Simmons looked vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn’t place him. He was a fairly nondescript man with ruddy
cheeks, graying brown hair, wire-frame glasses, and relatively fit for a
man around fifty years old. All in all, he looked like a midlevel bureaucrat who worked out at the gym after hours but rarely ventured outdoors except to walk to his car.
“I was hoping to find something I could use, but all these reports are old and mostly generic crap. Blalock was supposed to supervise the kid and make
sure everything was done right—for a change. What was I thinking? Blalock’s reports blow, and so do the kid’s.”
Simmons shook his head and continued. “New resident agents like Thomas are the worst. Once they finally earn their badges they think it’ll all be downhill from there. A little overconfidence goes a long ways, and too many college punks coming out of Quantico just can’t cut it on the
streets. The Bureau invests all that time and money trying to bring them up to snuff, then has to weed them out. You know what I mean. Those agents who can’t cut it drop out after a year or two, then take some BS job in local law enforcement.” He stared hard at her, leaving no doubt that he was including her in his assessment.
Ella met his gaze coldly. It was a snarky comment meant to put her
down, to imply that she wasn’t quite as good as he was because he’d stayed with the Bureau and she hadn’t. Ella bit back her anger knowing Simmons was looking for a reaction. She’d lose her temper, he’d keep his cool and, in the process, make her feel that she’d just proven his point. But she wasn’t playing his game.
“You’re the one who has lost an agent, so maybe you should stop wasting time
and tell me what you’ve got. I need a starting point,” she said.
He looked at her in silence, then to hide the fact that it had taken him a moment to reconnect his brain cells, he cleared his throat. “All I can find out from this debris is that he was in the middle of a suspected fraud case that led him to an area southeast of Shiprock near someplace called Sanostee.”
“Not a lot of people live
out that way. And fraud’s not generally federal turf unless a government agency is involved. What’s the rest of the story?” Ella pressed.
“That’s the sum total of what I found in his log book.” Simmons pointed to a black leather portfolio on an office chair beside a small table also covered with papers. “If he ever did compile a file on the case he was investigating, he has it with him. But
maybe you can find something useful in this mess. You’re welcome to try,” he said, waving his arm over the dozens of files stacked on Thomas’s desk and beside his chair on the floor. “But keep this to yourself ‘cause, officially I can’t have non-Bureau personnel go browsing through our files.”
Ella knew that Blalock was far from neat, but he did file things. Maybe Thomas was worse, but nothing
could compare to the damage Simmons had already done to the office. “You must have pulled out every file.”
“I was looking for anything that involved fraud—current or archived. But since I haven’t even got a name, I didn’t know where to start. To get into Blalock’s computer I would have needed his password, which I don’t have. Since this office isn’t guaranteed secure, his software erases the
files after two failed attempts to hack in.”
He waved a hand toward the other desk. “Thomas’s computer crashed three days ago and his files were deleted,” he continued. “I tried to retrieve the data anyway, but it’s lost except for bits and pieces. I’ll take the CPU back with me to Albuquerque and let our tech support try to reconstruct some of the missing files.”
Simmons glanced at his watch.
“After that, I’ll be on my way to D.C. to make a presentation. It’s a Bureau seminar I can’t get out of now, but I should be back tomorrow evening. Other agents are already in the field as we speak. I’ve got teams searching off the reservation in San Juan and adjacent counties, and outside New Mexico as well, especially northeastern Arizona.
“If they turn up anything, they’ll forward it to me
through the Albuquerque field office and I’ll pass it on to you. I expect you to do the same for me.” He scribbled a number on the back, then handed her his card containing the Albuquerque numbers.
“Of course.” Her tone brought the office temperature down
by at least twenty degrees. “By the way, is there the remotest possibility that Agent Thomas’s failure to remain in contact is due to personal
reasons unrelated to his work?”
“Hell, Clah, I suppose if you wanted to consider
all
the possibilities, he could have been abducted by aliens. Or maybe he just got lost or ran off the road into a ditch. Either way, he’s missing and has to be located.”
“I’ll find him if he’s on the Navajo Nation,” Ella said.
“One last thing, Clah. You report only to
me.
Get it?”
“No, actually until the FBI
starts issuing my paychecks, I report to Chief Atcitty. He, in turn, will keep you in the loop.”
Simmons cursed. “You know what I mean. You’re not to call the Bureau directly—you speak to me first and I’ll handle any requests you make, and direct them down the proper channels. This includes any search warrants, which shouldn’t take long because I’ve already contacted the U.S. magistrate. My cell
number is on the back of the card.”
She nodded, suddenly realizing what was going on. Politics were at hand. The Bureau didn’t want word to get out, except to the agents already on the case, that Navajo officers were helping them track down one of their own.
“We’d also appreciate extreme discretion when you talk to anyone outside the reservation about this case,” Simmons said, and looked at
his watch again. “I’ve got to leave right
now
or I’ll never make it. I’ll expect a preliminary report in four hours or less,” he said, standing up.
Simmons grabbed Thomas’s CPU, which had already been disconnected, looked around at the piles of folders, then groaned. “Good luck sorting through everything here, Clah. Close the door for me, will you? It locks automatically.”
Before she could comment,
Simmons was out the door. Ella exhaled softly then turned around, taking in every detail. In his zeal to do a quick search, Simmons had just made things worse by pulling folders out randomly. Nothing followed a logical sequence now.
Ella walked over to Blalock’s desk and decided to have a
quick look at his computer. Although she hadn’t told Simmons, she knew Blalock’s current password. Years
ago he’d started giving her the new one each time he’d changed it. She understood it was only to be used in case of an emergency—and this certainly qualified as one. If Agent Thomas had filed duplicate reports with Dwayne Blalock, she’d find them.
Ella turned on the computer, waited for the system to boot up, then typed in “NBR1RDNK,” Blalock’s latest password—short for number one redneck. Once
on, she searched the data files, starting with the most recent date. She was familiar with the software, and recognized most of the cases Blalock was working because they were connected with the tribe, but none of them were in any way related to fraud. Logging back out, Ella started to check the file folders, but soon realized that it would take hours.
Picking up her cell phone, Ella dialed Officer
Tache, the third officer permanently assigned to the Special Investigations unit. Taking him off his other duties, she gave Ralph the job of sorting through the files while she concentrated on gathering everything she could about the Sing. Simmons didn’t have to know.
Suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps over by the door and remembered she hadn’t bothered to shut it. Ella glanced up and
saw a face she recognized.
“H
ey, Teeny. How’ve you been?” she greeted him warmly. She’d known Bruce Little almost all of her life. Theirs was a peculiar friendship and, to date, she was still the only human being since third grade who could call him Teeny and not end up requiring facial reconstruction, or worse.
Teeny had always had a soft spot for her. Ella knew it, Teeny knew it, but nothing had ever been
said or done about it, and probably never would. Teeny had joined the department before she had, but his skills with computers had persuaded Big Ed to take him out of the field and reassign him to a desk.
Teeny had become their information technology expert and had set up and maintained the computer network in the department and kept the system going even after it had become obsolete. A year
after he’d installed and debugged their most recent system, Teeny had been laid off due to budget cuts. Big Ed had protested, knowing how valuable Teeny was, but he’d been overruled by the tribal leadership.
Teeny had quickly set up his own business, serving as a computer and Internet consultant in the Four Corners area and now the tribal police had to hire him frequently to maintain or repair
their network and computers. Using his police training and imposing appearance, Teeny also did more traditional police-type jobs, like providing security for big events in the area.
“How’s business?” she asked.
“Not bad. Got two shops now. One across the hall and another in downtown Farmington. People still have problems with their networks, but they don’t usually want to hire someone full-time
as a computer geek. The other half of my work, handling security, is also booming. It’s got me thinking of applying for a private investigator’s license. I could expand and take on a variety of jobs. There’s lots of times when people need a big guy on their side, you know, even if it’s just collecting from deadbeats.”
And big he was. Ella was pushing five ten, but Bruce Little towered over her
like one of the rock formations in Monument Valley. He hadn’t sculpted himself a body builder’s torso either. Teeny had meat on him, like two oil drums with a basketball on top. Yet anyone who thought he was fat or lazy quickly discovered the man was not only as strong as a bear but surprisingly quick.
During his days in the police department, Teeny had kept his hair shorter than regulation,
but now it was just a shade longer than peach fuzz. Combined with his small, dark eyes and often spaced-out expressions, Teeny gave the impression that he had the IQ of a tree stump, which just went to prove that appearances could be deceiving.
Teeny was a self-described big, ugly dude, but Ella had always liked him. He was intelligent and inventive. More often than not he used his head and common
sense to avoid confrontations even though he could have bullied others into giving him what he wanted by sheer size alone.
“What’s with the ‘I’m important’
bilagáana
in the suit?” he asked, using the Navajo word for “white man.” “Simmons—I think. He Agent Thomas’s boss?”
“Yeah.”
“I hope Andy Thomas hasn’t stepped in something serious. The kid loves his job, but he’s still not with the program.”
Teeny walked into the office, looking at the stacks of files curiously.
“What do you know about Agent Thomas?” Ella asked.
“Andy’s a hard worker. He never gives up. If he had, he
wouldn’t be in the FBI,” he said, then pointed to a photo on Thomas’s desk.
Ella picked it up. On the fading print was a young Andy Thomas standing by an old VW van that could have optimistically been described as
falling apart. A middle-aged woman was next to the red-haired, freckle-faced teen. “Not from a wealthy family, I take it?”
“I commented on the VW one day and he told me that was his home the first two years of college. Andy got a scholarship that paid for books and tuition, but the money didn’t go far, so living in that vehicle was the only way he could afford to stay in school. During that time
he lived on bread and cans of pork and beans, and, to this day, he says he can’t eat beans without gagging,” Teeny answered. “That’s his mother with him. She worked as a housekeeper and sent him money when she could. Now that she’s older and sick, he supports her.”
Ella thought of her own mother, Rose, and how close they were. In Andy’s shoes, she would have done the same thing.
“I don’t know
about you but my tribal scholarship paid for nearly all of my school-related expenses. I’m not sure I would have stuck with it if I’d had to live in a van,” Teeny said.
“I only applied for a partial scholarship the first year, thinking that I could make it on part-time jobs. That was a mistake. I didn’t live in a car, but I had to move in with a friend for half a semester.”
Teeny chose Blalock’s
extra-large brown leather chair and made himself comfortable. “Andy’s heart is in the right place, but he’s really clueless about the way things work around here. The first week he was on the Rez he went out to interview people wearing a suit, like the guy who was just here. Old Navajos would see him coming and never answer their doors. Andy would end up with nothing to talk to except a horse
and some sheep—that’s if the dogs didn’t run him off first.”
“Did you say anything to him about that?”
“Me? No way. It’s none of my business. I get crashed networks up and running, do troubleshooting, and tweak custom-designed software for virtually every law-enforcement agency in the Four
Corners. And when I’m not doing that, I protect paranoid entertainers from screaming fans at concerts.
That keeps me busy. I don’t have time to open an advice column for the feds. But FB-Eyes must have had a talk with Andy about the clothes because Andy finally lost the suit and discovered bolo ties and western-cut boots,” he said, then added, “All that said, I have a feeling the guy’s in trouble right now.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Yesterday afternoon Andy asked me about Navajo ceremonies—then
took off. But he didn’t show up this morning, something he always does like clockwork, and now both his boss and you have come by to check out his office. In my experience, the only time the FBI gets the tribal police involved in anything is when they have no other choice and they
really
need something. The fact that you’re here now proves it. They must be desperate if they left you here alone
to search his office.”
It was all resoundingly logical. “Wait a sec. Back up a bit. What kind of ceremonies did Agent Thomas want to know about?”
“He didn’t say—maybe he didn’t know exactly. But he wanted to know who did ceremonies around here, where they were held, and if there were any scheduled soon. He told me that he’d tried asking several Navajos around town but they wouldn’t tell him
squat.”
She rolled her eyes. “Really. So what did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t know of any ceremonials, public or private right now, but that didn’t mean anything because I wasn’t in the loop when it came to that kind of thing. I’ve been kind of an outsider since I moved off the Rez, and, hey, I’m Catholic. I did warn him that some Sings were
very
private affairs and that he could get himself
in a truckload of trouble. But I could tell that he was chasing down a lead and wasn’t about to let go.” He paused. “Then today Mr. Suit—Simmons—came into my office asking if I’d seen the kid. Stuck his badge in my face, too.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. I just shook my head and stood up. He kind of backed off, as I recall. Then I saw him out.”
Ella bit her lip to keep from laughing. Simmons
was around six feet tall, but practically a skeleton in comparison to Teeny.
“You haven’t said why you’re involved in an FBI case. Jumping ship again?” he asked, alluding to her days in the Bureau before joining the tribal force.
“No, but your theory about what’s going on is right on target,” she said, seeing no reason not to tell him. Teeny was obviously acquainted with the missing man and
might be able to provide a lead. “Agent Thomas went missing yesterday, or last night, I guess. If you hear anything I can use, pass it along. I need to find him ASAP. And keep this confidential, okay?”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her expression for several long moments. “This isn’t just business as usual for you, is it? You’ve got a stake of some kind in this.”
Teeny had an absolute gift
for picking up nonverbal cues.
“You’re right,” she admitted slowly. “Blalock asked me to keep an eye on Thomas before he left on vacation. But I got wrapped up in other stuff and didn’t take the time to check in on the rookie. Thomas called about a week ago, asking if we could get together over coffee, but I put him off because I was concentrating on a case. Said I’d call him back and never did.”
“So you’re thinking that this is partly your fault?”
“I could have made sure he understood that he can’t run roughshod over the Rez just because he carries that gold badge. But I never got around to it.”
“Did either Blalock or Thomas ask you for cultural lessons?”
“No, but I should have seen this coming. Blalock reins him in. Without Blalock around …”
“It wasn’t your responsibility, Ella,
you’re not teaching lesson twelve in the special-agent real-world curriculum. Like most inexperienced, aggressive people I’ve met in law enforcement, Thomas wanted to do things his way,” Teeny said. “Apparently, once he was really on his own, that’s exactly what he did, and all you can do now is try to sort out the mess.”
His cell phone rang, Teeny muttered some quick words, then
glanced over
at her. “I’ve got to get going, Ella. The server at the county courthouse has locked up again.”
“Before you go. Any idea how I can get hold of Blalock?” she asked as Bruce made his way to the door.
He shook his head. “Dwayne—don’t you love that name—didn’t want to be found—at least that’s what he told me. He swore he wasn’t going to turn on his cell phone again until his vacation was officially
over. But he did mention that after he had a chance to do some fishing and camping, he planned to visit his sister in Denver.”
After Teeny left, Ella shut down Blalock’s computer, then checked through the address book on his desk. He’d never been much on computerizing what could be easily written down. Mercifully, a quick look through the names revealed a Phyllis Blalock. She hoped it would turn
out to be his unmarried sister instead of an ex-wife who also lived in Denver and had kept his name. Although she’d known Blalock for a decade, and had grudgingly grown to respect him and his abilities, Ella knew very little about his personal life. In fact, although his first name was Dwayne, she felt much more comfortable calling him Blalock. It was that kind of relationship.
A quick phone
call verified that Phyllis was indeed Blalock’s sister. Ella introduced herself, then left a message asking that Blalock get in touch with her as soon as possible. That done, she grabbed a set of office keys from Blalock’s desk just in case, and headed out to her car.
Her brother, Clifford, a well-known
hataalii
, a medicine man, might know about the ceremony—who’d conducted it, who the patient
was, and all the other details Ella needed to get. It was also entirely possible he’d done the Sing. If so, she’d try to persuade him to share some information she could use to track down Thomas.
As she reached her unit, her cell phone rang.
“This is Agent Simmons. I just wanted to let you know again that I
will
be back on the Navajo Nation as soon as I possibly can.
I’m not just dumping this
in your lap,” he said, then added, “Were you able to find anything useful in Agent Blalock’s office?”
“Not yet, but I’ve been on the case less than an hour, Agent Simmons. You, on the other hand, have had around five hours since the dispatcher called you to report that Agent Thomas was missing. Not asking for the tribal police’s help immediately has only made matters worse.”
“Don’t tell me how
to do my job,” he snapped. “I’ve been an agent for twenty years, and I don’t need advice from a tribal police officer who couldn’t cut it in the Bureau.”
As anger flooded through her, she gripped her cell phone so tightly her hand began to shake. “I do
not
have to justify my career choices to you,” she said, her jaw clenched.
“You misunderstand me, Clah. I’m not saying that it was your fault.
Affirmative action just hasn’t done anyone any favors.”
“I got through Quantico on my own ability, Agent Simmons, not through affirmative action.” Even the implication that she’d made her way into the Bureau through a back door rankled her. She’d worked very hard for everything she’d ever attained.
“You really were up and coming … once,” he said, then continued before she could respond. “But
we’re getting off track here. I just wanted you to know that I’ll be back on the reservation as soon as I can to oversee this case.”
“Understood,” she clipped, then hung up and looked at her watch. It was nearly 1:00 P.M. She was on the highway driving south in the general direction of her brother’s medicine hogan when her cell phone rang again.
Justine’s alto voice came through clearly. “One
of our uniforms found Agent Thomas’s sedan. It’s at the bottom of a big arroyo west of the Sanostee Chapter House. If Officer Curtis hadn’t gotten a tip from one of his relatives, we probably wouldn’t have found it for days. The man was riding his horse up in the foothills and happened to come across it.”