Never-ending-snake

by Thurlo, David

  “Quick, log on to the net,” Justine said, hurrying into the office and over to Ella’s desk. “The Farmington station’s Web broadcast is running live again, and you’re not going to like it.”

  As they watched, Ella saw Norm Hattery break his exclusive, stating that Adam had been carrying seventy-five thousand dollars in cash at the time of the attack, and that the money was now in the custody of the police. The bulletin finished, then repeated itself, going into a loop.

  “Any idea how he found out?” Ella asked her partner.

  “Someone in the know either screwed up or leaked it on purpose.”

  “So let’s go down the list. We can rule out everyone in our team. Nothing to gain, everything to lose. Next comes the Lonewolf family. I doubt any of them knew about it, but even if they did, they wouldn’t have publicly discredited Adam this way. Ford knew, but he wouldn’t have told anyone. Clifford and Kevin also knew, but I trust both men. That leaves Kevin’s boss, Robert Buck. He’s more politician than lawyer, but I don’t see what he might have to gain, at least in the short haul.”

  “Me neither,” Justine said. “We’ve done background checks on all the players, and turned up nothing, so let’s try a different approach. My sister Jayne’s best friend, Dena Bileen, is Buck’s office assistant. Let’s see if we can get something from her via Jayne.”

  Ella tried to remember if she’d ever met Dena, but nothing came to her.

  Seeing her partner trying to put a face to the name, Justine continued. “Dena’s eminently forgettable. She’s about as ordinary-looking as you can get, and has no charisma. But according to Jayne, she can type a gazillion words per minute and multitask like a mainframe computer. The perfect assistant—that’s what Jayne says.”

  “Okay, see what you can do.”

  SATURDAY

  The following afternoon Ella stopped just outside Big Ed’s office, took a breath, then knocked on the semi-open door. She could hear him on the phone, and as Big Ed gestured for her to take a seat, her hope that he’d just wave her away vanished.

  “We’re doing our best to uncover the leak, and I assure you it didn’t come from our department.” Big Ed paused then added, “Yes, sir, I’ll keep your office in the loop.” After barely resisting the urge to slam the phone down, he walked to the door and shut it. “That was the tribal president, Shorty, and he’s angry and embarrassed by the suggestion that our best-known Navajo warrior since the time of the Code Talkers has now been branded as a criminal. Do you have any idea how this got out?”

  “Our best bet is Robert Buck, or someone connected to him, but we haven’t been able to nail it down yet.”

  He rubbed a hand through his hair, then sat back. “Have you got anything new for me on the core investigation?”

  She told him about the discrepancy in dates. “I’m hoping to make some sense out of that, but one of the problems on a case like this is that it doesn’t travel in a straight line. We don’t even know if the apparent contradiction is relevant.”

  After a knock sounded on Big Ed’s door, he boomed out a “come in.”

  Justine entered, a big smile on her face. “We got a break. I know how Hattery learned about the seventy-five thou,” she said. “Jayne told me that Norm’s been dating Dena Bileen, Robert Buck’s assistant. Dena was convinced that she and Norm had something special going on. He apparently promised he’d take her with him when he left the Rez.”

  “And she believed that slimy con artist?” Ella asked, shaking her head.

  “The guy’s smooth,” Big Ed said with a scowl. “He plays everyone he meets, apparently.”

  “Dena’s in a mess of trouble right now. As soon as Robert Buck heard about the leak, he took a closer look at his assistant, too. She’s the only other person in his office who knew about the cash. Although it didn’t take him long to find out that Dena was dating Hattery, he still can’t prove she’s the leak. Hattery protects his sources, too, so chances are Buck will never know for sure.”

  “Let’s move on, then,” Ella said. “I’m going to talk to Begaye and Garnenez once more,” Ella said, standing.

  “Keep me in the loop, Shorty. And good work, Officer Goodluck,” Big Ed said, leaning back in his chair.

  As Ella opened the door, she nearly collided with Benny, who was about to knock.

  “Bad news boss, other boss,” Benny announced, holding up a newspaper. “Adam Lonewolf’s clan is up in arms. They called Jaime Beyale of the Diné Times to give their take on the cash inside the briefcase. Fred Benn—the uncle—has been quoted as saying this is our department’s way of discrediting Adam and shifting the focus away from our own bungled investigation. Fred also suggested that the money belonged to Tolino and that it was a bribe he’d received from Grady, the Anglo casino boss. He claims that if Adam was carrying that money, it was undoubtedly on Kevin’s orders.”

  Ella muttered a curse. When Kevin read that story . . . She hadn’t even finished the thought when her cell phone vibrated. She didn’t answer it.

  Big Ed slammed his fist against the desk. “We’re going to experience the mother of all backlashes, folks. The public’s going to buy into the uncle’s story because they want to believe in Adam’s innocence.”

  Benny Pete cleared his throat, and they all braced themselves, realizing that he had even more to say. “I’ve been studying Adam Lonewolf’s notes in detail,” he said. “Though he’d made every concession he was authorized to make, Adam was certain that IFT was going to turn down the tribe’s final offer. The company wanted more money, but the tribe’s budget was stretched to the limit and there were no more resources they could tap into to sweeten the deal.”

  “If that’s true, then what made IFT change their minds? Adam was carrying the money back to the Rez, not delivering it to Williams or whomever,” Justine asked.

  “Good point, partner,” Ella said. “Let’s go talk to Begaye and Garnenez. Benny, I’d like you to check with Agent Blalock and see if anyone has come up with a lead on O’Riley.” She glanced back at Big Ed. “Blalock’s been directing a multi-agency task force and they’ve been checking out fast food outlets, gas stations, bus terminals, apartment landlords, and cheap motels. Even rest stops and parks. If O’Riley is in the area, he still has to eat and find a place to sleep.”

  Big Ed glanced at his three officers. “Keep me updated. And, Shorty, work fast,” he said, reaching for his phone.

  Benny returned to the lab as Ella walked with Justine down the hall. Before they reached the side door, her phone began to ring.

  Ella sighed, expecting it to be Kevin, ready to sue Adam’s in-laws. To her surprise, it was Sheriff Taylor, who’d often worked with her on cases that overlapped tribal and county jurisdiction. “Ella, I got a call from the chief of security at the tribal casino, Rudy Nez. He just reported a death at the Alan Grady residence just east of the Hogback—on county jurisdiction. There’s a possibility this might be connected to the shootings you’ve been working on, so I’m extending you a courtesy. I’m en route now, about a half hour away. Can you meet me there?”

  “I sure can. Is Grady the victim?” Ella pressed.

  “Yes, according to Nez, who says Grady asked him to come over. Nez claims his boss was dead when he arrived at the residence. If you get there before our units, would you secure the scene and keep him out of the way? I’ve come across Nez before, and he’s a pain in the butt.”

  “Roger that. I should make it in ten, maybe fifteen.”

  “Fine.” Taylor ended the call.

  Ella gave Justine the highlights as they left the building.

  “I wonder if Nez had anything to do with this? Or maybe O’Riley decided to take out his boss—if Grady is behind all this,” Justine said.

  “Whatever the case, we need to get over there pronto. I’d like to question Nez before the sheriff and his team show up.”

  They arrived at the house just north of the river within twelve minutes. Grady lived in a large, modern home on land that had been
part of an enormous apple orchard during Ella’s childhood. Developers had changed the entire valley. The housing area was nice, and all the yards had manicured lawns, but they were built too close together for her tastes. As they pulled up, Ella saw Rudy in the front yard, waiting beside his mustard yellow pickup.

  “Not surprised to see you here, Clah, though this is county jurisdiction, not tribal. Sheriff Taylor call you?”

  “Something like that,” Ella commented. “You’ve already been inside, right?” she added, stepping up the porch.

  “Yeah, and you might want to take a look for yourself before the deputies arrive. Someone went to a lot of trouble to stage this,” he said, waving toward the open door.

  “How far in did you go?”

  “No more than a few steps,” Rudy said. “Didn’t want to contaminate the scene. Once you get into the living room, look to your left. His office door’s open.”

  Ella glanced inside, and at first, all she saw was an expensively furnished living room in some modern style requiring chrome and leather. Looking down at the carpet, she checked for trace evidence. Seeing nothing, she took two steps into the room and looked to the left as he’d suggested. Grady was slumped over his desk, a pool of blood around his head like an unholy halo. A revolver lay on the floor below his outstretched hand.

  “It looks like he committed suicide, but that doesn’t make any sense, considering his call to you,” Ella said, stepping back out.

  “Not at all,” Rudy responded, adding a shrug.

  “I’d like to take a closer look at all those papers scattered around the desk,” Justine said, having come up alongside her.

  “Not until Sheriff Taylor arrives,” Ella said, stepping back outside and off the porch. “This is his turf.”

  Sheriff Taylor, the county sheriff and an old acquaintance of Ella’s, arrived only a few minutes later. Hearing Rudy Nez’s story, he glanced at Ella, who shook her head and shrugged.

  “You’re welcome to work the crime scene with us, Ella. You, too, Officer Goodluck,” Taylor said as his own crime scene team arrived in their big van. “I’ve been following the case you’ve been working and also helping Blalock with the search for O’Riley. Is there any chance Grady was involved in the airport shootings?”

  “I don’t think so. Although I hadn’t ruled the man out, I have stronger evidence against some of our other suspects.”

  “All right then, let’s get started,” he said.

  Ella pulled on the first of two pairs of latex gloves—a practice most Navajo officers followed. Traditional Navajo beliefs held that touching anything that had come into contact with the dead was highly dangerous. The chindi, the evil side of a person that remained earthbound after death, would be nearby, waiting, and eager to create trouble for the living. While Ella struggled with the second pair, she listened to one of the deputies questioning Rudy.

  “About fifteen minutes ago, Alan Grady asked me to come over to his house in Fruitland,” Rudy explained. “He claimed that someone was watching his home and tailing him whenever he left. I told him to call the sheriff’s department—that I worked for the casino—but he insisted. Since he signs my paycheck—at least up to last week—I gave in and drove over. It only took me ten minutes, but when I got here, the door was unlocked. Inside I found Grady, freshly dead. Gunshot wound to the head, it looks like.

  “I came over as soon as I could,” Rudy added, “but there was no one around. My first thought was that Investigator Clah or one of her team was watching the house, and that’s who Alan had seen, but I looked around carefully as I drove up and all I saw was a male pheasant standing in the tall grass.”

  Ready now, Ella followed Taylor inside, and although most of the evidence pointed to suicide, experience had taught her that first impressions couldn’t be trusted. She took in the room slowly, studying the scene from ceiling to floor as the photographer worked. Once he moved away, she drew closer to the papers scattered on the expensive Ganado-style Navajo rug. Most were articles on the shooting at the airstrip and Kevin’s casino management investigation.

  Ella looked up when one of the crime scene investigators shifted the body enough to lift a cell phone from Grady’s pocket.

  “What was the last number he dialed?” Ella asked her.

  The tech, a small Hispanic woman, checked and read off the number. “It’s the same number on his last three calls.”

  “That’s my cell,” Rudy said from the living room.

  Ella nodded absently, and began looking around again, when Sheriff Taylor called her. “I think you’ll want to see this.” He stepped back, showing her what was inside the office closet.

  The first thing that caught her eye was the .223 ArmaLite assault rifle. The model AR-180B appeared identical to the ones used in the airport attack. There also was a box of ammunition, two twenty-round magazines, and a bullet-resistant vest.

  Ella picked up the heavy vest, noting the impact marks and the ceramic plates inserted within. Hearing a light thud, she looked down and saw a smashed bullet on the floor. “I hit whoever was at the airstrip, but he didn’t go down. . . .”

  “We’ll check that and any other rounds we find against those fired from your weapon,” Taylor said. “Do you think Grady got spooked figuring you were getting too close, and decided to end it on his own terms?”

  “Not unless he taped, then untaped both his wrists first,” Justine answered from across the room. “In my opinion, the entire scene was staged.”

  Ella drew close and studied the victim’s arms, noting the irritated skin and duct-tape glue that was still stuck to Grady’s arm hair. “You’re right. His hands were bound at some point.”

  Sheriff Taylor glanced at Ella and cocked his head toward the door. “What do you say we go talk to his neighbor?”

  “Good idea. People who live this close probably know more about each other than anyone realizes,” she said, walking out with him.

  “I think having these four- and five-bedroom McMansions so close together gives the residents the illusion of protection,” Taylor said. “But that’s just this working man’s opinion.”

  “A working man who wisely carries a gun. The illusion of protection doesn’t carry much weight in our game,” Ella said.

  They knocked at the neighbor’s door, and moments later were shown inside by a silver-haired Anglo woman wearing jeans and a red UNM Lobo sweatshirt. She led the way to a large leather couch and gestured for them to take a seat. “I’m glad you officers finally got here. I’ve been scared out of my mind since I heard those shots. In fact, I was getting ready to call 911 when that armed security man from the casino drove up in the yellow pickup. He showed me his ID and told me not to worry, that he’d take care of everything. But you county people took forever to get here.”

  “Tell us what happened,” Taylor said.

  “About an hour ago I heard what sounded like a backfire from somewhere down the street, but when I looked outside there were no cars anywhere. Then I heard the second bang and realized gunshots were coming from inside one of the houses. That’s when I got scared and called Alan, my closest neighbor. He didn’t answer. I knew he was home because the tribe had put him on leave, so I went to check on him. There was the sound of a car in the alley, but then the security man from the casino drove up, so I never went to look to see who it was.”

  “You sure you heard two shots?”

  “There were two identical loud sounds.”

  “One right after the other?” Ella asked.

  “No. I heard one, then about three minutes later, the second.”

  Taylor took the rest of the information, then walked back with Ella to Grady’s home. “The back door was unlocked, so we know how the killer made his escape. Looks to me we’ve got a clear case of murder on our hands.”

  “Let’s take a closer look at the crime scene, and see what else we can uncover,” Ella said.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sheriff Taylor was about her height, and Ella was ab
le to match his strides. “Your medical investigator will have to send the body to OMI headquarters in Albuquerque, and getting answers will take time,” Ella said. “Since the deceased was employed by the tribal casino and the tribe has an interest in this case, we could ask Dr. Roanhorse to take charge. Then everything would be done here and we’d have answers a lot quicker.”

  “That’s fine with me. I’ll call our deputy medical investigator and tell her not to respond.”

  “I’ll call Dr. Roanhorse,” Ella said.

  After getting the Navajo Tribe’s medical examiner on the second ring, Ella explained what she needed.

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Carolyn answered.

  “Good,” Ella said. “The county’s crime scene team is ready to wrap up.”

  “Thanks for calling me in on this, Ella. There hasn’t been much to do lately, and I was getting restless. When I’m restless, I eat. I think I’ve put on ten pounds this past month,” Carolyn said.

  As far back as Ella had known her, Carolyn had been a large woman, and though keenly aware of all the dire warnings about obesity, she very simply enjoyed eating too much to curtail her appetite. The fact that she was a pariah on the Rez, where the dead and anything connected to them were assiduously avoided, undoubtedly was a big part of the problem.

  Ella moved closer to one of the crime scene techs, who was speaking into a digital recorder, and listened. “No defensive wounds,” the tech said. “Reddish brown liquid spreading outward from the wound.”

  Techs working a crime scene never listed anything as blood. Until it was tested, it remained a “liquid substance.” Ella’s attention was suddenly diverted when another tech reported a new discovery—a second bullet in the sofa cushion.

  “Two rounds were fired from the gun found beneath the vic’s hand,” Taylor said, coming up to Ella. “And the serial numbers were filed down on the revolver, which means it was stolen. If the ME confirms this was murder, not suicide, we can get a forensics expert to try and restore those numbers.”