Mourning Dove (28 page)

Two hours passed, and the evidence had all been processed and the wounded and dead removed from the scene. Officers were still searching,
but except for the weapons the perps had used in the firefight, nothing had turned up yet that wasn’t part of the legal inventory of the business.

As the search teams met at the doorway between the display area and storeroom, frustration was evident on everyone’s face. The adrenalin was wearing down, and everyone seemed dead tired.

“We’ve searched everywhere,” one ATF agent grumbled. “It’s obvious
they moved the stuff.”

“One more pass,” Murbach ordered. “It’s here. Why else make a stand like that?”

Ella watched a few heads shaking. They’d already searched the obvious and less obvious. But if ATF Agent Murbach was right, the guns were here—somewhere. She looked around the room, trying to see if anything looked out of place, and, as her gaze strayed over the new-looking, very large refrigerator,
she decided to take a closer look. Officers had looked inside several times, directed a light beneath and behind, and always walked away. But she had to see for herself. Inside were several cans of beer, and what looked to be a leftover sandwich.

“Clah, whatcha got?” Blalock said, coming up to her. “You’re not thirsty, and I can hear the little wheels in your brain working overtime.”

“Look at
the size of this thing, and it must be brand new. Why would anyone put this large of a fridge in here for just a few cans of beer? There’s a diner at the end of the block. Help me move this thing out.”

Blalock grasped one side and tried to move it forward while she pushed from the opposite side. “Ya couldn’t have picked a desk, Clah?”

Seeing them struggle, two other agents came to help. “What
are we looking for?” the taller one asked.

“The reason why this thing is really here,” Ella answered.

“There’s no hidden space behind the refrigerator,” he pointed out. “I checked with a flashlight an hour ago. No secret panels either.”

“Humor me,” she said, putting her shoulder against it. The problem was that the fridge was wedged between two built-in counters. And wedged was the word. It
seemed to have been glued in place.

“Is this thing stuck in cement?” muttered the younger Hispanic agent.

“We need to wriggle it back and forth, loosen up the space, then walk it out,” Ella said.

Another agent came over to help and, working in tandem, they finally managed to move it forward. As it came away from the wall, only a large, empty space remained.

“Oh, yeah, this was a brilliant
idea,” an ATF agent behind her muttered.

Ella climbed up over the counter and slipped past the fridge into the area they’d just uncovered. “The space beneath a refrigerator is usually grungy and dirty as hell.”

“My wife would say something like that,” one of the agents cracked.

“Maybe you should help her clean the house instead of sitting around making wise-ass comments,” Ella shot back, crouching
down.

“I hear a voice, but I don’t see anyone,” the agent responded, and a few officers laughed.

Ella ran her hand over the floor. The outline of the press-on tiles had obscured it, but she could see things more clearly from this close-up position. “This floor was recently redone. I bet there’s a trapdoor beneath me,” Ella said, standing up into view again.

She’d spoken softly but there was
an instant flurry of activity and several agents came over. Everyone was suddenly wide awake again.

“Move that fridge completely out of the way. Now!” Agent Murbach barked.

Five minutes later, an expertly designed trapdoor was uncovered beneath a layer of tiles. It had been glued into place, but the work was so recent the glue was still pliable, and agents were able to pry the door open. A wooden
ladder led to a large area below. Covering each other, Agent Murbach and one of his men descended, followed by Ella and Blalock. Locating a cord with his flashlight, Murbach turned on an overhead lightbulb. The large, carved-out, earthen basement held at least fifty weapons inside plastic storage boxes of every size. There were pistols, automatic weapons—mostly assault rifles of foreign manufacture—and
even several Russian-made sniper rifles. A few boxes contained military-issue ammunition.

A quick search revealed no additional hiding places or possible exits, and an old trapdoor with a handle attached was standing in the corner.

“Welcome, Hole-Mart shoppers. Here in our basement complex, you can find weapons for everyone on your shopping list,” Ella said in a familiar singsong voice.

“If
you have the cash,” Blalock added, matching her tone, “you can equip the entire gang with more firepower than the average police force.”

“Most of these weapons aren’t U.S. made, which tends to narrow down the source, doesn’t it?” Murbach said.

“Some of the markings have been filed down, but you’re right,” one of the ATF agents commented. “Most still have the country of origin—Iraq.”

Ella and
Blalock exchanged quick glances. “Was the owner of this shop in the military, say, within the past few years?” Ella asked Blalock.

“No, but all these arms were in somebody’s army recently. I’d be interested in finding out how they got here.”

“You and me both, Blalock,” ATF Agent Murbach added, holding up a plastic storage box containing several ornately carved pistols. Ella could see Arabic
markings on most of them.

Another two hours went by before Ella and Blalock were finally allowed a turn at questioning the store owner—and that was mostly because no one else had been able to get anything out of him. He’d played dead, apparently, when the shooting started, and it was his foot Ella had seen earlier behind the counter.

Ella sat across from the suspect. “Remaining silent is only
going to ensure you end up in prison. If the wounded ATF agent dies, it’ll be capital murder, too. If that happens, no one is going to offer you a lifeline. You realize that, right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Those guns were there in
your
shop. You can’t deny that.”

“I’m as surprised as you are about that. I knew about the cellar, of course, but I never realized someone had
hidden guns in there. I only deal in legal weapons sales and service.”

“Right, so why did you resist arrest?” Ella pressed.

“Our security cameras went out, then somebody broke in armed to the teeth. We thought we were being robbed. That’s why we defended ourselves. Our lives were on the line. Nobody ever heard anyone identify themselves as the police, so we just reacted to the threat.”

“
That’s
your story?” Ella said, staring at him.

“It’s the truth, ma’am,” he said with a smug smile. “When my lawyer comes in tomorrow morning, he’ll make sure I’m vindicated.”

“Several officers were wired for sound. The warning and notification of our identity comes out quite clear when you play it back,” Blalock pointed out, holding up his own digital recorder.

“Recorded somewhere else, obviously
at another time, to cover your butts while you storm troopers trampled over the Constitution.”

“Bet we can find some fingerprints, Ella,” Blalock said. “It would be hard to place all those weapons and boxes down there without leaving any. And what about that old trapdoor?”

The store owner shrugged.

“Just one more question. It’s an easy yes or no. Or you can just nod. Did you serve in the Army,
Reserves, or National Guard?” Ella asked.

“Me? No way. Put my life on the line for somebody else’s political agenda? Do I look stupid?”

This time Ella was the one who shrugged. Shaking her head, she turned, heading for the door. Suddenly she stopped, and glanced back at him. “I bet we’ll get some answers when we learn where you went to school, who your friends were, and when you graduated.”

His expression suddenly became guarded. “I’m not saying anything else until my lawyer gets here,” he said in a flat voice.

Once they were out of the room, Blalock gave her a thumbs-up. “You scored a hit on that last one. But what were you after?”

“I think we should cross-reference him against our local suspects who just returned from Iraq and see if we can find a link between him and them.”

After reporting what they’d learned to the ATF, Ella paced in the hall, sipping coffee. “It’s almost five in the morning, I haven’t had any sleep, but I’m still too jazzed to wind down.”

“I hear you. But my bones are older than yours,” Blalock said. “I’m better off sitting than pacing. So what do you say we head home? I know a helicopter pilot . . .”

They ended up catching a red-eye commercial
flight back to Farmington, and, by the time they landed, Ella could feel the first twinges of exhaustion despite having caught a half hour catnap. “I think I’m going to need a ride home. You renting a car?”

Blalock nodded. “Yeah, but Justine is waiting for you. I sent word ahead.”

Ella saw the cruiser Neskahi had provided for them hours ago parked in the lot reserved for service vehicles, Justine
at the wheel. “Some partners are worth their weight in gold.”

It was barely six-thirty and the sun was perched on the horizon, bathing the desert in a rose-tinted glow as Ella left the Shiprock station. The barren, rocky landscape shimmered in that early light. It was at dawn that the desert was at its most beautiful. Her mother would be outside now, saying prayers to Sun and offering pollen
as a blessing.

As Ella drove home, now in her own vehicle, the bluish purple of the sky and the presence of the sacred mountains that guarded the
Diné Tah
filled her with peace. People and animals all came and left, but the earth remained, giving life and waiting to welcome in death.

She was less than a mile from home when her cell phone rang. Ella muttered a curse, wishing she’d failed to replace
the battery back in Albuquerque. She’d been feeling decidedly mellow, but now that was undoubtedly about to end. Early morning phone calls usually meant trouble.

This time, her instincts were off the mark. Hearing Ford’s voice at the other end made her smile. “Did you break the code?” she asked, quickly dispensing with amenities. Surely there was no other reason he would have called so early
in the day.

“I’ve got some ideas, Ella, but I need to talk some things over with you first. Can we meet at the Totah Cafe for breakfast?”

“Sure,” she said, turning the cruiser around. “But I should warn you I haven’t gone to bed yet, and I smell like gunpowder.”

“Wonderful,” he said, laughing. “The scent of danger and a beautiful female all in one. Who can resist?”

“Then I’ll see you at the
Totah.”

As she hung up, she smiled for the second time in a minute.
She liked Bilford Tome’s style. But she had to stay focused. The important thing now was breaking Jimmy Blacksheep’s code and finding out what secrets he’d hidden in his story. She wondered if Ford had managed to make some sense out of it, or if all he’d come up with was more theories.

By the time she arrived at the Totah, it
was six forty-five, but the 24/7 diner was already primed for breakfast customers. Ella parked the cruiser and was just getting out when an old green pickup came up the road, slowed, then picked up speed again and continued down the street.

Ella recognized the young men inside immediately. Tony Henderson and Winston Brownhat were in the Many Devils, and although out of high school now, they were
too lost to know what to do with their lives. They’d probably been out partying, drinking, or up to no good all night and hadn’t been to bed yet today . . . or was that yesterday?

She was still watching the truck when Reverend Tome drove up in his sedan, parking beside her. Ella smiled for the umpteenth time, and stepped up onto the sidewalk beside the door to wait.

“Good morning again, Ella,”
Ford called. “You thinking of going back to traffic duty?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I was just watching that pickup. Couple of gang members in there, probably looking for trouble.”

“I know who you’re talking about. North Siders, right?”

“No, and don’t say that around them. That was Winston Brownhat and Tony Henderson. Many Devils—hardcore.”

“Good to know. By the way, I’ve heard that the gangs are starting
the turf battles again, leaning on people in the neighborhoods, trying to impress and intimidate.”

“I’ll have to pass that along. Maybe all the attention the carjackings have been getting has hurt their image.” Ella turned around, hearing a vehicle coming up the road at high speed.

“Here they come again,” Ford said. “Whatever happened to low, slow riding?”

The green truck with the young men
inside pulled up on the other side of Ella’s department unit, sliding to a halt in the gravel.

“Hey, guys, slow it down in the parking lot, will you?” Ella said, tired and not in the mood to babysit nineteen-year-old hoods.

“Hey, Clah. We need to talk. Wanna go for a ride?” Tony yelled out.

Ella didn’t move, but she waved. “I’m too hungry for a road trip. How about here?”

The young men exchanged
glances, then got out of the pickup and walked over.

“What’s up, guys?” Ella asked.

“Not in front of the Rev, okay, Clah? And not in public. What about taking a walk with us down toward the river if you’re not in the mood for a drive?” Tony reached for her arm.

Ella remained still.

“Boys, don’t worry about me. You can talk here, or inside. I’ll give you some privacy,” Ford said.

“Butt out,
Rev. We’ve got it covered,” Tony said, motioning to Winston, who stepped around to the other side of Ella.

“What’s your problem, Tony?” Ella demanded. “You can trust Reverend Tome not to put your business on the street.”

“We need to talk to you
alone
,” Winston answered. “Maybe you can get in the truck and the Rev can go inside a while. We’ll stay in the lot.”

Ella considered the strategy that
would work best without a fight, but she wasn’t going anywhere with these guys alone, and once she got in the truck, she’d be cornered. As she was trying to figure out her next move, Tony grabbed her arm.