Never-ending-snake (3 page)

“Attempt to locate,” Ella mumbled, not caring if he heard.

As she jogged toward the aircraft, the first man that came into full view was the pilot, staggering away from the open cockpit door. Wounds to his upper body had now soaked much of his shirt in blood, but he was mobile. Ella shifted her attention
to where she’d last seen Adam and Kevin. The asphalt around the landing gear was thick with blood.

“Call an ambulance,” she shouted to one of the airstrip’s men—the manager, judging from the white shirt and bolo tie.

“Already done,” he answered, waving his cell phone.

As she reached the fallen men, the sickeningly sweet scent of blood filled her nostrils. She swallowed hard, trying to brace
herself, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw next.

Adam lay across Kevin’s left arm, the side of his head a mass of blood and hair. Bubbles in the blood around his nose showed he was still breathing, barely. He’d also been
struck on the leg, but she didn’t see any wounds along his neck or center line of his back. Ella carefully lifted him enough to free Kevin’s arm.

Kevin had
been shot in the side, around the ribs, and had taken another hit in the thigh and one on his arm, just below the elbow. Mercifully, both men were unconscious.

Experience told her that Kevin would live if help arrived promptly, but she wasn’t so sure about Adam. With head wounds there wasn’t much she could do without the risk of killing him right there.

Ella looked at one of the airport workers,
a man in overalls who was absentmindedly holding a fire extinguisher. “I need bandages,” she called out, pressing her hand against Kevin’s thigh and applying direct pressure to the wound that appeared to be losing the most blood. She could hear the sound of an approaching siren now and the tone suggested it was the EMTs, not a squad car.

“Hang on, guys,” she told the wounded, hoping that some
part of them would hear.

The wounded pilot came toward her, his bloody left hand pressed against his right shoulder. A large red first-aid kit dangled from the fingers of his injured arm. He held it out and said something, but she couldn’t hear a word as a white and blue emergency vehicle skidded to a stop on the runway, lights flashing and siren wailing.

“Finally,” she said, as two white uniformed
men, one Anglo and the other Navajo, rushed up carrying large medical cases.

She stepped back to let them work. So much blood . . . It was different when it was someone you knew.

Seeing movement on the runway out of the corner of her eye, Ella turned her head for a clearer look, and saw her family driving up in Rose’s white Chevy Cavalier. Ella pulled herself together quickly. There was no way
she was going to let Dawn see her father in the condition he was in now.

Jogging over to her mother’s old sedan, Ella motioned palm up for them to remain where they were, then realized her hand was covered with blood and put it down quickly. She stopped in front of Dawn’s backseat door and stood against it so her daughter couldn’t open it and get out. As she looked at Rose, Ella saw a mixture
of relief and fear on her face—the latter from seeing she was all right, and the former from not knowing what had happened.

“There’s been a shooting, and Dawn’s father is one of the three who have been injured,” she said gently. “Stay well back and let the emergency people work. I’ll answer your questions as soon as I can, but right now I need to get back over there. This is a crime scene now.”

Ella looked at her daughter and forced a smile. “Hang in there, Pumpkin. And don’t worry.”

Dawn nodded, but fear still shone in her eyes.

“One last thing,” she said, giving Herman a worried glance. “We’ll need statements from all of you, so you can’t leave just yet.”

Herman nodded, silently reassuring her that he’d take care of things here.

As her family climbed out of the car, Ella used her
cell phone to call her partner and second cousin, Justine Goodluck. Getting her on the first ring, Ella gave her a quick description of the events, made sure officers in the county would be looking for the van, and requested the crime scene team be dispatched to the location.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Justine asked immediately.

“I was nicked by bullet fragments and flying debris, but that’s
all,” Ella answered. “Right now the EMTs are concentrating on Kevin and Sergeant Lonewolf, who’s in the worst condition. The pilot took a hit, too.”

As Ella put the phone back into her pocket, she saw her daughter standing between Herman and Rose, watching the activity around the wounded. Blood was everywhere, and
Dawn’s eyes were huge. She’d seen enough TV shows to know that violence was part
of police work, but in her brief life Dawn had never seen anything like this.

Ella realized then that she’d been wrong to ask them to stay. She’d get their statements later.

Ella hurried back to where her family was and hugged her daughter tightly, careful not to touch her with her bloody hand.

“Mom,” Dawn managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding.”

“I scratched
up the side of my head and my cheek. That’s all it is, honey. I’m fine,” she said, easing her hold enough to look down and give Dawn a gentle smile. “But this is no place for you right now. You’re going to have to go home with your grandparents, okay? And please don’t call your friends—not until your grandmother says it’s okay.” Ella saw Dawn holding her new cell phone in one hand.

“Okay,” Dawn
answered, placing the phone into her hip pocket.

Rose touched Ella on the arm gently. “We were nearly run off the road by a white van when we turned up the airport road,” she said, her voice two octaves higher than usual. “I didn’t notice the driver, but the van ended up going north. Did he do this . . . massacre?”

“Mom,” Ella snapped, forcing Rose to focus. “I need you two to take my daughter
home,” she said, respecting her mother’s traditionalist views by not using Dawn’s name. Names were said to have power and were not to be used lightly.

“I was a medic in the Army, and I conducted a first-aid class at the senior center a few months ago. Is there anything I can do here?” Herman, her mother’s husband, asked.

Ella glanced back and saw the EMTs fighting to save the most badly wounded,
but Pete Sanchez was sitting alone, a compress on his arm. “The pilot . . .”

Herman nodded once, then strode off.

“What . . .” Rose began, but seeing Ella shake her head, allowed her voice to trail off.

“Mom . . . is Dad? . . .” Dawn’s voice broke.

“I think he’s going to be okay,” Ella heard herself saying with a conviction she didn’t feel. But honesty would wait. Dawn had seen and heard enough.
“You two need to go home now. I’ll be there as soon as I can with news.”

“My husband will need a way home,” Rose said, glancing at Herman, who was already tending the pilot.

“I’ll arrange something, or he can ride back with me,” Ella replied. “It might be a while, though.”

The airstrip wasn’t far from the station and as they spoke, the crime scene van appeared at the far end of the road.

“I’ve got to get to work, Mom, but I need you to write down everything you remember about the van and the men inside as soon as possible. Both of you,” she added, looking at Dawn. “Even small details might help.”

As soon as Rose and Dawn were on their way, Ella breathed a sigh of relief. Though it seemed like a lifetime ago, she still remembered seeing her father’s body lying in the morgue. He’d
been ritually murdered and, to this day, those gruesome images remained in her mind, imprinted there, ready to be replayed in her many nightmares.

That was why she’d been so determined to protect her child from the bloody scene out on the runway. Even in a fast-paced world—or maybe because of it—children deserved their brief time of innocence.

Now, with her child safely on the way home, Ella
walked back to the crime scene, ready to resume her duties as a tribal police investigator.

Ella heard the ambulance driver slam the rear door shut. Moments later, she watched the emergency vehicle racing across the strip and down the airport drive, sirens on and emergency lights flashing.

The tribal crime scene team, currently Justine Goodluck, Sergeant Joe Neskahi, and newcomer Benny Pete, were already unloading their gear from the van. Airport workers
were busy examining the single-engine aircraft, obviously concerned about damage and safety issues.

“Partner, you’re bleeding,” Justine said as Ella approached.

“They had their hands full and needed to transport right away to save the soldier,” Herman answered for Ella, then stepped toward her, first-aid kit in hand. “Let me take a look at you.”

“It’s nothing,” Ella insisted. “When I took cover
I was sprayed with flying debris, probably gravel and asphalt. And a landing gear tire popped right next to me. I got scratched up a bit, that’s all, but it’s already clotting,” she said, dabbing at her cheek with a fingertip.

“Are you aware that you also have two bullet holes in the side of your shirt?” Justine asked, pointing to the entrance and exit holes.

“The suspects were blasting away
with assault rifles. With that kind of firepower, I got off extremely lucky.” Finding a third hole in her jacket, Ella gave her a rueful smile. “At least it isn’t the suit I bought for D.C.”

Herman had reached Social Security age in the last century, and these days his hands shook some, but equipped with antiseptic-soaked swabs he cleansed the scrapes above her ear and on her cheek. Despite his
light touch, Ella flinched from the sting.

“Yow!” she grumbled.

“I’ve seen all the shell casings lying around and the bullet holes in your clothes, daughter-in-law. You dodge bullets without even batting an eyelash. No man could ever be tougher than you in a fight. But when I touch you with a little bit of disinfectant, you melt like butter in a hot skillet. What’s wrong with this picture?”
Herman asked.

Justine started to laugh, but seeing Ella’s scowl, thought better of it.

“You won’t need stitches,” Herman said, moving away at last, “but your scalp was creased with something, probably a bullet. You should be checked by a doctor as soon as possible.”

“I’m going to take a look around here first. After that, I’m off to the hospital. Once I check into the condition of the wounded,
I’ll get my scratches tended.”

“I’d like to ride there with you,” Herman said. “I have a feeling your mother and your daughter will be going there instead of home.”

“Mom at a hospital?” Ella knew that would be the last place her mother would want to be. The hospital was a place for the
chindi
. According to Navajo beliefs, when a person died, the good in them joined universal harmony, but the
evil side stayed earthbound, ready to create problems for the living. Since patients died in hospitals every day, Traditionalists saw it as a dangerous place to visit. Though her
mother understood the need for hospitals, she did her best to avoid them.

“My wife will probably try her best to convince your daughter that home is the best place for them right now, but the girl is stubborn, like you.
They might go back to the house initially, but it won’t take long before she’ll insist on going to the hospital so she can be near her father.”

Dawn, like many young Navajos raised around Traditionalists, walked an easy line between the old and modern ways. Fear of the dead wouldn’t keep her from going to Kevin’s side. Dawn adored him. In her eyes, Kevin could do no wrong. As far as Ella was
concerned, Dawn’s view of her dad bordered on hero worship.

“You’re bleeding again,” Justine said gently. “Come on. I’m taking you to the hospital. The rest of the team will carry on here. The suspects didn’t leave much for us except for a bucket full of .223 shell casings, skid marks, and tire tread images.” She pointed to where the van had been parked.

“That’s a start.”

“Give me a minute,
then the three of us will head up,” Ella said.

After Ella briefed Joe Neskahi, the crime scene’s senior officer, they left. Although only two members of her team were actively working the crime scene, nothing would be overlooked, and each piece of evidence would be faithfully recorded.

Benny Pete, their newest crime scene member, was an experienced officer who had trained and served with the
Phoenix Metro department before returning to the Rez. As a crime scene investigator, Benny had already proved he was good at spotting even the minutest trace evidence. Though he was only on loan from Tuba City until Ralph Tache and Anna Bekis returned, Ella was glad to have him. Tache, their bomb expert, was still convalescing after an on-the-job incident. Bekis had taken his place as their new explosives
expert, but the former ATF member’s talents required her to cover a lot of ground. Right now she was on assignment with the Window Rock District.

While Justine drove to the hospital, Ella considered all the events of that morning. “Have you heard anything that might explain the reason for the attack?” Ella asked her.

“I know only what you do—that Kevin’s been threatened verbally via crank calls
and e-mails. It all started when he took the case against Alan Grady, the manager provided by Casino Enterprises Management, the firm contracted to run the facility. From the gossip I’ve heard, he’s been overbilling the tribe and skimming off the top. It’s also possible that some members of our tribe are on the take.”