Black Thunder (20 page)

Blalock nodded. “These days it’s not that unusual for kids to take guns to school or ride around with them in their cars. In my day, we used to settle things with a fistfight behind the gym.”

“Or the student parking lot,” Dan said.

“Local deputies can handle questioning at the school,” Ella said. “Meanwhile, Dwayne, can you check your databases and see if we’ve got any professional
criminals working the area?”

They returned to his sedan and Blalock typed in the information. “We’ve got a couple of names here from a RMIN report,” he said, speaking of the Rocky Mountain Information Network. “Gilbert Romero and Jimmy Bowman, both Navajos in their early twenties, are wanted fugitives who were last spotted in eastern Arizona. They’ve been linked to a carjacking early in May and
the murder of a motorist in Tuba City. The victim was shot twice at close range. Bowman lived in Waterflow as a teen, so it’s possible they’ve moved into our area.”

“I can update our team and see if we can get any leads on them,” Justine said. “Some of our officers might know the pair.”

“Head back there and see what you can do,” Ella told Justine.

“I’ll leave the SUV with you. I’ll catch a
ride with someone from county.”

“Let me see what I can get on Eddy’s Garage,” Dan said, then went to his vehicle. He returned moments later. “Our burglary unit has the victim’s employer, Eddy Pounds, on their short list for suspected auto theft. They’ve paid Eddy several visits in the past but got nowhere. It’s possible, even likely, that the vic was involved in a chop shop operation.”

Ella
looked at Dan, then back at Blalock. “This is out of my jurisdiction, but that also means I’m less likely to be recognized as a cop. If I go in alone posing as a customer, I can look around and ask some questions. There’s no telling what I might see.”

“Let’s switch vehicles. You take my pickup,” Dan said, tossing her the keys. “Even an unmarked is likely to send up flags since departments tend
to favor the same models.”

Ella nodded. “Good thinking. I’ll keep my cell phone on so you can hear what’s going down, too. If I see anything connected to the chop shop, you can move in.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Blalock said. “We’ll close off the perimeter, cover the rear, and wait for Clah’s signal.”

Twenty minutes later, Ella pulled up beside an old cinder-block, flat-roofed former filling station
on the outskirts of Farmington. The pumps were gone, but the island remained, a weed-landscaped chunk of concrete. The black-and-white metal sign in its center advertised
EDDY’S GARAGE
and offered discount tune-ups and brake jobs. Two five-foot-high stacks of old tires rested against a side wall.

Ella parked near the front doors, noting through a dirty upper row of windows that fluorescent lights
were on inside. Both doors of the two-bay garage were closed despite the heat, and the height of the windows hid everything but the ceiling from view. Ella dialed Blalock, pressed the speaker button, then slipped the phone into her shirt pocket.

As she climbed out of the pickup, she could hear the machine-gun rattle of an air impact wrench. Ella went inside the small front office and looked around.
There was a small TV on the counter, a stack of girlie magazines, and a dirty-looking coffeemaker, but no cash register. Three beat-up wooden chairs rested against the wall below the outside window, and on the opposite side was a taped-up business license and a three-year-old pinup calendar depicting Miss October.

“Anybody home?” she yelled, pushing the wooden door leading into the garage. It
was locked on the inside.

“Hey, I think my engine is overheating. Anyone here work for a living?”

“Keep your shirt on, lady. I’m coming,” a man’s voice yelled from inside the garage. She heard a clank, then the sound of a lock opening.

An Anglo man in his fifties wearing a stocking cap and dirty gray shirt poked his head out a crack in the door. “Hey,” he said, giving her a quick once-over,
pausing at her breasts. “I’m Eddy. Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetie. You got a problem with your ride?”

He stepped halfway out, then looked through the dirty window at Nez’s tan truck. “Nice looking 150. What’s the problem?”

She looked past him into the bay, where a dark green Mercedes was parked, minus the hood and right front fender. No one else seemed to be around.

Ella stepped closer
to him and brushed aside her light jacket revealing her badge and firearm. “I’m a police officer, Mr. Pounds, and I’d like to speak to you about one of your employees.”

“Crap!”

The man jumped back and tried to pull the door shut, but Ella managed to get her boot in the way. As she pushed it open, he turned and ran.

The guy raced around the Mercedes and disappeared from view. To her left, Ella
could see another exit.

“Watch the back door,” Ella shouted to Blalock and whoever else could hear.

Ella pulled out her Glock and ducked down, glancing beneath the car, trying to spot feet on the other side. Unable to do so, she ran to her left, expecting him to have circled the Mercedes. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of something flying through the air.

Ella ducked
and the object flashed by, brushing her left ear before hitting the bay door with a metallic clank.

Hearing running footsteps on the concrete floor, she whirled just as the man raced out from behind the engine compartment and headed for the front.

“Stop!” she yelled, raising her pistol. She wouldn’t have shot him, but he didn’t know that.

The guy grabbed the doorknob, but it suddenly flew open
with a thump, catching him full force in the chin and chest. Eddy flew back, falling flat onto the hard floor like a stepped-on spider, legs and arms splayed out.

Ella raced over, joining Blalock, who’d been responsible for the stop. Nez came in next, weapon drawn.

“Nice backhand, Dwayne,” Ella said, putting her foot next to the groaning man’s head. “Roll over, slowly, Mr. Pounds, and keep your
hands where I can see them.”

“I’m Agent Blalock of the FBI,” Dwayne said, as Ella and Dan hauled him to his feet. “What’s your name?”

“Edward M. Pounds,” he grumbled.

“I’m not really that interested in you, so relax, Mr. Pounds,” Blalock said. “I need information about one of your employees. Give me some answers and I’ll get out of your face.”

“No problem, man,” he muttered, rubbing his bruised
chin. “What do you need to know?”

“Everything you can tell me about Ignacio Candelaria,” Blalock said.

“He’s one of my mechanics and he’s late for work today. What’s he done, robbed a bank or something?”

“As far as we know, he’s done nothing except get shot in the head,” Blalock said.

“Dead?” he asked, his color turning one shade paler.

“Yeah, that’s what usually happens when a bullet blows
out a chunk of your skull.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Pounds said quickly. “Ignacio was just a guy who worked for me, a loner if there ever was one.”

“Do you have his home address?”

“You’re practically looking at it. He lives—lived—in the back of the shop. There’s a cot in the storeroom along with some of his stuff. It’s my place, so poke through whatever you want.”

“Anyone ever come
by to see him? A friend, male or female? A family member?” Blalock pressed.

“No, man, it’s like I told you. He was always alone. Iggy liked to argue, and could get people really pissed off. No way he had friends. First thing he did after work was get in his car and head for the liquor store. From what I could tell, all he did off the clock was drink and get into fights. I’d be here late sometimes,
working on the books, and see him come in, dragging, and bloodied up.”

“Bar fights?” Blalock asked.

“Or on the road.” Eddy wiped a greasy hand on his baggy gray slacks. “One night he was in a car accident and ended up in a fight with the other driver. There was one thing about Iggy you could count on: He didn’t like being told he made a mistake, or worse, that he was wrong. And if he was drunk
at the time, there’d be hell to pay.”

*   *   *

Nez, Blalock, and Ella left Eddy’s Garage shortly afterwards and met by Blalock’s sedan, which had been parked to block the exit of Eddy’s business truck.

Ella and Dan exchanged vehicle keys. “Your tribal SUV is over there,” Nez said, pointing down the road a hundred yards.

Ella nodded. “Bowman and Romero are looking like our best bets for the
Candelaria murder. We should also check and see if Elroy Johnson ever had an encounter with that pair, one that could have led to a deadly second meeting. If they were the ones who killed Elroy, it’s possible they each took a shot, sharing the kill, and making sure neither would rat out the other. I admit it doesn’t address what else we know about the snake-eyes murders, but those two characters
might have done some work-for-hire killings.”

Dan nodded. “I’ll look into that from my end and let you know if it goes anywhere.”

Ella soon set out for Shiprock. She was less than five miles east of town when she noticed a white sedan about a hundred yards behind her. It seemed to be keeping pace with her unit, never speeding up or closing in, even when she altered her speed.

Since this was
the only road leading directly into Shiprock, the first thing she needed to do was make sure she wasn’t overreacting. Finding a side road, Ella slowed, signaled, then turned up a lane leading to a farmhouse. When she looked back in the rearview mirror, she saw the vehicle continue along the main highway toward town.

More at ease, Ella returned to the main highway and was on Shiprock’s outskirts
when she saw the white sedan again. It was parked beside a convenience store. Moments later, the vehicle pulled out into traffic, caught up to within a few hundred yards, then took up its position behind her again.

Ella picked up the radio, got Officer Talk’s location from dispatch, then switched to a tactical frequency.

“I’m not far from your location,” Marianna said. “I just grabbed a coffee
at the Totah Café. I’m still in the parking lot.”

“Stand by. I’ll be passing you in three minutes. After I do, watch for a white sedan, a Ford Taurus. Pull out behind him, then close in. We’ll box him in between us and force him to pull over.”

“On it.”

Ella slowed to thirty as she passed the Totah Café. The white car was behind her about six car lengths when Marianna pulled out behind it.

“Hit your siren,” Ella told her.

Ella cut her speed sharply and braced for a possible collision, but the Taurus driver suddenly cut a hard left, jumped the median, then raced back east. After nearly colliding with an oncoming pickup, the driver ran the light, then raced north.

“I’m going after him.” Marianna whipped her cruiser around in a turning lane, then roared after the suspect, racing past
Ella.

“Don’t lose him,” Ella said, taking the next turning lane, reversing directions, then hurrying back in pursuit.

Reaching the intersection where the highway split, Ella used her lights and siren, checked to see if it was clear, then ran the light, racing north uphill. She saw Marianna’s unit stopped just ahead behind two cars that were blocking the road.

“Lost him,” Marianna said, using
the car-to-car frequency. “He ran the light and caused a T.A.”

“Crap. Anyone hurt?”

“Looks minor,” Marianna said.

Ella pulled up behind Marianna’s unit. A pickup was blocking the road diagonally, half of its load of hay scattered across both lanes. Another vehicle, a small compact, was resting against the pickup’s right fender, its steering wheel lodged just south of the bumper.

“He’s probably
halfway to the state line, but I’ll see if we have any units between here and Colorado,” Ella said as she joined Marianna on the scene. “You get a read on the plate?”

“No luck. It was one of those state centennial jobs, yellow on turquoise. Hard as hell to make out unless you’re right on them,” Marianna replied.

“Tell me about it.” After making the call, Ella stayed in the intersection, holding
back traffic until the truck driver and three volunteers moved enough bales to clear a lane. Marianna tended the driver of the compact, who’d suffered cuts and bruises. Once the paramedics arrived on scene, Ella left Marianna in charge and headed back to the station.

News of what had happened spread quickly. Not long after Ella reached her desk and began to write up a report, Blalock came in,
followed a few steps behind by Dan Nez.

“We heard,” Blalock said. “Do you have any evidence that would prove the text messages and this tail you picked up are connected to our case? You’ve been shot twice already, Clah, now this. It’s starting to look like you’re the next target.”

Ella’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re considering trying to get me pulled off this case, don’t go there. This jerk’s
just messing with me. I may not know why yet, but I will.”

As Nez and Blalock took a seat, Justine came in. “I’ve gone over everything we have on Elroy Johnson. His driving record’s clean and we have no reports that he was involved in any traffic incidents or physical confrontations. Even his personal relationships were solid.”

“Same on the county side,” Dan said.

“That doesn’t mean that there
wasn’t an altercation,” Blalock said. “A lot of crimes and disturbances go unreported.”

“We need to dig deeper. I think we should pay his wife another visit,” Ella said. “It’s almost six, but I remember her telling me that she often stayed till eight working on her books.”

“Good thinking. While you’re there, Detective Nez and I’ll go put a little more pressure on Norman Ben and see what we get,”
Blalock said. “Okay with you, Nez?”

Dan nodded. “I’ve got a home address.”

*   *   *

Justine was at the wheel as they drove to the flower shop, but when they got there they found no sign of Leigh Johnson.

The young Anglo woman who ran the small deli a few doors down was in the process of locking up when she saw them standing by the front window. “She closed up early. You’ll have to come back
tomorrow,” she called out.

Ella went over to talk to her and identified herself. “Leigh’s normally here till late, isn’t she?”