“Maybe we’ll find latent prints on the weapon, too,” Ella said, though she knew it was a long shot that would require a great deal of luck. Unless the suspect had touched smooth metal, like the slide or barrel, handguns usually weren’t very productive when it came to latents.
Minutes later, hearing a vehicle arrive, Ella glanced out the closest window and saw Carolyn pulling up in what the tribe’s ME had dubbed the “body bus.” The joke had been lost for most people on the Rez. Nobody liked talking about death.
As Ella watched her longtime friend get out of the van, it struck her how much Carolyn’s split with her husband had aged her. Feeling guilty, Ella found herself wishing that she’d had more time to spend with her. Carolyn had even fewer close friends on the Rez than she did, but since they both had extremely demanding jobs, neither of them had much time to socialize.
“Hey,” Ella said, going to greet her.
“Where’s the body?” Carolyn asked, already focused on what lay ahead.
“Inside—still seated at a desk in the first room to the left. Indications are that the suicide was staged.”
“I’ll let you know,” she replied.
Ella moved aside. Carolyn was in full ME mode. She could hear it in her friend’s voice. Although police work required a strong stomach and steady nerves, Carolyn’s work was on another level entirely. She’d often wondered how Carolyn stayed sane.
While Carolyn worked, Ella watched the techs finish searching the sofa where the second round had been found. “Will you be using a laser trajectory kit to track the position of the gunman?” Ella asked.
The young woman nodded. “It might also help us establish the sequence of events.”
As she spoke to the tech, Ella had one eye on Carolyn. “I’m going to need to know as soon as possible if the slugs caught by the vest came from my service weapon. My partner will provide you with comparisons.”
“Good. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something,” the woman said.
While Carolyn worked, Ella made herself useful by helping the county team continue to gather evidence. The back door knob was clean of prints, and was of a type that could easily be “bumped” open by any competent burglar. It was clear how the killer had gained entry. When she returned to the living room, she saw that Carolyn had already persuaded two sheriff’s deputies to load the body into the van.
“It’s sure easier to get help out here,” Carolyn said as Ella came up.
“From what the crime scene unit has pieced together, it appears that the victim was shot, then the shooter placed the gun in the vic’s hand and fired off a second round. That way there’d be powder residue on the vic’s hand,” Ella said as she walked with Carolyn to the van.
“That’ll leave clean patches on the victim’s skin—places where the gunshot residue was blocked by the suspect’s hand. I’ll look for that. With that cheap old revolver, there should be plenty of residue. I’ll let you know my findings as soon as possible,” Carolyn answered.
“You and I . . . We always say we’re going to get together, but our jobs keep getting in the way,” Ella said.
“I know. That’s why I decided to get a new best friend and roommate.” Seeing Ella’s surprised look, Carolyn laughed. “I’ve adopted a guinea pig. One of the nurses bought it for her daughter, but it created havoc with the kid’s asthma. Anyway, GP and I are perfectly suited. He loves to eat, and will sit on the couch and watch TV with me at night. During the day when I’m gone he munches on alfalfa and takes his power naps.” She paused. “I’ve decided that in my next life I’m coming back as a guinea pig.”
“Just make sure to stay in this country. They’re dinner in some others.”
Carolyn laughed. “Call me later and I’ll have some prelims for you.”
As Carolyn drove off, Sheriff Taylor joined Ella. “We’re dealing with murder, so I’m going to need whatever you have that pertains to the vic.”
She nodded. “You’ll have it as soon as I do. If I’m right, the primary suspect’s on your turf. My hunch is that O’Riley’s our man and that he planted the ArmaLite and the other items here to try and confuse the evidence,” she said, giving him the pertinent details. “I think Grady’s death was nothing more than another attempt to misdirect our investigation. Whoever’s pulling O’Riley’s strings wants me to believe that Grady was the other shooter at the airstrip.”
“Send your ballistics data on the rounds from the airport shooting to our crime lab and we’ll see if anything matches the .223 in the closet,” Taylor asked.
“I’ll have Justine get on that, but my guess is we’ll get a hit. That’s all part of the gunman’s plan.”
“What makes you so sure Grady wasn’t involved in the shooting at the airstrip? The shooters wore masks, correct?”
“Yes, but Grady is too short, and besides, we’ve checked out Grady’s alibi. The man was in his office at the critical time. Several people at his workplace confirm that he was there, though it was Sunday, and surveillance images for that time period verify it.”
“He still might have hired O’Riley and Perry. And now that Perry’s dead, maybe his partner decided to eliminate the only loose end that can point to him,” Taylor suggested.
“It’s possible, I suppose, but my gut tells me that the casino theory is taking us in the wrong direction,” Ella said. “And with that, I’d better get going.”
A short time later Ella and Justine were on their way back to the reservation. Justine seemed upset and Ella noticed it almost immediately.
“What’s up? Did you have a disagreement with one of the locals on the scene?” Ella asked.
“No, it’s not that. Abigail Yellowhair called. She wants to fund a public memorial service for Adam Lonewolf, and won’t take no for an answer. She really leaned on me for a contribution, but I told her I wanted to spend my money helping the family once they returned from seclusion.”
“Any idea why she’s being so pushy about this all of a sudden?”
“No, not a clue,” Justine said, “though she’s paid a special interest in this from the beginning. Remember her showing up at the hospital, obviously going there directly from whatever business trip she’d just made? Her carry-on was still in the car.”
“I remember her asking if Adam was still alive.” Playing a hunch, Ella called Marianna Talk next. “Give me a twenty on Norm Hattery,” she said, asking for a location.
“I’ve stayed with him for most of my shift. He met with Jaime Beyale for about fifteen minutes, then closed himself off in his motel room—alone. That’s where he’s been for the last few hours.”
“Stay with him,” Ella said, then after hanging up, glanced back at Justine. “I’d love to be able to assume that he’s taking a nap, but that doesn’t sound like a man trying to land a network news job.”
“A couple of hours. . . .” Justine mulled it over. “If the motel has Internet service, my guess is that he’s updating the station’s Web news or blogging on his Web site. Probably both.”
“Terrific,” Ella snapped. “More trouble. I can feel it in my bones.”
They arrived at the station ten minutes later, and Ella accompanied Justine to her office. The lab’s computer was the fastest available. “I want to see everything Hattery’s showing online: video, photos, blogs, whatever,” Ella said.
“What are you hoping to find?” Justine asked, sitting at her computer.
“A reason for Abigail’s interest in the Lonewolf family. She’s never been a people person unless there was a power or profit issue involved.”
A few minutes later, Justine logged on to Norm’s Web site. They found nothing of particular importance there, nor at the Web site for the television station where Norm worked. Then they followed the link at the bottom to Norm’s home page and found his blog.
“This is bad news,” Justine said. “Hattery’s checked out all the funeral homes in the area and knows no one has processed Adam’s body for burial or cremation. Since the family
’s nowhere to be found, he’s suggesting that there’s more to Adam’s alleged death than the department has said.”
“Check out the quote marks around the word ‘death,’ not to mention his use of the word ‘alleged,’” Ella added. “Now we know why Abigail was calling you. She’s using that memorial service angle to try and figure out if Adam’s still alive. You wouldn’t pay to honor a dead guy you knew was alive.”
“In that case, I blew it,” Justine said. “But we’ve got a bigger problem. If the one who hired O’Riley and Perry gets wind of this, he’s bound to start looking for Adam all over again—that is, if Adam was ever really the target.”
“Blalock’s going to need to alert the people at the base,” Ella said, picking up her phone.
The agent answered on the first ring. “I’ve been keeping an eye on Hattery’s blog, so I’ve handled that already,” he said.
After she hung up, Ella continued staring at the phone, lost in thought. “Why is Abigail still so interested in Adam’s real status?” she asked at last. “The Prickly Weed Project is back on track and her investments are looking up again. So what are we missing?”
“Maybe you’re complicating the issue too much. Abigail likes knowing what’s going on because it makes her feel more in control.”
“I have a feeling there’s more to it than that. The woman never does anything without a specific reason—and she’s got a lot of money invested that could disappear if everything did go south.” Ella stared at the wall, thoughts racing. “Let’s go talk to Teeny. He has his ear to the ground and has access to all kinds of information.”
They were inside Teeny’s warehouse east of Shiprock twenty minutes later. Teeny had just handed Ella a plate of homemade fudge. “Eat. It’s quick energy and you both look like you could use some of that.”
Ella, who felt totally worn out, took a small bite then . . . heaven. “These are wonderful.”
“It’s my own recipe. I use fresh cream, cream cheese, and walnuts in addition to the usual ingredients. When I’m dragging but I need to keep going, it’s the perfect cure.”
Ella took a second one while Justine was still eating her first. It was too bad that Teeny didn’t give out his recipes. She would have loved to have this one.
“Grab a bigger handful of those, and take them with you. You, too, Justine.”
He didn’t have to ask them twice. “Thanks,” Ella replied.
Justine, her mouth full, just nodded.
“Now tell me what I can do for you law ladies.”
“Something weird’s playing out with Abigail Yellowhair. Is there anything you can get me that might explain it?” Ella asked him.
He swiveled his chair around until he faced the computer screen, and began typing. “I drove past the turnoff to her new place yesterday on my way to Beclabito to meet a client. Did you know she’s got two garden patches set aside for prickly weed? She told one of her neighbors that she’s a consultant on the project.”
“That I know. My mother’s doing the same thing. She’s got an entire field in back of the house where she’s growing row upon row of that blasted weed.”
Teeny focused on the screen, typed a few strokes, then glanced back at her. “I recently had reason to take a closer look at Abigail’s finances. She’d been trying to convince a client of mine to invest in a wholesale jewelry operation of hers and he wanted to know the state of her finances.”
“And?” Ella pressed.
“In spite of her big reputation, Abigail’s barely solvent. Her previous business venture, the satellite phone deal that was supposedly going to make a fortune, sank without a trace after the tribe dropped out. Now she’s got a quarter mil invested in the Prickly Weed project, basically the balance of her fluid assets. Since she sold her cabin in Colorado last week for about fifty percent of its appraised value—a huge loss on paper—my guess is that she’s having severe cash flow problems.”
“I knew that she’d sold the family home and moved into that smaller place, but I thought she was just trying to leave old memories behind,” Justine said. “She’s in a lot deeper than I realized.”
Still checking his computer, Teeny glanced at Ella, and added, “The deal on her Colorado home closed last Saturday, the day before you got back from D.C.”
Ella was still considering the possibilities when her cell phone rang. It was Sheriff Taylor.
“We’ve got a possible twenty on Shawn O’Riley,” he said. “We’ve had an ATL on him ever since that incident outside Bloomfield and it looks like it finally paid off.”
The successful “attempt to locate” was music to her ears. “Where’s he at?” Ella asked.
“According to my deputy, who made the ID at a gas station, the suspect’s traveling west out of Farmington on 64 in a dark brown pickup, old model, maybe 1990 Ford. He seems to be taking his time, staying well under the speed limit to avoid gathering any attention.”
“Good. Have your officer stay on him, but give him plenty of room. We’re on our way.”
“Done. My officer’s a detective in an unmarked vehicle. That should help.”
Ella and Justine had reached the main highway and were racing east when Ella’s cell phone rang again. It was Big Ed.
“Dispatch just got an anonymous call advising us that Shawn O’Riley’s en route to a bar called C. O. Jones located outside of Kirtland,” Big Ed clipped.
“Was the caller male or female?” Ella asked.
“Dispatch couldn’t confirm either way. The call was grainy and the number was restricted. It’s out of our jurisdiction, so Sheriff Taylor’s been notified, but I want you and Justine there, just in case.”
“Taylor’s got a detective tailing O’Riley as we speak,” Ella said. “My partner and I are already on our way.”
Ella updated Justine as they raced down the highway.
“I’ve heard of that place, and it’s not exactly a family establishment. They serve truck drivers and oil field workers, mostly,” Justine said. “It’s aptly named for the crowd it attracts.”
“Is C. O. Jones someone I should know?” Ella asked.
“If you put it all together, it spells cojones, ‘balls’ in Spanish.”
“This just keeps getting better and better,” Ella muttered, calling Sheriff Taylor for an update.
“Your suspect just turned south off 64 onto the old highway leading into Kirtland. If he’s headed for that C. O. Jones place, he’ll have to turn north again in a few miles. There’s some road work that’ll slow him down, so his ETA at the tavern is ten minutes, give or take,” he said.
“We can beat that time and get into position,” she said.
“I’ll be there ASAP, maybe twenty. I’m in an unmarked.”
As they raced east down 64 along the northern perimeter of Waterflow, Ella felt her body tense. Slow, painstaking investigations intermingled with moments of sheer adrenaline made her job unique. What made her especially good at it was her ability to stay focused both during the slow times and when everything exploded into total chaos.
As they approached the establishment, represented by the image of a long-legged, winking cowboy, Ella quickly surveyed the parking lot, then contacted Sheriff Taylor and verified O’Riley’s ETA.
“He’s turned north and is coming up that street,” Ella told Justine seconds later and pointed to a residential road that intersected Highway 64 at a stop sign just to the west. “We only have a few minutes. Park around the back on the east side.”
As they drove around the front of the building, which faced north, Ella recognized Begaye’s late model luxury sedan parked near the entrance. What cinched the ID was the word Emerson Lee had scratched on the driver’s side door. It had been painted over, but the rush job hadn’t cured enough yet to completely conceal the damage.
“Could be a meeting—or a hit. Either Alfred is the next target or he’s the one who’s been pulling all the strings. How do you want to play this?” Justine asked, choosing a parking space that gave
them a view of the entrance and Begaye’s vehicle.
“Go in, locate Alfred, but don’t make eye contact. If he sees you, ignore him and come back out. If he doesn’t, stay on him. I’ll watch for O’Riley. Backup’s on the way, but be ready to use your weapon at any time. O’Riley likes to shoot people.”
“Gotcha, boss.” Justine stepped out of the vehicle, and, using the side door, went inside.
Ella climbed out next and looked around. Although there were more customers there than either of them had expected this time of day, the dinner crowd hadn’t arrived yet.
Ella walked to a big Dodge pickup parked closer to the entrance and watched over the hood, across the lot toward the west. The sun was low in the sky now, but with her sunglasses on, it wasn’t too bad. In another half hour, all she would have been able to see was a blurry silhouette backed by blazing heat.
A few minutes went by before Ella finally saw O’Riley’s Ford pickup approach the stop sign. When the truck turned in her direction, she stepped back into the Dodge’s shadow. Hopefully its owner wouldn’t come out anytime soon and wonder what she was doing.
The pickup was slowing to make the turn when Alfred came out of the bar, saw O’Riley’s vehicle, and stopped on the sidewalk, apparently waiting. Justine stayed inside, pretending to be buying a newspaper from a vending machine but in position to watch through the glass panels of the foyer.
Ella, pistol in hand, made sure she was blocked by the rear roof pillars of the pickup’s cab, then took a quick look to the west, wondering how close the deputy was following.
Instead of pulling into one of the parking slots, O’Riley wheeled his pickup sharply, facing east, then stopped behind Alfred’s car, blocking it.
Leaving the truck running, O’Riley stepped out and came around to the front of his vehicle as Alfred walked over to him. O’Riley had his right hand inside his jacket, and from her angle, Ella could see the semi-auto jammed into his waistband. His shirt was also bulky underneath—he was wearing a vest.
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