Authors: David Thurlo
“Yeah. We don’t want to force a high-speed chase through Shiprock if we can help it.”
Justine accelerated, and, as they passed the cream pickup, Ella got a closer look at the driver, a woman in her sixties. Two younger women were beside her, probably a daughter and granddaughter, based
on their looks.
Ella strained to get a clearer look at the white pickup ahead. The road leading into Shiprock curved back toward the southwest and tall poplars just a few feet off the shoulder partially blocked her view.
Justine slowed down to thirty miles per hour as they entered the small town. “They’re not ahead of us anymore,” she said, looking down the virtually straight highway. “Maybe
they turned off.”
Ella studied their surroundings with a careful, practiced eye as they passed the post office and a few small businesses.
“There, to your left,” Ella said.
Justine slowed again to twenty-five miles per hour and cruised past a side street that lay between an old forties-era wooden home and a cinder-block grocery store. While passing through the intersection they spotted the
white pickup moving down the road perpendicular to them.
Justine waited for a break in traffic, did a one-eighty turn, then headed down Chamisa Lane. The white Ford with the crumpled tailgate was now parked at the curb next to an old welded-pipe corral. Two heads were clearly visible in the cab through the rear window.
Justine was already calling for backup as Ella reached for her pistol.
“Let’s take them down, Justine.”
Justine slowed the SUV and hit the siren.
Almost instantly the passenger reached out, pistol in his left hand, and aimed straight at them.
“Gun!” Justine yelled, whipping the wheel to the left just as the man fired.
Ella heard the bullet thud somewhere behind her as she was thrown to the side by the violent maneuver. A cloud of dust and flying gravel struck
the front of their vehicle as the pickup’s driver suddenly hit the gas.
“Get around and cut him off.” Ella was reluctant to return fire here. There were homes all around them. The only thing she could do was try to take out a tire, but she needed a clear sight picture to do that.
Ella held on to the door with her left hand, aimed with her right, and fired just as the pickup jinked to the left.
Dust kicked up just to the right of the tire she’d aimed at.
When the pickup faked left then cut right at the next intersection, Ella brought her weapon back inside. There were single- and double-wide trailers on both sides of the road and their walls were paper thin. She couldn’t risk a shot.
Justine pulled up almost even with the rear bumper of the pickup, cutting off the shooter’s angle.
The pickup’s driver instantly swerved left, then right, fishtailing all over the road.
Ella cringed as the left end of the tailgate slammed into the fender of their SUV. There was a thud, and their vehicle shook, but Justine stayed in control. She touched the brake, kept the SUV in line, and backed off a few feet.
The pickup’s driver faked a right turn, then cut to the left at the next intersection,
racing down a narrow, unpaved street lined with more mobile homes. An alarmed woman looked up from her clothesline a few seconds before a cloud of dust engulfed her.
Nearly a half block ahead now, the pickup suddenly slid to a stop. The passenger jumped out and fired a wild shot in their direction as he took off down the street, leaping over a low fence.
“I’ll take the runner,” Ella said, jumping
out while the SUV was still skidding to a stop. Using the extra motion, she exploded forward at nearly sprint speed.
As Justine raced off after the pickup, Ella ran down the street, watching her right flank and looking into the residential yards for a potential ambush.
There was a long, high fence about a hundred feet beyond the row of mobile homes. Ella figured the passenger had made his way
over there and was running parallel to her, out of sight, beyond the trailers.
A moment later her suspicions proved right. As she reached the next corner, the man raced out into the middle of the street. His eyes on her, he never saw the oncoming car.
“Look out!” she yelled.
Leaning on his horn, the driver swerved hard, but it was too late. The car struck the man with a sickening thud, scooping
him into the air and across the hood.
Ella had to keep running or get hit herself as the car spun sideways, throwing gravel everywhere. Once across the road, she stopped and looked back.
People rushed outside to see what had happened. The thick dust was now beginning to settle, and the results of the collision were there for all to see. An old Navajo woman was standing on the front steps of
her trailer, not fifty feet from the street, her hands over her mouth as if stifling a scream.
Trying to get her own breathing under control so she could speak clearly, Ella reached for her cell phone and hurried toward the body. On the way, she picked up the .45 Colt autoloader the fugitive had lost, careful to handle the weapon only by the trigger guard and slipped it into her pocket.
A moment
later she reached the body. It was nothing more than a bloody heap of flesh lying next to the post of a mailbox. Ella nearly gagged, barely recognizing Bowman.
Ella swallowed hard as she knelt beside Bowman, speaking softly to him. “The EMTs will be here soon. Hold on.”
“Tell … family … never killed anyone. It was … Romero,” he said, then began choking on his own blood.
“
Who
did Romero kill?”
she asked quickly, but even as he looked at her, his eyes went blank, then faded.
Ella glanced over at the elderly Navajo driver whose sedan had struck Bowman. He sat frozen behind the wheel of his car. As she hurried over to speak to him, she noticed that he looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
“Sir, are you all right?” she asked, but got no response. The man continued to stare blankly
ahead. He was in shock.
“Sir, this wasn’t your fault. There are plenty of witnesses, including me, who can testify to that,” she said gently, noting the death grip he had on the steering wheel.
The paramedics arrived, and soon after that pronounced Bowman dead. As they covered the body, the elderly driver looked at her, his eyes clouding with pain. Gasping, he suddenly leaned forward, clutching
his chest.
“I need help here. This man is having a heart attack,” Ella yelled.
The EMTs ran over. Brushing her aside, they removed him from the car and worked to stabilize him.
Several minutes later as the EMTs lifted the stretcher off the ground, ready to transport, the man motioned to Ella. She came over and kept pace with the paramedics as they hurried to the awaiting ambulance.
“You’re
the sister of the
hataalii
?” Seeing her nod, he continued in a weakened voice. “Need Enemy Way. Tell him
’Atsidii
needs him.”
Ella knew that the nickname. It meant “Smithy” and she suddenly realized why he’d seemed so familiar. Although he didn’t shoe her horses, his son did. Smithy was her brother Clifford’s farrier and a well-known Traditionalist. The poor man was undoubtedly afraid of Bowman’s
chindi
.
Ella called Clifford and quickly told him what had happened.
“I’ll get my things ready. An Enemy Way takes several days and a lot of preparation, but a short purification rite will put his mind at ease for now.”
“The accident wasn’t his fault, but I’m not sure he realizes that.”
“I’ll get a medicine bag ready and speak to him as soon as possible. Tell him I’ll meet him at the hospital.”
Ella had just told the man that Clifford was on his way when Justine drove up in the department SUV. From what Ella could see, her partner had no prisoner, so Romero must have eluded her.
“I heard the call. You okay?” Justine asked, giving her a quick once-over.
“Yeah, but Bowman was killed when he ran out in front of that car,” Ella said, gesturing toward the scene. “The driver who hit him
probably suffered a heart attack. What happened with Romero?”
“I was closing in, but he went through a red light and got away. Two trucks nearly collided trying to avoid hitting him, and ended up blocking both lanes. By the time I was able to get through, I’d lost sight of him. I put a BOLO out on his pickup. All four major roads leading out of town will be covered.”
“Good,” she said, then filled
Justine in on the rest of her situation.
As she finished speaking, one of the EMTs came over. “We’re transporting now. A second unit will come for the body.”
“We’ll stay here until they do,” Ella said.
“Should I call off backup and get the crime scene team here?” Justine asked her as the EMT moved away.
“Yeah. There won’t be much evidence, but shots were fired, and we’ll want to follow up
on that,” Ella said. “We’ll also need photos of the truck’s tire imprints and statements from witnesses.”
They spent the next two and a half hours at the scene. As temperatures rose into the low nineties, Ella was reminded of what lay ahead in July and August, notoriously the hottest months. No matter how rough working in the sun was now, it would be far worse then. Consoling herself with that
thought, she finished talking to the last of the witnesses, then went to meet Justine by the SUV.
“No bullets fired into the neighborhood could be traced, but Neskahi found a pistol round wedged in the plastic interior door panel of our SUV. It entered at an extreme angle and never made it completely through. I’m sure it’ll be a ballistic match to the forty-five Bowman had on him,” Justine said,
pointing out the hole in their rear passenger door.
“Remember to write up a report while it’s still fresh in your mind, but don’t file it. Until we can figure out who is leaking our reports to the press, and how much access he’s got to our system, we need to cover our butts.”
“I hear you,” Justine said somberly. “But what about Dan Nez? Should I update him verbally?”
“I’ll do that right now.”
Ella made the call, but Dan was the first to speak. “I just heard from our dispatch that you had an encounter with Romero and Bowman, and that the latter is now deceased. Did you get anything from him?”
“Not much,” she said, repeating the very short exchange she’d had with Bowman regarding his partner.
“Bowman’s forty-five doesn’t match the snake-eye killer’s weapon of choice. He used a nine-millimeter.
So maybe Bowman told you the truth. What we really need to know now is what Romero’s packing,” Dan said.
“To get answers we need to catch Romero.”
“I’m involved in the search for him off the Rez,” he said. “We’ve got every available unit on the lookout, and FPD has active patrols inside the city limits. Blalock’s here, too, coordinating all the interagency efforts.”
Back at the station sometime
later, Ella went directly to her office and shut the door. A lot had happened in the past few hours and she needed a few moments alone to process everything.
Ella filled out a report, hoping to organize her thoughts. She wouldn’t be filing it, but the process of getting things down sometimes helped her see details she’d overlooked. She took her time sorting through the information, but nothing
new came to her.
At long last, Ella sat back, rubbing her temples. Lately it felt as if she were being pulled in all directions at once. She still hadn’t figured out exactly what to do about Dawn; Rose wouldn’t discuss what was bothering her; and here at work, the pressure to find answers was constant. The anniversary of the Kelewood and Johnson murders was coming up and the snake-eyes killer
could strike again very soon.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to take things one step at a time. She’d just started to type again when she heard a knock at her door. Annoyed, she blew her breath out in a hiss. “Come in, dammit.”
To her surprise, her brother Clifford walked inside. Although his movements were fluid, she could tell from the way he held himself that something was wrong.
“Sorry about my reaction, Brother. Did the patient get your help?”
Clifford nodded, then adjusted the medicine pouch on his belt as he sat down. “I bring news.”
She noticed the absence of the words good or bad and braced herself. That meant whatever he had to say was open to interpretation.
“I had a visit earlier today from the leaders of the Fierce Ones.”
Ella’s muscles tightened. She and
Justine had been meaning to pay the Fierce Ones a visit, but more pressing business had forced them to postpone a meeting.
“Who came to see you?” she asked, though she knew her brother hated using proper names.
“Their new leader, his right-hand man, and his cousin.”
Without using names, Clifford had managed to give her the information she’d wanted. The new leader of the Fierce Ones was Delbert
John. He was in his mid-thirties and worked construction. The membership had ousted their former leader, a man in his late fifties, and Delbert had ushered in a new, more militant stance. With members eager to assert their power, the group often acted as judge and jury. Many in the tribe were afraid to speak out against them, fearing retaliation.
Delbert’s right-hand man was Peter Joe, a fireplug
of a man barely five feet tall, with a brawler’s reputation. Peter’s cousin, Robert Largo, was quiet, at least on the outside, and his eyes never revealed anything. To date, Ella hadn’t been able to figure out if his brain was as vacant as the look he gave everyone, or if his poker face was by design.
“What did they want from you?” she asked.
“They asked me to arrange a meeting with you.”
“Tell them to come to the station,” Ella said.
“I realize that this is a power play of sorts. They’re pushing to see if you’ll meet them on their own turf. Normally I’d advise you to ignore a request like that, but this feels different to me.”
“How so?”
“They’ve heard all about the snake-eyes killer and have decided to help protect the tribe—in their usual, heavy-handed way, of course. They’ve
started advising Navajos—me included—to carry firearms whenever they’re out on the road.”