Black Thunder (31 page)

“We’ll find him. We won’t stop until we do,” Ella assured her.

Once outside, Ella took a shaky breath. Justine’s hands were also unsteady as she reached for
her keys.

“When snake-eyes killed Alice, he also took a vital piece of her mother,” Justine said.

“If there’s a hell on earth, it’s a parent outliving their child,” Ella said in a heavy voice.

As they got back into the car, dispatch came over the radio. “I’ve got a Priority call. There’s a standoff between motorists about two miles west of Hogback. Shots have been fired. Officers are on route,
but the closest unit is twenty minutes away. Can you respond, SI One?”

“Ten-four. ETA, ten minutes,” Ella said into the mike as Justine started the engine. “Anything else you can tell me, dispatch?”

“The cell phone caller said some armed Navajos have forced a non-Navajo driver off the road. That’s when the shooting started.”

“The Fierce Ones,” Justine muttered. “As if our day wasn’t crappy
enough.”

“We’re approaching from the west,” Ella told dispatch, then racked the mike. “Lights and sirens—go,” she told Justine as she adjusted her vest.

“Do you suppose the Fierce Ones found the snake-eyes killer?” Justine yelled over the wail of the siren.

“I doubt it, but they wouldn’t risk jail time by pulling over every Anglo male coming down the highway,” Ella answered. “Something got
their attention.”

Soon they approached the curve in the highway at the south end of the Hogback. Up ahead Ella saw a big gray pickup off the westbound highway beside a ditch, blocked at the west end by a green truck that had obviously cut it off. A second vehicle, an old boat of a Chevy sedan, had come in behind the gray truck from the east, trapping it in place.

As Justine whipped past the
old Chevy, Ella saw two armed men crouched low beside the front and rear driver’s side tires, their shotguns aimed at the trapped pickup.

“That’s Delbert John on the right,” Justine said, cutting across the median, then braking to a stop at an angle and turning off the siren.

“Keep watch for the gray pickup’s driver,” Ella said, opening her door and jumping out. She kept out of view, knowing
the door itself wasn’t really that much protection.

“What’s the story, Delbert?” Ella called out. She unsnapped the holster strap but didn’t draw her weapon.

“Anglo with a pistol. One of our people saw it on his seat when he stopped for gas in Waterflow. He was heading into the Rez,” Delbert shouted, not taking his eyes off the gray pickup.

“So your crew decided to pull him over. What did you
do, go alongside and show your guns?” Ella asked.

There was a long pause. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“So what did you expect? He started shooting when you forced him off the road, right?”

“Yeah. But we’ve got him trapped now.”

“Anyone get shot yet?” she asked.

“Don’t think so.”

“These guys pulled over the wrong man,” Justine said, coming up behind Ella and speaking just loud enough for her to
hear. “Look at the shirt hanging up by the gray pickup’s rear window.”

Ella studied it for a moment. “It’s a uniform shirt. That patch on his sleeve … he’s a security guard.”

“Which explains the weapon,” Justine said.

“You get a visual on him?” Ella asked.

“He’s by the front passenger-side fender, using the engine block for protection.”

“I see a foot. Sir—you, in the gray truck, I’m a police
officer,” Ella yelled, then stood, holding up her badge. “I know you’re a security guard and that you were attacked first. We’re in charge of the scene now, so please put your weapon down and stand up. Place your hands on the hood of your truck so we can see them.”

Ella turned to Delbert. “Order your people to put down their weapons and stand, hands visible. We’ll handle this.”

Delbert gave
the order. Someone grumbled, but after a pause, everyone stood. Ella stepped around her open door and moved to the right. She was now visible from the pickup. “Cover me,” she told Justine.

“Come on out, sir,” Ella called, walking toward the pickup slowly, holding her empty hands at breast level.

“Okay, I’m moving in your direction.” A tall, red-haired Anglo man with a southern accent walked
slowly down the north edge of the road toward the back of his pickup. “I’m a security guard at the Four Corners Power Plant. My shift is over and I was on my way to see my girlfriend in Shiprock. These armed men tried to hijack me. I have the right to defend myself, ma’am.”

Ella closed the distance slowly and glared at the two vigilantes standing to her left at the front of the big car. As she
reached the tailgate of the pickup both men showed their hands.

“Are you okay?” she asked the guard at last.

He nodded. “I’m going to reach for my ID, okay?”

“Go ahead,” Ella said.

The man’s ID’s, both his company name tag and New Mexico operator’s license, identified him as Jesse Pritchard of Farmington. “Things up and down this valley have been tense as of late, so that’s why I kept my gun
handy,” he said. “My red hair, well, it makes me stick out around here.”

Ella had to admit he had a point. She’d never seen a brighter shade of natural red. “Stay here, Mr. Pritchard.”

Ella walked back and showed Justine the ID. “Run it.”

Justine came back moments later. “Jesse Pritchard has lived in this area for about eighteen months. He’s ex-military and was stationed at Eglin Air Force
Base in Florida for two years before that. He’s not our guy.”

Ella nodded. “Tell Delbert to move the vehicles over to the side of the road up by that mileage marker, then have his crew wait there until I tell them otherwise. We’ll need their names, telephone numbers, and addresses.”

A few minutes later, after the Fierce Ones had moved their vehicles, Ella joined Jesse. “You’re free to go now,
Mr. Pritchard. We’ve got things here now. Would you like to check your pickup for damage?”

“No ma’am, not necessary. We never actually collided. I’m just glad you showed up when you did.”

As the security guard drove off, Delbert walked over to where she was standing.

“Why do I bother even trying to reason with your kind? You just can’t listen to anyone’s voice but your own,” Ella said, crossing
her arms and glaring at him.

“Face it, the police are getting nowhere. You need more eyes and ears out on the highway.”

Ella swallowed back an angry retort and forced her tone to stay even. “Had that man been injured, you and the others would have been facing felony charges. Or you could have gotten yourselves shot.”

“You should be grateful for our help. We’re doing what the police can’t do.”

Ella took a deep breath. “You’re vigilantes, Delbert, working illegally and without a lick of common sense. I should throw you all in jail. Get a clue. This is New Mexico, and over there,” she pointed west, “is Arizona. Combining that state with ours, you’re looking at hundreds of thousands of gun owners. There are plenty of long stretches of open road, so a lot of people who travel alone carry
weapons. When word of this gets around, rest assured that even more will be putting their pistols under the seat or their rifles on the rack. You can’t go around attacking every lone Anglo traveler you see.”

“Armed ones, yes.”

“No. You’re not paying attention. Most of them will be innocent people exercising their second amendment rights—something you clearly believe in or
you
wouldn’t be packing.
This is the West, and you’re not a cop. You have no authority to stop anyone just because they have a firearm and light skin. What’s worse, someone—you guys included—could die trying.”

“We’re willing to take that risk to keep the tribe safe.”

“There’s something else you might want to keep in mind. You have better odds of looking like a fool than a dead hero. Is that the way you want Anglos to
see the
Diné,
or identify the Fierce Ones—as a joke?”

Wordlessly, Delbert strode off and joined the others. As the trio cleared out, Ella went to join Justine. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?” Justine asked.

“The community college. I want to talk to people who worked with Alice Pahe. We need to find out if she had any enemies, and if so, who they were.”

It was midafternoon by the time
they arrived on campus. Ella had called ahead and received directions to the office of the head of the Anthropology Department and an assurance that he’d be there.

As they walked down the hallway of the large building, they passed several large classrooms, most in session. The department office was situated about midway down the hall, and they headed there.

Verifying the name on the closed door,
they knocked. A Navajo man came to open it, glanced at the badges on their belts, then waved them inside. “Come in, officers, and close the door behind you so we won’t be disturbed. My listed office hours are over so I can give you as much time as you need. I’m Paul Becenti, the department chair. I was told to expect you.”

Ella leaned back. “We’re here to ask you about Assistant Professor Alice
Pahe, whose body was recently identified. I need to get a clearer picture of the victim. What can you tell me about her?”

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “Alice loved her work. Even after she started chemotherapy and radiation treatments she gave everything to the job. That dedication earned her the admiration of our staff and her students.”

“Can you think of any reason someone
might have wanted her dead?” Ella asked.

“No. But if someone had wanted that, all it would have taken was a little patience. It was no secret she didn’t have long to live. I think that was why she made every minute count. She tutored free of charge and was always there for the students who needed her. Her absence has been felt.”

“Did she ever teach a student by the name of Gilbert Romero?” Ella
asked, trying hard to find a tie-in.

“I’ll have to check,” he said, moving over to his computer. A few minutes later, he looked up. “I couldn’t find anyone by that name in her old class rosters.”

Ella bit back a frustrated sigh. “Did Alice ever have a problem with another teacher or maybe a student?”

“I generally don’t hear about things like that, but her former grad assistant might know. His
name is Vincent Charlie.” He glanced at his computer again and typed in something. “He’s here now, just down the hall. He’s been working for Professor Benallyson.”

“We’ll find him,” Ella said, standing up. “Thank you for your time.”

Justine fell into step beside Ella as they went down the hall. “Maybe the grad assistant will be able to give us something more.”

“You never jumped in with questions
back there. How come?”

“I was watching him, trying to read his body language. He was listening to you, Ella, really listening. You got all the information he had to give,” Justine answered. “Keep in mind that it’s in his best interests to have the case closed. That’s the only way everyone in his department will finally be in the clear.”

“Good point,” Ella answered. She knocked on the open office
door. “We’re looking for Vincent Charlie.”

“You’ve found him, but give me a sec,” the young Navajo man said without glancing away from his computer screen. A minute later, he finally turned around. “Sorry—ladies. I’m entering term paper grades and I wanted to finish up before saving. What can I do for you?” His wide, toothy grin would have lit up a stadium.

Ella introduced herself and Justine,
and as she did, saw the young man’s gaze linger on her partner a moment longer than was necessary. Ella forced herself not to smile. Though Justine was probably at least ten years his senior, her partner still looked as if she were in her mid-twenties.

“We need to learn more about Alice Pahe, and the department chair suggested we talk to you,” Ella said.

He nodded slowly, his expression now
sober. “I probably knew her better than anyone else,” he said. “It’s been a long time but I still miss her.”

“Were you two involved?” Ella asked.

“No, it wasn’t like that,” he said quickly. “I was her assistant and friend, that’s all.”

“Did she have any enemies that you know about?” Ella asked him.

“Who doesn’t? Dr. Pahe’s major fault, if one could call it that, was that she spoke her mind
even when she shouldn’t have.”

“Give me an example,” Ella asked.

“I remember a time in class. One of the students said that our people show real courage when they step outside Anglo laws and force others to act right—like the Fierce Ones do. Although she knew that the Fierce Ones have a lot of support and it’s risky to say anything against them, Dr. Pahe didn’t hold back. She told him in no
uncertain terms that anyone who takes the law in their own hands creates chaos.”

“How did the student react?” Justine asked.

“Not well, until Dr. Pahe told us what had happened to her a few days before when another driver out on the highway took it upon himself to play judge and jury. She’d been feeling more fatigued than usual after chemotherapy and pulled out into the highway too slow for
some guy coming up in a pickup. She’d made up her mind to pull over at the gas station up ahead, but the other driver went a little crazy. He pulled up beside her and cursed her out, calling her a bleeping drunk.”

“Did she call for help?”

“She couldn’t. Her cell phone was in her purse on the passenger-side floor and she couldn’t reach it without letting go of the steering wheel. The other driver
passed her, then slowed to a crawl, speeding up every time she tried to get around him. Finally she swerved onto the power plant highway and headed for their main gate. The other driver broke off the chase. To Dr. Pahe, that was a prime example of the harm created by citizens who take it upon themselves to threaten and harass others for an imagined offense.”

“Perfect road rage scenario. Did she
report the incident?” Justine asked him.

The question told Ella that Justine hadn’t found anything on record and was as curious as she was.

“I have no idea.”

“Thanks for your time,” Ella said, standing.

“I’ll be around if you have any more questions,” the young man said as they left the office.