Black Thunder (21 page)

“Yeah, but when I delivered her dinner earlier she mentioned she was going to lock up for the day. She looked really tired. I think it’s all the pressure. Starting up a new business is really tough, particularly these days. My deli takes fourteen-hour days, sometimes
more.”

The deli owner obviously didn’t know that Leigh had just learned of her husband’s death, and Ella didn’t enlighten her. Thanking the woman for her help, she walked back to the SUV with Justine.

“Get Leigh Johnson’s home address, partner.”

“It’s on the Rez,” Justine answered after typing it in. “Maybe a half hour to forty minutes away.”

“Let’s go,” Ella said.

Justine glanced at Ella
then back at the road. “I can handle the interview on my own if you’d like to call it quits and head home. I know you want to talk to Dawn,” Justine said.

Ella shook her head. “Thanks, but no. Dawn’s with her dad, and although I hate to admit it, it’s the best place for her right now. She sees him as larger than life, and if anyone can, he’ll be able to get through to her.” Ella stared ahead.
“I keep thinking that if I’d been a better mother I would have seen this coming months ago.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Justine said. “The kid screwed up, that’s all.”

“But police work’s such a huge part of my day, my personal life sometimes takes a big hit.”

“It’s the same for all of us, but we do our best, and things work out.”

Ella thought of Dawn. She’d raised her to know right from
wrong, and hopefully that would define the woman her daughter would become someday. Until then, all she could do was take things one day at a time.

SIXTEEN

As they drove into a rural area north of Shiprock, it was easy to guess which houses belonged to the Traditionalist families. Those were usually farther back from the highway down unpaved roads, and had wood and coal stoves instead of bottled gas, and were missing the usual TV antennas or satellite dishes. Traditionalists also tended to have hogans in the back, along with corrals for
livestock—mostly sheep and goats.

Justine turned east down a wide gravel road and slowed to a crawl when they discovered a flock of sheep moving through an arroyo close to the road. After about three miles, they arrived at their destination.

Leigh’s home was a rectangular pitched-roof double-wide nestled against a low hill. Around fifty yards away in a field was what appeared to be a neighborhood
dump containing an old stove, miscellaneous construction debris, black plastic trash bags, and a twenty-year-old car with flat tires and a missing hood. The absence of trash services contributed to the ugliness of many tribal neighborhoods, and people in these neighborhoods tended to ignore outward appearances.

Seeing a dusty minivan with Leigh’s business sign on its door, Justine parked, then
walked with Ella to the front door.

Leigh took a few minutes to answer, and seemed surprised to see them, but invited them inside. She looked tired, and was barefooted, wearing a multicolored ankle-length house dress.

“We won’t take long,” Ella said, noting from her wrinkled clothing that it looked like she’d been in bed.

“It’s all right, I was just trying to wind down a little. Have a seat.
May I get you something cold to drink?” she asked.

“No, thanks,” Ella said. “We just need to ask you an important question, then we’ll get out of your way.”

Leigh nodded and sat down on her sofa, tucking her legs under her.

“I need you to think back hard, Leigh. Did your husband
ever
have a problem with another driver on the road? Maybe something along the lines of an incident he didn’t bother
reporting to the police, but told you about?”

Leigh stared at the floor, her eyebrows knitted together. “I can’t remember him mentioning anything like that,” she said, looking up. “My husband wasn’t the kind to get into fights with other drivers. He preferred to avoid trouble out on the road. He always said that too many crazies had driver’s licenses.”

“I was hoping you might remember something,
even something minor,” Ella prodded gently.

Leigh stared at the floor again, lost in thought. “There is something, but I don’t think it’s what you’re looking for. My husband came home late one night, mad as could be. He’d been driving extra slow because of some trouble with one of his tires, and got pulled over by the police. They’d given him one of those field sobriety tests—walking heel to
toe, and having him count backwards.”

“Did your husband ever drink to excess?” Ella asked her.

“No, in fact it was just the opposite. He often stopped at the Silver Nugget after work for a beer before coming home, but he
never
had more than one. He was methodical about things like that. He’d also have some snack food, chips or pretzels, along with it. His father was an alcoholic, and my husband
took pride in being able to know when to stop.”

“You said methodical…,” Ella said. “Does that mean that he kept to schedules and routines? For example, did he always take the same route home and at around the same time?”

She nodded. “He liked routines. He’d stop at the Nugget, then come home at around seven, but as I said, always sober.”

“If you think of anything else, give us a call,” Ella
said, rising. “We’ll let you get some rest now.”

“You know, it never fails. Every time I come home early wanting nothing except to crawl into bed, I get visitors. Norman Ben came by less than thirty minutes ago,” she said with obvious distaste.

“I gather you didn’t invite him over?” Ella asked.

“Hardly. He has all but accused me and my husband of being thieves. Now that he knows Elroy is dead,
he suddenly wants to be friends?” she said, grimacing. “I don’t trust him one bit.”

“What do you mean, friends?” Ella asked her.

“Norman hasn’t been here in years, but he suddenly showed up at my doorstep offering condolences and telling me that he wanted to invest in my flower shop. He said he’d provide the capital I needed to finally get things on solid ground.”

“What did you tell him?” Ella
asked.

“I turned him down. The whole thing made no sense. My shop’s doing okay, but I certainly can’t guarantee that an investor would make a decent profit—now or ever. I told him that point blank, too, and asked him to explain his sudden interest.”

“What did he say?” Justine asked, prodding Leigh after she lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

“At first, all I got from him was b.s. about how sorry
he was about the way he’d treated me, but I kept pushing him for a straight answer. Finally he told me that in exchange for his financial help, he would be making one small request.”

Ella’s eyes narrowed.

“No, he didn’t want me to sleep with him—like I ever would. He wanted me to stop talking to the police. He said that endless discussions about Elroy’s disappearance were going to hurt his company,
and maybe mine as well. He even offered to make sure I had an attorney on call in case you came back with more questions.”

“We’re talking now, so I gather you didn’t take his offer?” Ella asked.

“No way, but after he left I saw that one of his private eyes, Bruce Talbot, was still snooping around.”

Hearing angry shouts outside, Leigh muttered something under her breath and went to the window.
“Talbot’s probably out there again, taking photos,” she said. “Yep, there he is.”

Ella came up behind her and looked out. A brown-haired man in his late fifties, wearing a windbreaker and ball cap, was aiming a camera at an elderly couple coming out of a medicine hogan. Traditionalists, particularly the older ones, hated to have photos of themselves taken by strangers. They believed the images
might be used to witch them.

“I’ll take care of this,” Ella said, and gestured to Justine.

As they hurried out, the man directed his camera at Leigh’s house and took shots of Justine and her.

Ella strode up to him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking photos isn’t illegal, ma’am. I’m on a public road, not private property.”

“You’re standing on property that belongs to the Navajo tribe,”
Ella clipped and flashed her badge. “Here, non-Navajos go by our rules and need permission to take photographs, so I’ll need your camera. Our Traditionalists find personal photos threatening.”

“I meant no offense. Let’s compromise, officer.” Talbot, who looked liked retired military with his haircut, grooming, and posture, showed her the monitor. As she watched, he deleted the photos he’d just
taken. “Happy now?”

“Exactly why
are
you taking photos?” she asked.

“I’m Bruce Talbot,” he said, flashing his driver’s license. “I work for Ross Harrison’s agency. Mrs. Johnson’s friends and visitors are of interest to us.”

Ella glared at him. “From now on, you are to stop harassing our people. In fact, I want you to stay well away from our residents unless you’re invited to approach.” She
stopped, and emphasizing every syllable, continued. “If you choose to ignore this, I’ll make sure the tribe declares you unwelcome on our land. If that happens, we can detain you the moment you enter our borders and subject you to legal action. Clear?”

“Abundantly.” Talbot got back into his vehicle, a green pickup, and drove off west toward the highway.

*   *   *

A half hour later, having learned
nothing more from Leigh Johnson, Ella and Justine climbed back into their SUV.

Ella glanced down at her watch. “We’re going to be running out of daylight pretty soon. What do you say we go back to the…” Before Ella could finish, her phone rang. It was Carolyn.

“We have a confirmed DNA match on a second victim. Your earlier hunch paid off. The remains are what’s left of Chester Kelewood.”

“Thanks
for the heads-up, Carolyn.”

They’d traveled about a mile when sheep on the dirt road ahead forced Justine to slow down again. “We’ll have to get out and chase them off, unless you want me to try and go around.”

“The ground on either side looks pretty soft. If we get stuck, we could be here for hours,” Ella said, taking a look out the window.

“I don’t see a herder around, but I hear a bell.
If we can get the leader moving along, the rest should follow, right?”

“Beats me,” Ella said. “Clifford and my mom are the ones who know about sheep and goats. Sheep generally do their best to annoy me. They bleat once or twice, then keep right on doing whatever they want.”

Justine laughed. “I like them a lot better than turkeys. My cousin had about thirty of those suckers, and they’re mean.
I was sent in to feed them one time, and they jumped me. I dropped the bucket and ran straight out of the pen.” She opened her door. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Ella grumbled. “The one with the bell is on your side of the road. Go over and see if you can get it moving. I’ll try to moosh the rest.”

“Moosh? Is that shepherd talk?” Justine said, looking among the flock, trying to find the one with the
clanking bell.

“It is now.”

They were right in the middle of a dozen or so dusty sheep, pushing gently and shooing them along, when a shot rang out.

“What the hell?” Ella whirled around, trying to see the shooter among the deepening shadows.

The sheep began to panic, bleating and scattering in every direction.

Then a second bang sounded, and Ella heard the thud behind them, somewhere near
the SUV.

Ella stumbled against a big ewe. Reaching out to break her fall, she grabbed a fistful of wool just as the sheep jumped away from her. Ella fell flat, barely avoiding a sharp hoof.

“Sounds like a rifle. Where’s the shooter?” Justine yelled from somewhere across the road.

“North,” Ella yelled, scrambling to one knee and drawing her weapon.

“I hear a hiss. Did we just lose our radiator?”

Ella turned her head. The SUV was sagging on the passenger-side front end. “No. The tire took a slug.”

“No sheep are down. Maybe he was aiming at the car, not us.”

“Stay down anyway and keep looking. He’s out there somewhere, probably well out of pistol range.”

The sheep, following their leader, the one with the wildly clanking bell, were now racing across level ground to the left, bunching
together as they ran. The scent of dust, sheep manure, and sage mingled together, but there were no more gunshots.

Ella waited, watching the ground to the north where there was a gentle ridge.

“Hear that?” Justine said.

Ella held her breath. A car engine was racing away, and the sound of tires on gravel was fading off into the distance.

“Cover me.” Ella raced to her right, weaving through
the sagebrush and angling toward the rise. Within fifteen seconds she reached the ridge. Off to the east, she could see dust rising from the road where it curved back toward the highway.

“He’s gone. All I could see of his vehicle was the gleam of chrome and taillights,” Ella said, walking back to the SUV. “It’s just too dark and dusty. I couldn’t even say if it was a car or pickup.”

“I called
it in, but without a vehicle description…”

“Yeah, I know,” Ella muttered.

As they were examining the right front tire and looking for traces of the bullet, Ella’s phone rang. The special ring tone told her it was no ordinary call.

Ella answered and heard Big Ed’s voice at the other end. “Shorty, I’ve sent some officers to help you search for evidence. What can you tell me?”

Ella gave him the
highlights.

“Do you think it was some crackpot, or are Harrison or Talbot after you now?”

“Despite the timing, I can’t say for sure.”

“I’m going to report this to Sheriff Taylor and Sheriff Gonzales from McKinley County. I talked to both of them just a while ago and some of their deputies have heard talk. The meth lab you shut down has made you some enemies in these parts. Your bust put a dent
in current distribution over the Four Corners.”

“Noted. I’ll watch my back,” Ella said.

“What’s next on your agenda?” Big Ed asked.

“Now that we’ve got a positive ID on Chester Kelewood, I’ll be digging a lot deeper into his life. I want to know if there’s any connection between him and Elroy Johnson.”