Black Thunder (34 page)

“Not good,” Neskahi said over the radio.

“He’s only got whatever rounds are in his pistol,” Justine reminded them, having taken up her covering position again. “Most Kahr autoloaders have seven-round magazines, so even with one in the chamber, he
can’t have more than seven shots. He’ll come out blasting, but if we keep him firing blind until his ammo is spent, we can take him down with Tasers.”

“Tasers and tear gas then,” Ella said. “But use lethal force if there’s no other option.”

Five minutes later they were ready to make their move. Ella fired a tear gas grenade through the front window, and seconds later, Romero rushed out the front
door, yelling, and firing blind. He’d already expended four rounds, and was still screaming like a banshee when he decided to make a run for the pickup.

Ella slipped down the length of the vehicle, keeping as much metal between her and Gilbert Romero as possible.

As Gilbert reached the driver’s-side pickup door and yanked on the locked handle, he saw Ella. Cursing and groping in his pocket for
the keys, he snapped a shot, forcing Ella to duck behind the tailgate. The bullet went wide, whistling into the
bosque
.

“He’s out,” Justine yelled, seeing Gilbert staring at the pistol’s open slide.

Ella holstered her pistol and fired her Taser at Gilbert, but only one probe hit the mark. The other bounced off his weapon and ended up striking the pickup’s side mirror.

Gilbert yelled, then threw
his pistol at Ella. As she ducked, he sprinted down the road. Then he saw Marianna and Dan rise up from the brush where they been hiding. Romero swerved to the right. Racing east now, he headed straight toward Ralph Tache.

Ella knew that Ralph’s injuries made him vulnerable and he was likely to be seriously injured in a hand-to-hand battle.

“Taser him, Ralph,” she yelled.

Instead of taking
action, Ralph just stood there, frozen, staring at the device in his hand.

Nez, who’d quickly closed in from the north, fired his Taser on the run.

The probes made contact and Gilbert fell to the ground, his body twitching.

“Turning it off,” Dan yelled as Ella came up to the groaning man on the ground.

Ella rolled Gilbert facedown, then cuffed him before he could recover. She still wasn’t
sure why Tache hadn’t fired, but she’d look into that later.

Ella pulled away the Taser leads, then Neskahi, with his wrestler build, hauled Gilbert to his feet.

Gilbert shot Ella a look of pure hatred. “You think I killed all those people over at the Hogback, don’t you? But it wasn’t me, no matter what anyone says. Ya hear?” he yelled out as Neskahi led him to his cruiser.

Ella was walking
back to retrieve her discarded Taser when Blalock joined her. “What do you think? Is he our man?” he asked as she stowed away the wire leads and reloaded the device.

“No. I stand by my original theory. Romero doesn’t have the personality to carry out carefully planned murders. His style is exactly what we just saw—rush out with guns blazing. Simple road rage murders, yes, but not the crimes we’re
investigating. He and Jimmy Bowman got caught up in our manhunt mostly because they were in the area at the right time.”

“I agree,” Dan said, coming up to join them.

“So that leaves us with Ross Harrison. We need to find out more about his business and take a real close look at his alibi,” Ella said, placing the Taser back into her pocket. “I’d like county to stake him out for a day or two.
Let’s see where he goes and who he meets. I also want to know a lot more about Talbot. How did those two ever find each other?”

“I can place Harrison and Talbot under surveillance,” Dan said. “If we get anything, I’ll contact you. Either way, we’ll keep a close eye on their whereabouts and a tally of everyone they meet.”

After Dan left, Ella and Blalock returned to his office. Tossing her a
cold drink, he went to his chair and leaned back.

“If Harrison’s responsible for these murders, he’s got brass balls and isn’t likely to break under questioning,” Blalock said, sitting behind his desk and gazing at her. “We’ll need hard evidence to put that man away, and the only thing we’ve got are those recovered nine-millimeter bullets. We have to find a way to link them to a weapon in his
possession.”

“If it’s his, he’s probably ditched the gun already, and the highly incriminating armor-piercing rounds. If he borrowed it from Talbot, we’d have to find a way to tie it back to him convincingly. Let’s check the police files, government files, and whatever else you can access from here,” she said.

Blalock logged on, and after a few minutes read her what he had on screen. “Talbot’s
retired Army. Currently, he works part time as a security guard over at the Four Corners Power Plant. I’m going to call and see what they have on file for him.”

Blalock used his Bureau credentials, and soon was promised that a copy of Talbot’s file would be forwarded to him via e-mail. As they waited, Dwayne sat back, stretching out his long legs. “Their background checks are usually pretty extensive,
so this should be interesting.”

“The revenge motive is there for Harrison—his fiancée was killed—but that’s not evidence, it’s just a reason. The only evidence we have to support our theory is the matching date—June first—and that’s clearly circumstantial. And does Talbot play into this at all, or is he just Harrison’s employee?” Ella said, mostly thinking out loud.

Moments later the file came
in. As Blalock called it up, Ella came over and stood behind his chair, looking at the screen.

“Talbot was Rosemary Archuleta’s biological father. Talbot married someone else, but when Rosemary’s single mother died, he and his wife stepped up and took the two-year-old. They raised her as their own,” Blalock said, skimming the information. “When Talbot filled out these forms, Rosemary was still
living in a
casita
on the back of their property.”

“So there’s our tie-in between Harrison and Talbot—Rosemary. They both have a strong motive. Someone they love was killed. They could be taking it out on what they believe to be Navajo drunk drivers.”

“It’s still not evidence—not by itself,” Blalock said, beginning a new search on Talbot. “But here’s something that might mean something. Talbot
has two vehicles, and one matches the make and model of the police cruisers in this area.”

“If we’re to believe Joe Preston, Kelewood was stopped by a deputy on the night he disappeared,” Ella said.

“You’re suggesting that a fake county vehicle pulls over the victims?” Seeing her nod, he continued. “You might have something there. Around here it’s more than just an urban legend. We’ve had actual
cases in this area where predators posing as cops have pulled people over, though they’ve usually targeted women.”

“That would explain how Harrison and Talbot were able to secure their victims without a struggle,” Ella said. “And I bet I know how the Bitsillie kids fit in, too. Harrison’s and Talbot’s game plan was working just fine until two kids from a homeless family spotted one of them in
the phoney cop car scouting their burial site. When the fence crew found the graves, they panicked, thinking the boy might have led them there. Worse—Del had been close enough to maybe see a face. They tried to take him out that same afternoon, but I got in the way. Knowing the boy was guarded, they found another way to get him out of the area without taking any more risks. That note they left in
his mom’s car was enough.”

“Good theory, Clah. It all ties together and explains why, even in daytime, we weren’t able to find the sniper who tried to kill the kid. He was driving a car tricked out to look like a sheriff’s department cruiser. The shooter blended in as part of the hunt, and nobody looked twice. Slick. But how do we
prove
any of this?”

“I’m not sure, but we better figure it out
fast. Those text messages they sent me were meant to mess with my mind. It was probably Harrison, I’ve seen him texting a couple of times, right in front of me. The guy is arrogant. The shooting incidents were designed to misdirect and slow us down. The only reason I can think of for them to actively try and divert our investigation is if they’re planning on striking down another DWI Navajo on June
first. We’re about out of time.”

Blalock studied the information on screen. “Bruce Talbot and and his wife Emily divorced three years ago, but she’s still living in Farmington. I say we go talk to her. Maybe we can get a read on what’s inside Talbot’s head.”

“Good idea,” Ella said with a nod. “Ex-wives, more often than not, will give you the dirt on their old man. But I may get farther if I
go in alone. I can keep it low key and tell her I’m updating the information in her husband’s file for the power plant.”

“Okay, sounds like a plan. I’ll drive, and you can go in alone. I doubt she’s involved in the killings, but just in case, I want to be close by—CYA.”

“I appreciate that. Where does she work, anyway?”

“According to what I read, Emily Talbot has been the receptionist at a small
interior design firm off Main Street for nearly five years.”

The Farmington business was located in a one-story brick building across from a huge building supply warehouse on east Main Street. As Ella walked in, she saw a woman in her fifties with reddish auburn hair sitting at the front desk.

“Hi. I’m Emily. Can I help you?”

Ella smiled back. “Mrs. Talbot? I’m Ella Clah. I work for the tribe
and I’m doing an update on Bruce Talbot’s power plant personnel file.”

“You guys must really be behind. Bruce and I have been divorced for three years. I don’t even remember the last time I saw him, so I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. Our lives and finances are pretty much separate now.”

Ella gave her a weary smile. “Look, Mrs. Talbot—Emily? I have a list of standard questions I’m required
to ask. Some of them are just ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ So how about it? If a client comes in, I can sit back, wait, and appreciate the air-conditioning.”

“All right. My boss is on vacation anyway, so all I’m doing is keeping the office doors open and collecting my paycheck.”

“I know all about the importance of a paycheck,” Ella said. “I’m a single mom.”

The woman’s expression clouded over. “Consider
yourself lucky. Bruce and I had a daughter, but a drunk driver took her away from us a week before her wedding,” she said, her voice wavering.

“I’m so sorry. You must have been devastated.”

“After Rosemary died everything changed,” she managed in a dry-throated whisper. “It was the beginning of the end for my marriage, too. Bruce and I kept drifting apart until there was nothing left. He was
bitter and angry and kept it all inside. I needed to talk, to share the pain, but he shut me out.”

Ella nodded, thinking how often that turned out to be the case. During times of crisis when a couple needed each other most, they sometimes went in opposite directions and never found their way back.

Emily took a slow, deep breath. “The drunk who killed Rosemary died several months later in another
accident. At least no one else was hurt that time. I thought I’d be happy knowing that justice was served, but all I felt was … empty.”

“How did your husband and your daughter’s fiancé take that news?”

She considered it. “My husband started shaking when we read that Rosemary’s killer was dead, then he just got up from the table and walked away. I think he wanted to put things behind him, but
the pain just stayed and stayed. I never saw Ross, my daughter’s fiancé, show any emotion, ever, except during Rosemary’s funeral. I guess he spent too many years as a cop.”

“I’ve met a private investigator named Ross Harrison,” Ella said casually. “Is that the same man?”

“Yeah, small world,” Emily said. “Strangely enough, my daughter’s passing strengthened the friendship between Bruce and Ross.
Last I heard, Ross had hired Bruce to help him on some of his cases. Bruce has always been a police buff, so it was a perfect chance for him to play cop. He even bought an ex-sheriff department’s vehicle at auction, and in the months following my daughter’s death, he and Ross spent hours restoring it. They even refinished the official paint scheme.”

“To keep it authentic, I guess.”

She shrugged.
“Those two found comfort working with cars and collecting police memorabilia. It kept them distracted and I envied them that. Me, I’ve never been able to get away from the pain. It’s always there, like my shadow.”

Ella asked her a few rote questions, then after a bit, stood, and thanked her. “You’ve been through a lot, Emily, but time will help you.”

“So they say.” Emily walked with her to the
door, then excused herself to answer the desk phone.

Ella met Blalock back at the car. He was standing outside in the shade of an elm, sipping bottled water. As they drove away, she told him what she’d learned. “Here’s how I think it might have gone down. Bruce took on the role of ride-along while Ross posed as a deputy and pulled the victims over, selecting someone who appeared to be male and
driving drunk. Next, Ross incapacitated the individuals, maybe with a Taser, and with Bruce’s help put the person in the trunk of their ‘squad’ car. Ross drove the cruiser while Bruce took the vic’s car. They met at the Hogback site, then finished the job.”

“They might have even dug the grave the night before and hidden it with brush or tumbleweeds. That would have saved them a lot of time,”
Blalock said. “It would have also lessened the risk of getting discovered there.”

Ella nodded. “They were probably monitoring police calls with a scanner in case someone called in a report. Harrison could have supplied them with what was needed before he left the department.”

“Yeah, and once the body was in the ground, they ditched the vic’s car at one of their preplanned locations and destroyed
their victim’s clothing, maybe burning everything, or just tossing it in a Dumpster thirty miles away.”

“With Kelewood, they screwed up. They somehow missed his wallet, or maybe Chester managed to ditch it, hoping he could be traced,” Ella said.

“It’s also possible they decided to move fast after Joe Preston drove by and checked them out. In their rush, they never even saw it,” Blalock said.