lifted off the ground, but she immediately kicked back, whacking her attacker on the kneecap. He yelled and dropped her.
The attackers, Anglos, not Navajos, had clearly come looking for a fight—and they wouldn’t be disappointed.
EIGHT
“We’re cops. Back off,” Ella shouted.
“Yeah, and I’m with the ’effing bee eye,” her attacker replied.
Having recaptured his balance, he came at her, swinging. From his unpolished assault, he was obviously an untrained street brawler used to relying on his bulk.
Ella ducked beneath the blow, and kicked, sending him sprawling back. As Ella reached for her holster, the man bolted to his feet.
“Look out, this hooker’s got a gun!” he shouted.
“Dude, run,” the other man yelled. The two raced away, heading down the row of parked cars.
“Get to the cruiser and cut them off,” Ella yelled to Justine as she sprinted after the men. They were faster than Ella had expected them to be, but kept making the mistake of looking back. As they raced around a curve in the lot, Justine cut them off, blocking the way.
The first man was going too fast to stop, but as he tried, his partner collided with him and they both tumbled to the pavement.
Justine was out of the vehicle in a second and grabbed the big man’s hand, forcing him to stay down with a painful twist of his wrist.
Ella caught up to the other as he rose to his knees, and kicked him in the chest. He bounced off the car, falling onto his back. Ella cuffed him while Justine did the same to the other suspect. Their prisoners secure, Ella recited the out-of-breath thugs their rights, and together with Justine, shoved them into the back of their tribal unit.
“You’re both going down for assault on two police officers,” Ella said.
Judging from their calloused hands, work shirts, pocket-knives in holders, and extra belt loops on their carpenter-type pants, and, more importantly, their lack of fighting skills, Ella figured the men were probably blue collar workers from a nearby site.
“The Indian dude said you were hookers, doing guys in the parking lot,” the big man argued. “This is a mistake.”
“Attacking prostitutes is okay, then?” Justine replied.
“No, that’s not what he’s saying,” the other man blurted out, slamming his buddy on the shoulder. “The dude . . .”
“What dude? Somebody put you up to this? Tell us everything you know—now. This is your only chance,” Ella added
“We’re not criminals, we just . . . never mind, we’ll talk,” the bulky, blond-haired Anglo man said. “What do you need to know?”
“Start with your names,” Ella said.
“I’m Larry Brown,” the big man said.
“I’m Gene Murphy,” his redheaded partner added. “Cut us some slack, okay? Some Navajo guy from casino security said you were hooking up with the patrons, and that was giving the casino and the tribe a bad rep. He paid us to scare the hell out of you, you know, so you wouldn’t come back. Honest, we didn’t know you were cops.”
“Who hired you?” Ella demanded.
“A short Navajo guy built like a wrestler. He was wearing a suit and one of those turquoise bolo ties. He said he was working security, and that he’d warned you two before, but you keep coming back. He said that lately you’d just take off every time he got close. He pointed you out inside, then paid us two hundr
ed dollars to put a scare in you. We owe the casino some money, so . . .”
Ella thought of the guy who’d been watching them earlier inside, and Cardell Natani came to mind. “Did he show you any kind of ID?” she asked, bringing out her handcuff key to tempt them.
They both shook their heads. “No, but he was carrying a gun and stuff. He acted legit, and we thought it was a good way of clearing our debts with the tribe. Sorry,” Murphy said.
“That’s not enough information to keep you out of jail, boys. We need more,” Ella said, putting the key back into her pocket.
“We’ve told you all we know,” Larry said. “Can’t you cut us a deal?”
“If you want a deal, you’ve got to give me something to work with,” Ella prodded. “Tell me more about this Navajo man—a lot more.”
“His belt buckle was gold, with a cowboy roping a calf. There was some kind of lettering on it, too, like it was a prize. Maybe he competes at the rodeo,” Larry suggested. “His suit was pin-striped and his boots were custom-looking, snakeskin, maybe.”
“Since when did you start checking out men’s fashions, bro?” Gene said, rolling his eyes. “I saw his wheels, because he came out ahead of us—said he wanted to watch, from a distance. Climbed into a nice lowrider Dodge with a custom bed liner, black leather interior, under-sized wheels. It was hard to miss, too—yellow, with that pearl kinda finish, and parked in one of the security parking slots. Sweet ride for picking up the ladies.”
“There are lot of trucks in this area, and yellow isn’t exactly uncommon,” Ella countered.
“Maybe not, but this was auto-show quality, like you’d see cruising in Albuquerque—or more likely, L.A.,” Gene added.
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