Wind Spirit [Ella Clah 10] (20 page)

“The creep used the feather,” Ella said, deep in thought,
as she paced inside Justine’s lab. “We both saw traces of it on the hood. I was just hoping . . .”

“Will the type of feather tell us anything?” Justine asked. “For example, if it’s from an owl . . .”

Ella shook her head. “It’s just a pigeon feather, probably selected because it was convenient. Whoever wrote this was particularly careful not to leave prints. I’m thinking that it may have been a cop.”

Justine sat back in her chair. “It could be. Some of the new traditionalists here in the department resent the fact that you came back to work before the Sing was done. To them you’re now like a magnet for bad luck. I’ve seen many of them carrying medicine bundles. Some others have them in their pockets, out of sight, not wanting to look foolish, but not taking any chances either. To them, working around you is like being around an unexploded bomb—it’s possible nothing will happen, but if it does, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Spoken like a Christian,” Ella said with a tiny smile. Yet the knowledge weighed heavily on her. “I sure hope I don’t get into a jam where I need backup.”

“It won’t keep any of them from giving you their support, Ella. They
are
police officers. But don’t expect them to shake your hand or invite you out for a drink in Farmington.”

Ella rolled her eyes. “You have such a way with words, partner.”

“I calls ’em like I sees ’em.”

Ella reached for the doorknob. “Before I leave, do you know if there’s been any more reports of vandalism against the families who are for gun control?”

“Nothing’s come in so far, but since Arlene Hunt died, it’s been very quiet. By the way, Arlene was buried yesterday after a private ceremony. Her husband insisted on a funeral claiming that his wife was a modernist and would have wanted it that way.”

“I bet Arlene’s clan wasn’t too happy about that,” she said, then added, “I’m going home. And to think I was hoping to quit early!”

Ella drove south slowly down Highway 666. It was dark, but the route was so familiar she knew she could probably drive it in her sleep. Her mind wandered as she gazed at the moonlit expanse of dry desert that descended to the river valley to her left, and rose gently toward the mountains to her right, the west.

The possibility that a fellow officer had left that message on her vehicle bothered her and she couldn’t quite put it out of her mind. She had to find John Tso and make time to have that Sing done. That was all there was to it.

As she reached the top of a long, gently sloping hill, Ella passed a billboard advertising a guided tour of Navajo cultural sites to visitors on the Rez. Suddenly there was a flash of light near the ground at the base of the sign and she heard a loud pop. The left front of the car trembled and the steering wheel pulled hard to the left, taking her over the center line. Ella gripped the wheel tightly, her heart in her throat as she looked ahead for oncoming traffic.

She knew instantly that the tire had blown out, and reacted automatically, her senses now at their peak. Resisting the urge to hit the brakes, Ella lifted her foot off the gas pedal and allowed the vehicle to slow, compensating for the pull by steering more to the right, bringing the car back over the center line into her own lane. As the car slowed quickly from the drag, she checked the rearview mirror, applied the brakes, and pulled off to the shoulder of the road.

No vehicle lights were visible in either direction, but if this had happened in traffic, she would have had real trouble avoiding a collision. Experience and her own intuition told her this hadn’t been an accident or a faulty tire. The flash of light she’d seen almost at the same time she’d heard the tire
blow led her to another conclusion—someone had shot out her tire. The absence of a really loud boom also suggested the shooter had used a small-caliber weapon.

Realizing she could come under fire again, Ella scooped up her flashlight and dove quickly out of the passenger side. Crouched low, she peered back down the road from around the rear bumper. The badger fetish she wore around her neck felt hot against her skin—a sure sign of danger.

Ella brought out her pistol, then called for backup, staying low and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. When dealing with a sniper, patience was crucial. She’d expected more shots, but when none came after five minutes, she worked her way around the vehicle, this time peering out from the left front fender.

In the distance, perhaps several hundred yards away, she could hear the sound of a vehicle. It seemed to be fading, which meant the driver was moving away from her. No vehicles had passed by, so this engine noise was coming from off the main road. Ella holstered her pistol, reached for the cell phone clipped to her belt, and called Justine.

“Are you under fire now?” Justine asked quickly.

“No, and I can’t see any sign of the sniper either. I just heard what may have been a vehicle driving away, so I’m going to wait another few minutes in case it’s a trick, then move to the site where the shot was fired and take a look around.”

“Wait until I get there. There could be more than one perp. If they’re setting you up, you’ll need backup.”

The badger felt cool against Ella’s skin now and she saw a cottontail sitting up watching her from across the highway not far from the sign. “I think the danger’s past.”

“All right. My ETA is less than ten minutes.”

Ella came out from behind cover slowly. The darkness emphasized the silence, which she used to her advantage. Anyone approaching
would
be heard, because she intended
on being as quiet as a jackrabbit. Using a penlight instead of her large flashlight to avoid spotlighting herself, she checked the front tire and confirmed her suspicions. There was a small puncture in the sidewall, but the bullet hadn’t been very large, so the air hadn’t escaped all at once. An almost instantaneous blowout from a heavy-caliber round or a shotgun could have flipped her car or caused her to lose control completely.

Ella crossed the highway quickly, then, after waiting and listening for a moment, walked over to the billboard and used the flashlight to examine the immediate area. Without more light, she could inadvertently end up obscuring evidence if she got any closer to the spot, so she stayed where she was and scanned the area with her flashlight. There was a flattened place in the dirt where someone had obviously been, and she could also see a pair of tracks leading away from the road and over a small rise. The trail led toward the spot where she’d heard the vehicle earlier, confirming her belief that the shooter was long gone.

As Ella returned to her SUV ready to change the tire, she canceled her request for backup. All she needed now was her crime-scene team.

Several minutes later, Ella pulled the damaged tire free, examined the outside, and located the small entry hole. Turning the tire over, she looked at the back of the sidewall and, unable to find an exit hole, rotated the tire. Something made a tiny thunk inside the tire casing. The bullet was still in there. That would give them something to work with.

Ella got busy replacing the tire with the spare and was just hand-tightening the lug nuts when Justine pulled up. “Tache and Neskahi are right behind me. What’s the situation?”

Ella filled her in as she lowered the jack. “He was over there on the ground just below the billboard. The bullet trajectory supports that.” Ella stood up and glanced around.
“And there’s a round still inside the tire. My guess is that it came from a twenty-two,” she said, nodding to Neskahi and Tache, who’d just driven up.

“Only one shot was fired?” Justine asked.

“Yeah. He had to time it just perfectly and lead the target—which isn’t easy even at close range,” Ella said. “I wonder if this attack is connected to the one-word message written on my unit.”

“The two incidents happened within a few hours of each other, that’s true.”

“Most officers wouldn’t ordinarily pick a twenty-two caliber, but to make a difficult shot like this one—where the target is a moving car—it’s not out of the question. If I’d been attempting the same shot, I would have chosen it—or a shotgun.”

“We should also consider Cardell Benally as a possibility,” Justine said thoughtfully. “You pass by here on your way to and from home every day. Maybe he decided to find you before you could find him.”

Ella nodded slowly, speaking loud enough so the two approaching officers could hear, “I’m not high on Lewis Hunt’s favorite people list either. Maybe he sent someone after me—to throw me off the search for Cardell. If I’d had a wreck or been forced into the path of an oncoming car and put out of action, I’d be out of their hair, possibly permanently.”

“Quite a fan club you have there, boss,” Neskahi said.

As they began working the scene, they found several eight-and-a-half-size shoe prints behind the base of the billboard, and signs that a vehicle had been parked just over the next rise. There were also impressions leading to the vehicle, where the shooter had probably run right after taking the shot.

“It’s still not much to go on,” Ella said. “There wasn’t even a shell casing left behind, which means he either picked it up or was using a revolver—which would have been a really tough shot. We need more.”

She considered their options silently, then looked at Justine.
“This is a bit of a long shot, but go to the closest business south of here that sells twenty-two shells. Then try to find out who has purchased a box, say within the past few days,” Ella said. “I’ll take the businesses leading into Shiprock in the opposite direction. Tache, I need you to go develop the photos you took here and see if they’ll give us any more info about the shooter—height, weight, make of shoe—like that. Neskahi, take all the light you need from the van and follow the trail the shooter took after reaching the vehicle. Any house within sight of that route will need to be visited. Interview the residents and see if they saw or heard anything we can use. Also, when you reach the highway, see if the dirt tracks on the asphalt tell you which direction he went. If you can tell for sure, go in that direction and check every house you pass for a reasonable distance.

“You’ve got it.”

“Talk to as many area residents as you can and find out if they’ve seen anyone walking around studying the terrain, or shooting a rifle or pistol. The sniper planned this very carefully and may have done a trial run with some dry firing, studying the angles and so forth.”

As Ella went back to her SUV, she realized that, by now, Dawn would be getting ready for bed. Once she finished questioning the clerk at the convenience store and she finally got home, Dawn would be asleep.

She took a deep breath and pushed her personal concerns aside. She had a job to do, and it was time to get to work again. At least the shooter hadn’t been gunning for her directly. If he could hit a moving tire, he could have also easily taken a shot at her head. The shooter had either wanted to put her out of action or else scare her silly. But obviously didn’t know much about her. All he’d succeeded in doing was pissing her off.

Although Ella spoke to everyone, even the regulars who stopped by to get their oversized soft drinks or snow cones
on the way home, no one had seen anyone rabbit hunting or just hiking around the hillsides that bordered the highway.

By the time she got back into her unit, Ella was tired, frustrated, and angry. It was nearly nine o’clock and she still hadn’t had any dinner.

Going home in her current mood didn’t seem like such a good idea, so she reached for the card Emily—Sergeant Marquez—had given her and dialed her cell.

Emily answered on the first ring.

“It’s Ella Clah. I’m just getting off work but I’m not ready to go home. Do you want to meet me for a late dinner in Farmington?”

There was no hesitation. “You know what? I’d love to. I’m just getting off work myself. I’ve been filling out reports and I’m ready to go nuts.”

Ella had no doubt now that they were kindred spirits. “Do you have a favorite spot?” Ella asked, suddenly looking forward to this.

“Most of the family places are closed, but there are a few all-night places. Have you ever gone to the Terminal Café?”

“The wha-at?” She’d had enough of death to last a lifetime.

“Not ‘terminal’ as in fatal,” Emily said, laughing. “It caters to truckers and the food there is fabulous. The clientele is a bit rough around the edges, but they’re okay. The café has a large-screen TV and most of the guys are so engrossed in sports they don’t pay much attention to anything else.”

“Great,” she answered, laughing. All in all, it sounded just perfect.

Ella called home, told Rose that she was meeting a friend, then drove directly to the Terminal Café on Farmington’s east side. When she arrived forty minutes later Emily was already seated and waiting at one of the corner tables. She waved as
Ella came in the door, though in her tan uniform she’d have been easy enough to spot.

Ella noted that Emily had chosen a table that would give them both a clear view of the entire room, including the entrance. That particular vantage point had been a cop’s logical choice. “Hey, I’m really glad you could come, Emily.”

She nodded. “Me, too. I don’t get to do things like this very often.”

Soon they were eating, and at ease with each other, their conversation flowed smoothly. “You know, hearing about what happened to you at those mines was a real eye-opener for me. Deep down we count on having lots of tomorrows to catch up on all the things we’ve sacrificed for our careers. But we may never get them before it’s our time to check out. Death doesn’t play fair.”