Mourning Dove (14 page)

Silence stretched out between them as Ella watched a hawk
circling high above, swoop down and, at the last second, cut her speed and rip with talons and beak
into some mouse or rabbit. The skill of the hunter was balanced by the watchfulness of its prey, and often the raptor went hungry, insuring survival of the fittest.

“When we get to the station, I’ll go talk to Calvin. While I’m busy with that I want you to get me some information. We need to know what Sergeant Sanders was doing when Jimmy was killed, and see if the other officers—Miller and Smith—have
alibis, too. Not just some vague ‘they went fishing’ response, either. We’ll need to get the information through the back door, nothing official that’ll set off alarms and generate gossip in their department. It’ll be easier in the long run that way.”

“No problem. I dated a guy in the administrative division, and I still see him from time to time. He’ll help me out.”

“Anglo?”

“Yeah,” Justine
said.

“Serious?”

Justine shook her head. “We had a lot in common but, as we got to know each other, we realized that there were no sparks. He’s a nice guy, and despite the cliche, we really are still friends.” She took a deep breath then let it out. “As a Navajo, I really don’t think that passion is something to shoot for. By its very nature it’s an undependable emotion. But I still like to
feel that rush at the beginning of a relationship.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree with you on that. But Mom believes that half the reason things didn’t work out between Kevin and me is because I counted too much on those sparks.”

Justine nodded. “That’s the problem with women like us. We want it
all
,” she added with a wry smile.

“Heck, yeah, and we deserve it,” Ella shot back, laughing.

As
they drove into the Farmington police department’s visitors’ parking area beside the modern brick-and-glass structure, their thoughts focused on business again. “What if Sergeant Calvin
Sanders can’t be accounted for or has an unverifiable alibi?” Justine asked.

“I’ll have to change my tactics, so if that’s what you find out, come and remind me about the meeting with Chief Atcitty in an hour.
That’ll be our code.”

“Got it.”

Ella and Justine went inside just as the morning shift was leaving the briefing room. Justine left to see her contact while Ella stood in the hall, waiting to catch Sergeant Sanders. Many of the street officers, in their blue FPD uniforms, had met Ella, and they nodded or said hello as they passed by. Sanders was one of the last to leave.

“Hey, you caught me
just in time. I was about to hit the streets,” Sanders said, a clipboard and zippered notebook in his hand.

“I’d like to ask you just a few more questions about Jimmy Blacksheep before you leave.”

“Okay with me.” Two officers brushed past him as they left the room, their eyes on Ella.

Sanders glanced into the room. “The place is clear, so we can talk in peace,” he said, waving her into the
room and toward one of the folding chairs in a row of empty seats.

She chose a chair and sat while Sanders put his clipboard and papers on the seat beside her, then took a seat in the next chair over.

“Sergeant, I’m trying to get a clearer handle on the deceased’s last few weeks. I know he had friends in the unit—but who might have been his enemy?”

“I was his lieutenant—platoon leader—but orders
came down the chain of command to his sergeant who was responsible for the men in Blacksheep’s section. I worked with the sergeants, and that was the extent of my direct contact with the enlisted men. Like I said, the guy you need to talk to is Kent Miller, a patrolman in the department—sergeant in the Guard. Officer Miller’s the man
who’d know the details of Jimmy Blacksheep’s service, his friends
in the platoon, like that. But Miller’s still fishing somewhere and I haven’t been able to get in contact with him. I’ve left messages, but he obviously hasn’t checked in.”

“Could you do me a favor? FPD must have his blood type on file. Can you check it for me?”

“I suppose. Why?”

“Just following a hunch. Humor me?”

“All right. I’ll find out what it is and get back to you.”

Ella knew Sanders
had seen Jimmy’s service records, and had certainly written reports about the men under his command. She was about to ask him about that when she saw Justine walking into the briefing room.

“We gotta roll, boss,” Justine said quickly. “Dispatch received a call about a suspicious vehicle—could be a carjacking in progress on the Rez.”

E
lla welcomed the news, a rush of excitement coursing through her. This could turn out to be the break they’d needed. Ella nodded to Sergeant Sanders, who grabbed his papers and stepped out into the aisle, allowing her to pass. “Check back with you later, Sergeant,” Ella called as she followed Justine from the room.

“Good hunting!” Sanders replied.

They were
in the unit and in Farmington’s western outskirts less than three minutes later, full emergency lights and siren on. “Fill me in,” Ella yelled, having to speak over the wail of the siren.

Justine spoke, but her eyes never left the road. They were going fifty right now, with only one more traffic light to pass through before open road. “We got lucky. Albert Tom was driving home—he works graveyard
as an orderly at the Farmington Medical Center and spotted what he said was a ‘really awesome’ blonde by the side of the road just inside the Rez on the east side of Hogback. He saw that she was having car problems so he thought about stopping, though she wasn’t trying to flag him down. Then he remembered the carjackings and kept going. As soon as he got home, which wasn’t far, he ran into the
house and called Dispatch.”

“That’s a pretty busy route this time of day, which doesn’t fit the carjackers’ M.O. It could be legit.”

“No, Albert lives just inside the Rez,” Justine argued. “The Hogback is in his backyard, almost. This breakdown is on the old highway, you know, to the north of the new road. Nothing much back there but farmhouses and the abandoned trading post.”

“Do we have any
officers in the area?” Ella asked.

“Just us. If they’re waiting for a particular target, then maybe we can get in on it.”

“I’m going to see what else Albert Tom knows about the neighborhood and potential targets.” Ella grabbed the radio, and, in two more minutes, had Albert Tom on the phone.

After a brief conversation, Ella hung up.

“What’d he say?” Justine asked, her voice clipped as she
concentrated on her driving. They were back down in the river valley now, and at the speed they were going, would be closing in on the Navajo Rez within minutes.

“We’ve got a carjacking going down.” Ella reached over and turned off the siren, then called for a roadblock leading into Shiprock from the east. Racking the mike, she turned to Justine. “You heard my report and request for backup. Keep
your eyes peeled. Leroy Enoah was the target. Albert climbed up onto his roof and looked down the road to where the woman was standing beside the car. No binoculars, but he has a scope on his hunting rifle. As he was watching, Leroy—who lives farther north but has to take the turnoff east of Albert’s place to get home—got sucked in and pulled over to help. When Leroy got close a big guy jumped
out of the broken-down clunker and whacked Enoah with a big stick or axe handle. That’s all Albert saw. He climbed off the roof to get to his phone, and that’s when I got him on the line. Apparently Enoah has a big, brand new, white pickup with a long bed and extended cab.”

Justine nodded, then Ella continued. “Albert saw the carjackers drive by his own home while he was still on the phone. The
driver turned north, going down the same road Enoah lives on. If the carjackers don’t get back on the main highway, or encounter
the roadblock being set up outside Shiprock, that truck’ll just disappear. Step on it, Justine. I want these guys.”

They approached the steep sided walls of the giant rock formation of Hogback at high speed, with lights flashing but no sirens. As they took the old highway
turnoff, to their right, they spotted a beat-up old sedan, brownish copper in color, parked on the shoulder of the road. Ahead, they could see Albert, standing beside Enoah, holding him steady.

Justine slowed as they reached him, but Albert yelled, urging them on, and pointed ahead, indicating where the truck had gone. Justine kept going and turned down the narrow farm road.

“Cut the emergency
lights. When we finally spot them, I don’t want to give ourselves away immediately,” Ella said.

They’d only gone a quarter mile down the one-lane road, past a farm and orchard, when they saw a white truck that fit the description coming from their left, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. The intersection coming up formed a T, which meant Justine had to go either right or left. The truck would
have to continue straight, or make a left to get back to the highway.

“There’s a one-lane wooden bridge ahead. Get there first and block the road. We’ll pretend we picked up a nail on the bridge. If they want to go this way they’ll have to stop and wait for us to let them by, and we’ll have them,” Ella said, reaching for the radio. “Worse case, they keep on going without making the turn toward
the bridge and we’ll be right behind them.”

Justine slowed the car, then came to a stop just off the bridge at the far end, blocking access completely.

“Keep coming,” Ella muttered, her eyes on the speeding pickup as she got out and pretended to check a tire, blocked by the engine compartment. Justine was using the partially open door for cover, her pistol in hand.

The white truck got close,
slowed, then suddenly accelerated and raced on.

Within seconds they were in pursuit but, this time, they were
chasing a vehicle, eating dust, and barely able to see, instead of trying to intercept it. The road felt like a washerboard in places where vehicles traveling too fast had bounced causing ripples across the road, and Justine had to slow to avoid losing control. Within a mile they dropped
down into an arroyo. By then the dust had drifted away, and they had no idea where the pickup had gone.

“Keep going east,” Ella urged. “They’re trying to get off the Rez onto county land, but since we’re in pursuit of a suspect I’m not going to worry about jurisdiction.”

Ella called it in, requested backup from the county, but then the road curved back south, onto private land, and they encountered
a pickup truck pulling a horse trailer stopped at a closed gate along the fence line. Ahead, beyond a rise, was the main highway, and they could see a cloud of dust. Although the rancher left the gate open for them, by the time they reached the highway, the pickup was gone.

Frustration, dark and crippling, washed over Ella, but she fought against it. Bad luck happened. She had to stay focused.

“We almost had them,” Justine said through clenched teeth.

“Let’s keep looking. They may have holed up, and, if they took off toward Shiprock, they’ll encounter the roadblock,” Ella said, then looked at the edge of the asphalt highway where the dirt road ended. “Look, dusty tracks coming from here turned left, back toward Farmington.”

“But there are county units heading this way. The carjackers
will have to turn off again,” Justine pointed out as she eased onto the highway.

“If I were them, I’d get back off the highway as soon as possible. Keep a sharp eye on your side for a dust trail along one of these lanes.”

They continued east, past farm houses, a few small, roadside businesses, and the inevitable cluster of new homes that had begun to pop up along the valley. Those belonged,
by and large, to a
new generation who’d inherited their parents’ land but weren’t interested in agriculture. Sections of old apple orchards remained, as did fields destined to become filled with new crops of alfalfa and corn once the danger of frost was gone.

Passing a large red barn close to the road, Ella caught a glint of light and a flash of white several hundred yards down a dirt road behind
a cluster of cottonwood trees. “There’s something back there. To my right.”

Justine found a place to turn around about a quarter mile down the road, then came back up the highway, heading west. Crossing the median, she drove down the gravel lane. Up ahead was a solitary farmhouse about fifty yards from a large red barn and a shed with a shiny metal roof.

Ella immediately located the white truck.
It was in the shade of the old cottonwood at the beginning of the driveway leading to the house, partially hidden by the tree trunk. “There.”

“That the same one?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Ella answered, then called it in and verified the vehicle plate number. “Block the drive,” she said, noting that the only alternative direction of flight would be across a freshly plowed field. “We’ll move in on
foot.”

Leaving the tribal unit in the middle of the small driveway, they approached in a crouch, covering each other and using the tree trunk to screen themselves from the vehicle cab. As they reached the tree, they could see that the vehicle appeared to be empty. The doors were open, and a closer look revealed the key was still inside the ignition. Ella grabbed the key while Justine kept watch.