Black Thunder (30 page)

“That’s not for me. I spend whatever free time I have with my family. What do you do in your off hours besides practicing at the shooting range?”

“If it’s spring or summer I’m usually off hiking or backpacking. In winter, I don’t tend to go very far because the
weather’s more uncertain.”

“You go alone?”

He nodded. “But I use common sense. I’ve got a GPS with me and a phone in case of emergencies. Of course out here cell phones are unreliable.”

Ella heard what he’d left unsaid. Being without immediate family around was hard, not to mention lonely. She knew eventually that day would come for her, too, but it was hard to even imagine her household without
Rose, Herman, and Dawn.

Soon he drove into the parking lot that surrounded an old but beautifully constructed wood and stone building. There was a large carpenter’s brace and handsaw emblem carved into the heavy oak door.

“Let’s see what we can get from these people,” Dan said, his tone all business again.

They went inside a small lobby, but found no one at the outer desk. Along the cherrywood
paneling were rows of photos in metal frames, most of them depicting lodge members at outings and public service events over many years, judging from clothing style changes. Hearing voices just past the closed door, Dan knocked loudly and identified himself.

A panel in the door opened and a face appeared. Ella was suddenly reminded of old movies about Prohibition.

“How can I help you, Detective?”
the man asked through the peep hole.

“We need to talk to someone who can show us membership sign-in records going back four years.”

“I have that authority—for legal, legitimate purposes. I’m Lodge Grand Master,” he said, coming out into the lobby and closing the door behind him. “I’m Larry Clement.” He offered his hand.

Dan, used to the Anglo greeting, shook the man’s hand, as did Ella.

“We’re
investigating the death of one of your members, a Navajo man, Elroy Johnson,” Dan said. “We understand he came by here the evening he disappeared.”

“I remember Mr. Johnson—we only have a few Navajo members. I just read that his body was found and that he’d been murdered.”

“That’s why we want to look at the actual sign-in sheet for that night—June first. We’d like to see who else was here that
evening and compare those names to anyone who might be part of our investigation.”

The man led them down a wood-paneled hallway lined with shelves containing trophies and public service plaques, then down to a small office. He opened a well-worn file cabinet, brought out several large clothbound notebooks, and set them on a glass-topped desk. “You’re probably used to computer files but, here,
we still keep our records as our forefathers did, pen to paper.”

He found the book that corresponded to the proper year and month, then turned the pages until he reached the right date. “Here we are, June first. I don’t see Elroy’s name,” he said, scanning the page. “Wait, here it is. It’s at the very bottom.”

“Would you mind if we took a closer look?” Ella asked.

“Not at all,” he said, turning
the notebook around, then sliding it toward them across the desk.

Ella studied the signature. It wasn’t the same one she’d seen on the company’s license that hung on Norman Ben’s office wall—not even close.

“Has anyone else asked to examine this book?” Ella asked him.

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, now that you mention it. I was Grand Master back then as well, and not
long after Elroy disappeared, a private investigator showed up. He said Mrs. Johnson had hired him to find her husband, so I let him take a look. It’s okay because we’re not a secret organization, though we don’t make our members’ names public or describe our rituals.”

“Was he alone with the book at any time?” Dan asked.

“I can’t say. The only reason I remember it at all is because he was the
first private investigator I’d ever met.”

“Could you make a copy of this page for us? It would be for official use only,” Dan said.

“If that’s the case, then yes, indeed. Our lodge always cooperates with law enforcement officers. One of our missions is public service.”

He took a copy using a stand-alone machine against the wall, then handed Dan the page. “If there’s anything else we can do,
officers, let us know. Elroy was one of our lodge members, and I know he would have wanted his killer taken off the streets.”

“Thanks,” Dan said, then walked out with Ella.

“You saw what I did, didn’t you?” Ella asked him. “That’s not Elroy’s signature.”

“I know. Elroy’s signature slants to the left, so he’s probably left-handed. I was wondering if maybe Harrison added it himself so he’d have
something to report. Keep the client on the payroll?” Dan added.

“That’s what I was thinking, too, but we’re going to need to compare it to Harrison’s handwriting,” Ella said.

“His signature is probably on his P.I. license application.”

“Good thinking. That’s a state agency, so you’ll probably have easier access. Once you get a look, will you let me know?” Ella said.

Dan nodded. “You ready
to head back to the Rez now?”

“Yeah, you don’t need me for a follow-up, and I’ve got work waiting.”

“Even if the signatures match, it still won’t mean Harrison’s guilty of anything except keeping a client on the hook with dubious evidence,” Dan said. “I usually hate checking up on an ex-cop, but I ran a background on Ross, and from what I saw, he has a good track record finding missing people.”

“In this case he hasn’t done much for his client except take the money,” Ella replied.

Twenty minutes later, Dan dropped her off at the Shiprock station. As he drove off, her cell phone rang, and she noticed that it was Logan Bitterwater, the tribal president’s investigator.

“I’ve got some information to share. Do you have a moment?” Logan said.

“I just pulled into the station. If you’re in
the area…”

“Actually, I’m in Window Rock, but I have something I wanted to pass along. I leaned on Joe Preston, the Stepson operations manager, and it paid off. Here’s what I got. After Stepson failed to pass muster with the state mining inspector, Preston knew they were in trouble. There was no way the company could fix the problems in the two days Kelewood had given them. So Preston met up
with Kelewood at a bar in Kirtland that evening and offered Kelewood a small financial incentive to postpone the inspection. Kelewood refused and left.”

“I was never told about that.”

“There’s more. Preston then made some calls to unnamed superiors at the company and got permission to up the ante. Hoping the additional money would buy him a few days extra at least, he decided to try and catch
up to Kelewood before he got home. When Preston finally spotted Kelewood’s pickup, it was on the shoulder, having just been pulled over by a sheriff’s department cruiser. Preston said he knew stopping would be a mistake under those circumstances, so he decided to wait down the road and intercept Kelewood as he passed by later. But the car never showed up, so Preston finally went home and the second
offer was never made.”

“Didn’t Preston realize that he was establishing himself as a suspect by admitting all that?” Ella asked, trying to come up with a way of connecting the dots. It still didn’t add up. If Joe Preston had killed Kelewood, then what about the other victims?

“I’m not a cop. I don’t arrest people. That gives me some leeway. But if you ask him about this yourself, he’ll probably
deny the whole thing.”

“So the bottom line is that once Kelewood disappeared, Stepson Inc. got the time they needed to bring their equipment and machinery up to par.”

“Joe Preston had reason to want Kelewood out of the way, but he’s not your killer. That’s what my gut tells me,” Logan said. “That’s all I’ve got. Hope it helps.”

Before she could thank him, Logan ended the call. Ella put away
the phone, trying to process the new information, and wondering how it might fit with what they already knew. Before she could gather her thoughts Justine came outside.

“Perfect timing, partner. We’ve got a positive ID on the female vic, and I’ve located her next of kin. Wanna go with?”

“You bet,” Ella said. “Fill me in on the way.”

TWENTY-THREE

As they headed out to a neighborhood in southwest Shiprock, Justine updated Ella on her findings. “The vic’s name is Alice Pahe. She was thirty-four years old, Navajo, and taught here at the college. When she disappeared two years ago she’d been undergoing cancer treatment. The day after she was reported missing her car was the one found at the bus station parking lot in Farmington.”

“Who are we going to see?” Ella asked.

“Her mother, Nadine Pahe. Nadine teaches at one of our middle schools.”

“Has she been given the news?”

“Yes,” Justine answered. “I spoke to her on the phone just before I called you. She’s waited a long time for closure.”

“Who interviewed her back when her daughter disappeared?”

“One of our uniforms took the report. I checked, but that officer since
resigned and now works for the Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Department.”

They soon entered a Modernist’s residential area, passing the middle school campus only a few blocks west of the highway. The houses, constructed in the seventies, were nearly identical and separated by low cinder-block walls.

As they pulled up, Ella saw Ford’s old Dodge pickup parked in the driveway. That truck had sure
seen a lot of miles.

“Looks like she’s one of Reverend Tome’s parishioners,” Justine said.

“I’m glad he’s here. He’ll help the mother stay calm. I’ve seen Ford work miracles with people fighting their way through grief.”

“This is going to be a rough one, I can tell you that. Nadine gave me some details already. Alice was her only daughter and was fighting hard to stay alive. The chemo and radiation
treatments were only keeping her cancer at bay. Some of her Traditionalist relatives thought she’d gone off to die somewhere, but Nadine flat out refused to believe it. She never gave up hope that she’d see her daughter again.”

Ella felt her heart go out to the woman. The loss of a child, particularly under those circumstances, would have been unbearable.

Ford showed them into the house, and
Ella saw Nadine Pahe just beyond them on the sofa, staring blankly at the wall.

“We need to talk to her,” Ella told Ford.

“I know. When she called and asked me to come, she could barely speak. Just don’t push too hard.”

“Understood,” Ella said.

As Ella drew near, Nadine Pahe glanced up at her.

“I’m so very sorry,” Ella said.

“We all are,” Justine added gently.

“I know you from church—all
the Goodlucks,” Nadine said. “That’s why your voice was so familiar.”

“We’ll be praying for you,” Justine assured softly.

“Her daughter’s in a far better place now and Nadine knows that. Jesus Christ promised that those who do His will, rise again,” Ford said. “Alice is at peace now, and watching over her family. She wouldn’t want anyone, particularly her mother, to be sad.”

Nadine wiped the
tears from her face. “She always said that worry and sadness were a terrible waste of the time we’re given.”

Ella sat down across from her. “Tell me more about Alice.”

“She was a wonderful daughter and had more courage than anyone I’ve ever known. Even the cancer couldn’t defeat her spirit. After the Army, she got her degree at the University of New Mexico, then came home. She worked at the
community college as an assistant professor of anthropology and her students just loved her. She’d already signed a contract to go back in the fall,” Nadine said, looking at the photo on the table beside her.

“Is that her?” Ella asked, seeing a young woman with waist-length ebony hair smiling at the camera.

Nadine nodded. “She loved her hair. She kept it as long as allowed while serving in the
Army, though she’d tie it back in a bun. When the chemo made it fall out by the handfuls, I thought she’d be heartbroken, but she said that no one should sweat the little things. She even refused to wear a wig.”

“Her car was found in Farmington beside the bus station. Do you know where she was going when she disappeared?” Ella asked.

“I don’t know how the car got there. My daughter was on her
way home after chemotherapy at the medical center in Farmington. They were all evening sessions. The clinic wasn’t far, so she insisted on driving herself there and back. I would have gladly taken her, but there was no arguing once her mind was set.” When Nadine looked up, her eyes were vacant. Sorrow had blasted a hole right through her heart. “Then one night, June first, two years ago, she never
made it home. The police checked with the bus company after her car was found there, but she never got on any bus. She was just … gone.”

Nadine’s last words were nothing more than a whisper that faded into the air.

Ella felt the woman’s pain and wished she could back off, but she had a job to do. “So you reported her missing right away?”

“Yes, I did, but except for her car, the police had no
luck,” she said in a hard voice. “So I hired an investigator to find her.”

“Who?” Ella asked her.

“A man by the name of Harrison. He came around about a month after Alice’s disappearance and asked me if I needed help. He said that the police don’t always have the time or manpower to find missing people, but that was all his agency did. If anyone could track her down, he could—but he never did.”

“When did he finally stop working for you?”

“He didn’t. Every year at this time I hire him to go out and check through all the records just in case something new has turned up, or we missed something.” She took a shallow, shuddering breath. “But now I know my daughter’s in heaven, so I guess I won’t need him anymore. I should call him.…”

“I’ll speak to him for you,” Ford said.

Nadine looked
at Ella, then Justine. “Find whoever murdered my daughter. She fought for every moment she had left on earth, and he robbed her of whatever time might have been hers. He had no right.…” Her voice broke and Ford went to her side instantly.