Earthway (31 page)

They crossed the river on the old steel trestle
bridge, heading west. As they rounded the curve in the highway, now running north and south, Ella could see the Save More on the right, just ahead. Blalock slowed as a big white Ford pickup pulled out onto the highway, headed south.

Ella’s cell phone rang with Justine on the line. “He’s on the move,” she said. “Betsy just called.”

“We’ve got him. We’ll follow, then let you pick him up if he
makes a turn. At least we’ve got some go-home traffic to blend in with.”

Blalock stayed well behind the truck, focused on the taillights ahead. When the truck turned west on Highway 64, Blalock was forced to brake hard for a car pulling out in front of him.

“Damn. The headlights blinded me for a sec. Where’d he go? He didn’t know he had a tail. I’d stake my life on it,” Blalock said, making
the turn and peering ahead.

Ella looked off to the left. The parking lot by the high
school was nearly full, and two cars ahead of them had stopped in traffic, waiting for a chance to turn onto campus. “There’s a summer league playoff game tonight. Maybe he slipped in while we were occupied. I don’t see him farther down the highway.”

“It’s either that or we lost him,” Blalock muttered, then
in a more hopeful voice, added, “Unless those taillights down the road are his. . . .”

Ella contacted Justine again on the cell phone. Whitefeather was a police officer and if he had the right equipment in his car he could listen in on police frequencies and monitor their communications. “How close are you? We lost visual on the subject.”

“I’m passing the Save More. You want me to go south,
or turn west on ’64? I can race ahead and maybe catch up to him.”

“Forget south. He either went west or ducked onto the high school grounds,” Ella said. “We’ll pull off at the gas station just past the campus and keep watch. You drive on and see if he managed to get way ahead. We’ll keep an eye out for anyone coming out of the school parking lot. No one leaves playoff games early. If he turned
in there, he’ll have to come back out this way.”

Ella closed up the phone and glanced at Blalock. “If he didn’t spot us, and we’re right about that—”

“We are,” Blalock said interrupting her.

“Then he’s one cool, careful customer.”

“Yeah, one with something to hide,” Blalock said. “He’s working real hard to make sure he’s not followed, that’s for sure.”

As they waited, Ella reached up and
touched her badger fetish. It felt cool to the touch. Seeing Blalock looking at her, she placed her hand back on her lap. There was no way she was going to try and explain to him how that worked. She couldn’t even explain it to herself.

They’d only been waiting about five minutes when Justine called. “White Ford pickup, coming your way. It just passed me, moving east on ‘64.”

“Got him,” Ella
said, seeing the truck in the glare of the streetlights as it stopped at the red light. When the light changed, it turned left, heading back into Shiprock. Blalock was quick enough getting back on the highway to also make the light, taking a yellow, and keeping Whitefeather in sight.

They followed him back through Shiprock, allowing a vehicle to pass them and provide a screen, yet going slow
enough for Justine to close the distance from behind. When Whitefeather turned north onto the Cortez Highway, they followed at a distance, allowing the streetlights to help keep the pickup visible.

Twenty minutes later, north of Shiprock on the open highway, Whitefeather turned left opposite the Black Bear Trading Post. He then drove west up a dirt road that led to several small residences.

“I can’t follow. He’ll see our headlights for sure. We’ll turn into the trading post parking lot and keep watch,” Blalock said.

“You make the turn and see where he went,” Ella told Justine. “Stay on line.”

They waited, watching the fading taillights. Then Justine arrived, making the turn.

A few minutes passed before Justine spoke again. “He made a U-turn at the end of the road and is coming
back to the highway. I’ll have to turn into one of the driveways.”

A few seconds later, Justine spoke again. “He just passed by, but he slowed down to take a look at my unit. I think he made me.”

“Okay, in case he’s still watching, get out of your vehicle and walk toward the residence, like you’re visiting. We’ll pick him up once he reaches the highway again,” Ella said, ending the call.

Blalock
and she were soon heading back down the highway, south toward Shiprock. They stayed well back, giving Whitefeather lots of room. It was easy keeping him in sight. The desert in that stretch of road was particularly barren, punctuated only by a few tall, isolated columns of rock, east of the highway, remnants of an ancient mesa.

About halfway back to Shiprock, Whitefeather turned east, driving
quickly up a dirt track that led to a small dwelling in the middle of the plain.

Blalock who’d maintained his speed to protect their surveillance, glanced at his instrument panel, then set the trip meter as they passed the turn-off. “My guess is that’s his final destination. I say we back off for now, then come take a closer look tomorrow, when he’s at work. Just make sure that on her return
trip, Justine verifies Whitefeather really settled in for the night and isn’t waiting us out.”

“Good plan. With the terrain and a rising moon, it’ll be almost impossible not to give ourselves away if we try getting any closer.”

“I’m sure that’s why he chose that place,” Blalock answered.

Ella informed Justine of the situation and their plans, then ended the call. “When we get back to the station,
I’ll find out if he rents or owns this house,” Ella told Blalock.

“I thought no one could own a house on the Rez,” Blalock said.

“You can own a house, but the land belongs to the tribe.”

“Once we’re back at the station, we need to start working on Haske again. He’s been cooling his heels for over an hour,” Blalock said, his eyes on the road. “And remind me to check the trip meter to see exactly
how many miles it is to where Whitefeather turned off the last time. Otherwise, you might have trouble checking on the right house.”

Ten minutes later, Blalock and Ella entered the station and headed down the hall.

As they passed Anna’s office she came out to meet them. “Justine asked me to track down Jim Nafus and Roadrunner Construction. I searched for new permits issued off the Rez and here,
and did a full search. A lot of businesses have the word roadrunner in their name, but there’s no Roadrunner Construction listed. Same thing with Jim Nafus. The man has no driver’s license and no Social Security number. I searched several databases and got zip.”

“Thanks,” Ella said. The news didn’t come as a total surprise, but she had no intention of giving up on that lead yet.

By the time
they entered the interrogation room, Haske was pacing nervously. “What took you guys so long?”

“Is there a problem?” Ella asked cooly. “We had to verify some of the names you gave us.” She glanced down at the cup on the table. “I see you got some coffee.”

“Yeah, one of your officers came in, but that was a long time ago,” he said, showing her his empty cup. “I was going to start banging on the
door next. I thought you’d forgotten I was here and went home.”

“Have you remembered anything else about Jim Nafus, like where he lives?” Blalock asked.

“I have no idea. Like the others, he came to me. Word got around that I did business on the side,” he answered with a shrug.

“What did he look like?” Ella asked him.

“Anglo guy with a buzz cut and an armload of tattoos. The one that sticks
in my mind was a bulldog with USMC below it,” he said. “The guy had a thing for black, too. Every time I saw him he was wearing a black cap and a black T-shirt.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, then continued. “Something else I remember about him—no matter what the temperature, he always looked like he was hot. I think that had something to do with his weight. He’s carrying an extra fifty or sixty
pounds, most of it on his gut. He also wore a tiny hearing aid behind his right ear.”

“What kind of wheels did the guy drive?” Blalock asked.

“Blue Dodge pickup. Plenty of chrome on it. Double toolbox in the bed.”

“License plate?” Blalock pressed.

“All I can tell you is that it was a New Mexico license plate,” he said. “Otherwise, I would have noticed that.”

“How much did he buy at a time?”
Blalock asked.

Before Haske could answer, there was a sharp knock at the door.

Ella opened it and found a tribal attorney she recognized, wearing his usual thousand-dollar suit.

“I’m an attorney, Mr. Haske,” he said, breezing past her. “Mr. Ute hired me to represent you today. Don’t answer any more questions until I’ve had the chance to speak with you privately.”

Martin Tallman was one of
Ella’s least favorite attorneys. He was young, slippery, and out to make a name for himself by taking on the most notorious cases and winning—no matter what the cost. His high, flat forehead resulted in his nickname around the department—Hammerhead, like the shark.

Ella gave him a curt nod.

“I need time to confer with my client.”

Ella nodded to Blalock and then stepped out into the hallway
with him.

“I was hoping to get Haske to work with one of your sketch artists,” he grumbled, as the door closed behind them.

“Tallman will want to deal. Let’s see what he has to say,” Ella answered.

Before they could give it much thought, Tallman appeared in the hall.

“That didn’t take long,” Ella commented.

“Feeding frenzy,” Blalock mumbled.

If Tallman heard, he ignored the crack. “You read
my client his rights and he’s cooperated with you. How about a quid pro quo?”

“What did you have in mind?” Ella asked coldly.

“Give him full immunity and he’ll testify, and also work with you to help get whomever you’re really after.”

“How do you know we’re not after Haske?” Blalock countered.

“Judging from the questions he said you’ve asked him, you need my client to nail whomever set off
that bomb at the college. He’s willing to work with a sketch artist and whatever else you need. Also keep in mind that if you release Haske under his own recognizance, and he gets contacted by the bomb suspect, you’ll have a chance to take down a genuine bad guy.”

“Full immunity, you say?” Ella said, shaking her head.

“It’s either that or his cooperation comes to an abrupt end. I may even be
able to argue that he didn’t understand his right to legal counsel.”

Ella knew Tallman had effectively used that argument before, in the trial of a convenience store robber. Since the man’s first language was Navajo, Tallman had convinced the court that his client had been confused by questioning conducted in English. The defendant had walked.

“Let me talk to my people,” Ella said.

“I’ll be
inside with my client,” Tallman said with a nod.

As Tallman left, Ella glanced at Blalock. “Looks like we’re going to have to play this their way.”

“You could dump everything into the lap of Homeland Security and threaten to have Haske locked up as a terrorist,” Blalock suggested.

“Throwing in agents from yet another agency will only slow things down and we need answers now. Haske will be of
more use to us if
we
cut him a deal.”

“I agree, but I’m curious.
Who
were you going to talk to about this?”

“Just you, but I wanted Hammerhead to sweat a little,” Ella said with a grin.

After another ten minutes had passed, Ella and Blalock went back inside the interrogation room. “You’ve got your deal, counselor.”

“Does that mean I’m free to go?” Haske asked, his voice rising with relief
and excitement.

“Not quite. I’d like you to work with one of our sketch artists,” Ella said.

Haske looked at Tallman, who nodded.

“Yeah, okay,” Haske said, looking back at Ella.

They brought in their department’s top forensic composite artist—a local painter, actually, who worked at a tribal tourist stop sketching caricatures. As the woman worked on her laptop using high quality drawing software,
an image based on Haske’s description slowly took shape. It took over an hour to get the details right, but Ella and Blalock hung back and watched with interest.

Once the work was completed and several copies of the image were printed, Haske left with his attorney. Ella then met with Anna, Justine, and Blalock in her office. “We’re looking for a former Marine. He likes tattoos, so visiting the
various parlors is a good idea, in case he’s had local work done.” Ella paused, then continued. “This Marine may have served around artillery, aircraft, or maybe explosives.”

“Because of his hearing problem,” Blalock observed, with an approving nod.

“But the name’s a fake?” Anna asked.

“Yeah, we’re pretty sure of that,” Ella said, handing them copies of the composite sketch and giving them
the suspect’s physical description. “Get on this right away.”

Anna walked out, but before Justine followed, Ella stopped her. “Tomorrow morning first thing, you and I are finally going to pay Kim Mike a visit. Pick me up at the house.”

“You’ve got it.”

As Justine left, Blalock leaned back in his chair, and
stretched. “As much as I’d like to call it a night, I’ve got a feeling you’ve got something
else on the agenda for us.”

“I want to hack into Whitefeather’s computer and set up a tap on his phone conversations, but I don’t have a warrant.”

“Not a problem,” Blalock said. “We’ve had a terrorist-style attack on a federal employee who’s investigating a potential terrorist cell. We’ll have all the clearance we need. We can get a judge to sign off on this pronto. The Bureau can also get us
a national-security letter which will require Whitefeather’s ISP provider to turn over records and data pertaining to his e-mails and other communications. That requires no probable cause or judicial oversight. Plus, a gag order prevents the ISP from telling Whitefeather what we’ve done.”

“Things have sure changed in the past few years,” Ella said in a thoughtful voice.