Bad Medicine (26 page)

“I didn’t think The Brotherhood cared whether things got violent or not.” Ella kept her voice deceptively soft.

“I never heard of that organization.
You can believe that or not. I don’t care. But I’m no murderer. If I was, I’d have a solid alibi, with plenty of witnesses. I’m many things but I’m not stupid,” he said, glaring at Ella.

“If you think I’m going to let this drop then you are very, very stupid,” Ella baited. “I’m betting you killed Bitah, with a little help from your racist friends.”

Anderson’s eyes darkened and his expression
became one of unbridled hatred. “Just what I expected from you, squaw. You want to hang an Anglo for this crime, whether he did it or not. It fits the theory about how oppressed your people are.”

She would have loved to bring up specifics about the treatment the Indians had received at the hand of the white man, but now wasn’t the time to get sidetracked. “I’m trying to find the truth,” she answered
coldly. “Something you’ve been hiding all along. If you know I’m after the wrong man, then show a little backbone and steer me in the right direction.”

Anderson smiled, then leaned forward in his chair. “Then look among your own people. You’ll find that there are plans to sabotage the mine and shut down the entire power plant.”

“What do you mean? What plans?”

He leaned back, smug once again.
“I’m not going to do your work for you. Do I look dumb enough to be a cop?”

Blalock leaned against the wall and watched him. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Anderson, but maybe you’re starting to see the light. If you have information to trade, now is the time, while we still can use your help. If we get this on our own, you won’t have anything to bargain with.”

“You’ve got nothing on me because
there’s nothing to find,” he answered. “With an Indian judge, you might be able to get a conviction on that trumped-up shooting incident, but that’s all you’re going to get.” He stood up. “That’s it. From now on, we meet only when my attorney is present.”

As an officer came to take Anderson back to his cell, Blalock stared at the wall, his face pensive.

“Shall we get out of here?” Ella asked,
as soon as Anderson was handcuffed and led out.

“Yeah. I have an idea. I think I know a way to track down some of Anderson’s cronies. Today’s Saturday, though. Are you willing to put in a full day?”

She nodded. “I never take time off when I’m working on a pressing case.”

“Good. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

*   *   *

Ella watched Blalock as he signed up for the gun club’s shooting competition.
She had to admit this had been a great idea. The background report Blalock had run on Anderson had revealed that they both used the same private firing range.

“Okay, I’m registered and assigned to a relay. Joining the competition is going to tie me up, so you’ll have to do the leg work.”

“No problem. I think you’re right about competing. That way, our real reason for being here won’t be as obvious.”
Ella glanced around trying to find any faces she recognized from the mine. “Do you remember ever seeing Anderson at this range?”

He shook his head. “I shoot in black powder competition. That’s a different bunch of people and a completely different mind set, too. Black powder appeals to history buffs, and to those who like shooting a weapon that’s more of a challenge. Let’s face it, with some
modern guns equipped with laser sights, electronic triggers, and custom wraparound stocks, anybody can put a bullet in the black.”

Ella watched the shooters warming up at the firing line. There were as many misses as hits. “Not everyone would agree with you.” She gestured toward one of the men on the sidelines. “Look at Randy Watson. He’s here with a back brace on. I didn’t know he was even getting
out of the house yet.”

Blalock glanced at Watson. “Steve Chambers, the young-looking guy with him, is one of the miners, too. He tried to convince me that he was practically sainted. The other is Tony Prentiss. I interviewed all those men, but none were any help at all. Yet I’m sure that they’re involved in whatever’s happening. The way they went round and round but never answered my questions
was so practiced—part of a predetermined strategy. It set off alarm bells something fierce.”

She nodded. “You can sometimes learn a lot about a person from the way they don’t tell you anything.”

Tony Prentiss was a bulky man in his mid thirties. He sauntered over, his gaze faintly mocking. “I see you brought your girlfriend along as a guest.”

Blalock glowered at Prentiss, but didn’t speak.

Prentiss gave Ella a derisive smile. “I hear you tribal cops can’t hit a sheep at ten paces. Smart move to stay out of this competition. Could be real embarrassing.”

Ella met his gaze but remained silent.

“Maybe you just like to see how a real man handles his weapon,” Prentiss goaded.

Blalock stepped in front of Ella. “I’m surprised you can even find yours, tubby.”

Ella fought the urge to kick
Blalock. She didn’t need anyone to protect her. She was hoping Prentiss would get all wound up and say something he really hadn’t intended to reveal.

“She’s a law enforcement officer,” Blalock growled. “Show some respect.”

“You guys are up right now, I believe,” Ella said, as the first relay of competitors was called to the firing line.

Blalock nodded, then checked his nine-millimeter service
pistol. Following the rules, he opened the action and unloaded his weapon before approaching the firing line. Until the ready command was given and the shooting field was declared clear, no one would be allowed to load their weapons.

Ella watched Blalock outshoot everyone in the first round, knocking down all ten metal silhouettes at the twenty-five-yard range.

During the subsequent rounds,
Ella walked behind the lines, watching, making careful note of the weapons used by the men from the mine. Although most were fairly competent with their handguns, they really weren’t at the same skill level as a trained agent from the FBI or Treasury Department.

Leaving them to their contest, which had several categories based upon the type of firearm, and glad that Blalock had diverted them
by joining the competition, she went to the parking area and wrote down the license plate codes and vehicle types. One never knew where a lead would turn up.

A beat-up old pickup at the end of a row of vehicles carried a tribal sticker from the power plant parking lot. She glanced inside the rolled-up window. A zippered rifle case had been laid on the seat. She saw the initials S.C. Later, she’d
verify it was Steve Chambers, but at the moment she figured it was a good bet that Chambers shot different types of weapons.

By the time she returned, all rounds had been completed and Blalock still had the top score. His closest competitor was four points behind, and Prentiss had failed to place. Ella watched Blalock collect his pin and the small trophy.

Spotting her, Blalock came over as the
competitors packed up their gear and began to leave. “What have you been up to?”

She gave him a quick rundown. “Your computer might be able to get us information on those plates faster than mine.”

“Agreed. I’ll handle it.” He checked his handgun and left the action open. “Let me clean my pistol, then we’ll get out of here.”

As Blalock walked to his car, Ella stepped over to the firing line
and saw that a set of targets remained up at the seventy-five-yard distance. The turkey silhouettes looked small against the earthen bullet trap behind them. She glanced around. Only Blalock was around, still by his car. Apparently the competition officials had left for another meet somewhere on the range. Feeling comfortable with no one else around, she pulled out her service pistol. Each of the
ten targets fell, one shot for each. Finished, Ella smiled, proud of herself, and turned to wave to Blalock, assuring him that nothing was wrong.

As Ella stood at the firing stand reloading her weapon, she suddenly felt as if clammy fingers had been pressed to the back of her neck. She glanced around slowly, noting that Blalock had opened his trunk and was busy putting away his gear. Everything
seemed normal. Just as she was about to relax, she noticed a flash of light coming from the rocky hillside to her left, Ella dove to the ground, rolling to the side just as the wooden pistol stand in front of her exploded. The distant report of a rifle shot echoed between the hills.

Ella crawled down the drop-off in front of the firing line, then waited behind cover in the low spot for several
minutes. Nobody came and no second round followed. Moving parallel to the firing line in a crouch, and unable to discern any new threat, she climbed out of the target area and jogged over to what was left of the stand. The bullet had passed completely through the four-by-four post and lodged in the adjacent post, splitting it nearly in half lengthwise. She pulled the wood further apart with her
hands and carefully lifted the metal jacket bullet out and wrapped it in her handkerchief.

Ella walked back to the parking area and found Blalock standing by his car, wiping down his pistol with a soft cloth.

“Is there a rifle competition today?” Ella asked.

He shook his head. “You heard the rifle shot, too? There’s no scheduled competition, according to my monthly flier, but a member might
be sighting in his weapon. We can use the range after the shoot is over. Members each have a key to the gate.”

“I did more than hear that rifle shot. I had to dive for cover.” She filled Blalock in and showed him the recovered bullet. They both agreed it was probably from a .308 rifle.

“I’m going to find Chambers,” Ella continued. “He had a rifle case in his truck. Let’s see what he has to say.”
Ella searched the area on foot, but the truck she suspected had been Chambers’ was nowhere on the range. Blalock came to meet her as she stood, scanning the area one more time. “I’m ready to go. Why don’t we run that truck’s license and if it belongs to Chambers, we can have a talk with him.”

Having confirmed Ella’s tentative ID, and having secured Chambers’ address, they set out in Blalock’s
car. Ella shifted in her seat, restless, yet at a loss to explain the sense of impending danger that would not leave her.

“You want to tear this guy apart, don’t you?” Blalock observed, misinterpreting her reaction.

“If he is our man, I’d like to use
him
for target practice. I can’t decide if he should be standing with the silhouette pigs or the turkeys.”

“Can’t say I blame you, but what do
you think triggered the incident?”

“I’m not sure, unless he saw me writing down license plates. It’s possible that during the times when other relays of competitors were shooting, he left the line to see what I was doing.”

“Do you think the sniper meant to kill you?”

“No. It was close, but with a scoped rifle, he shouldn’t have missed. My guess is that it was meant to rattle me. Of course I
don’t think he would have gone into mourning had he slipped up and hit me. He might have seen it as a win-win situation.”

Blalock shook his head. “No, we’re not dealing with total wackos. We’ve got people who think they’re in the right and can’t see past that. My guess is he knew he could hit the target he was aiming for, and he did.”

As they pulled up into the expansive driveway of a large
pueblo-style, adobe home, Ella glanced at Blalock. “This house didn’t come from a miner’s salary.”

“No kidding.” He glanced around. “I don’t remember a discrepancy like this in any of the background reports I read on the Anglo workers, but I do remember reading that there was one miner who still lived with his parents. This may be the guy.”

Ella walked up to the front and rang the doorbell.
An elderly woman came to the door and looked at her curiously as she flashed her badge. “We’re here to see Steven Chambers.”

“My son is out in the back cleaning his guns,” the woman said, without any trace of surprise. “I’ll show you the way.”

Ella glanced at Blalock. Most people she knew would have asked what the police wanted, or if there was trouble. Perhaps Mrs. Chambers had learned not
to ask questions.

They found Steven sitting by a redwood table in the backyard, disassembling his Colt .45. A scope-equipped Remington Model 700 rifle was lying on a soft old blanket, the bolt removed.

Blalock glanced at Ella then back at Chambers. “Nice rifle. Seven millimeter, isn’t it? Shoot it in competition?”

“Sometimes. And it’s a three-oh-eight.”

“There was no rifle competition today,
was there?” Blalock asked casually, his tone showing Ella he was pleased to have confirmed the caliber of the weapon so easily.

“Nope.” Chambers started running a patch through the barrel of the .45. “What brings you here? Are you looking for some shooting tips?”

Blalock’s expression was as cold as winter wind. “My rifle training qualifies me as a sharpshooter. You probably have a bit to go
before you reach that level.”

“Well, then maybe you can teach me. I’m always anxious to improve my skills.”

Ella watched Chambers. He was smooth. “Someone took a shot at me at the range today, someone with a rifle of that caliber.”

He looked Ella up and down. “They must have missed.” He picked up the rifle, inserted the bolt, and checked the action.

“I recovered the bullet. A full metal jacketed
three-oh-eight bullet. I wonder if the rifling marks will match a round fired from your rifle.”

“I doubt it,” Chambers said confidently, opening the action again to check the magazine from above. “If I’d shot at you, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the rifle I’d used.”

“You didn’t know we were coming here,” Ella countered.

“I wouldn’t have risked bringing it home, either way.”

Ella knew from his
answer that he’d probably fired the shot, and now was taunting her. There was no way to prove it without testing the weapon and they didn’t have enough probable cause at the moment to confiscate the rifle he was holding. In an area where many people owned rifles, and there were no registration laws, finding the weapon used would be difficult.

Ella purposefully slid her hand slowly back toward
her own handgun. She saw Chambers tense, and then place the rifle back down onto the blanket. She would have laid odds that he’d seen her skill with her pistol out at the range.