Wind Spirit [Ella Clah 10] (12 page)

“I’ll do my best, but you do need to tell us the other person’s name,” Ella said firmly.

“Bruce Smiley,” she said.

Ella didn’t know him, but when she glanced at Justine her partner nodded.

“You should have a police file on him,” Netta said. “He was arrested last year for bringing a gun into a Chapter House meeting.”

Ella recalled the incident although she hadn’t responded
to the call. “Smiley’s a tribal activist, right?” she asked, searching her memory. “Doesn’t he travel all over the country fighting for Indian rights, stirring people up?”

“Yeah. Bruce isn’t happy unless he’s fighting something or someone. Lately, he’s been focusing on the gun control issue here at home.”

“And you think he might be the one who burned down the Hunts’ home?” Ella pressed.

“I have nothing to offer you that might be even remotely considered evidence, but I do think he’s capable of doing something like that. Last year Hunt pressured other councilmen to vote for using the revenue from the casino in To’hajiilee to fund an addition to the health clinic, then was absent himself when the vote was taken. It ended up a tie, and Hunt’s vote could have made the difference—if he’d have shown up. Bruce took a baseball bat to Lewis’s car, he was so mad.”

“That was a hot issue,” Justine said, remembering. “A lot of people felt that the money could be better spent.”

“Bruce was afraid that if the tribe didn’t channel those funds to the clinic, the money would end up being spent on salary increases at the tribal administrative level or more government. Later on, Hunt voted in the majority when it went toward a new tribal office, exactly what Smiley predicted would happen. But it’s the fight he had here with Lewis that made me think of him when the Hunts’ house burned down. It may be coincidence, but there it is.”

“Did you see him hanging around the neighborhood the day of the fire?”

“No, but he was here that day. I’d gone shopping and when I came back I noticed several empty cans of beer in the trash. The brand was Coors, but Norman buys Budweiser and he seldom drinks more than one. I asked my husband about it during lunch, and he told me that Bruce had stopped by with some cold ones earlier.”

Netta paused thoughtfully, then continued. “But I will say this for him—if Bruce is responsible, I can almost guarantee that he didn’t know the councilman’s wife was home. His argument was with Lewis, not his wife. Although she campaigned with him on the issue, Bruce would see it as a wife supporting her husband, nothing more. His enemy was the councilman.”

“Maybe he thought killing her would be a way to demoralize or destroy Hunt,” Ella suggested.

Netta shook her head. “Bruce is not a deep thinker—he just reacts.” She looked at Justine and then back at Ella. “Will you be checking this out?”

“Yes, but we won’t mention your name or your husband’s,” Ella assured, addressing her concern.

“Thanks. Oh, and one more thing. If Bruce set that fire, I’m sure he’s heard about the death and knows the police will be working extra hard on the case. So be very careful around him. When Bruce feels threatened, he gets even more aggressive.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Ella said.

They were in the SUV moments later when Ella glanced over at Justine. “Head for the station. Once we’re there, get me an address, a rap sheet, anything and everything you can get on Bruce Smiley. Also ask Special Agent Blalock to run him through the NCIC and then check the sheriff’s department and Farmington PD. Let’s see what we’re up against before we pay him a visit. I have a bad feeling about this.”

It was late morning by the time the two FBI agents who worked the Rez met with Ella and her special investigations team in Big Ed Atcitty’s office. Dwayne Blalock, the senior agent, was an Anglo the
Dineh
had nicknamed FB-Eyes because he had one brown eye and one blue.

Lucas Payestewa, a Hopi, was at least twenty years younger. He had been assigned to the area two years ago to concentrate on a long-term investigation on organized crime, but Ella had heard a rumor that he was about to be transferred. Several complaints had been lodged against the Hopi man and he was making too many waves—a situation the Bureau didn’t like at all.

Ella began their meeting by briefing everyone on what she’d learned, then continued. “Men with Bruce Smiley’s reputation sometimes think of themselves as crusaders. They like headlines and sometimes they will do anything to get attention. So, before we pay him a visit, I wanted us all to be prepared. Smiley lives in a house less than a mile inside the Navajo Nation over by Hogback, so I asked Sheriff Taylor to loan us a deputy who could help us study the house from the off-Rez side while Neskahi kept watch from inside our borders. My caution paid off. Both men found a good surveillance
site and Neskahi reported seeing Smiley carrying assault rifles from an outside storage into his house. Then the deputy saw him filling sandbags and bringing them inside. My guess is he suspects we’re coming and is getting ready for a siege.”

“If those weapons are fully automatic and not registered we can arrest him right now and figure out the rest later,” Payestewa said. “I’m sure we can round up an ATF man to do the honors.”

“I agree that he’s trouble, but maybe he’s just paranoid. Let’s come up with a more subtle approach than a clear and direct confrontation,” Blalock said. “Those sandbags make it sound like he’s going to make a stand and is going to try and set himself up as a martyr. A shoot-out might eventually force us to kill him so that’ll play right into his hands and, unfortunately, a few of us may also go down with him.

“If he’s responsible for Mrs. Hunt’s death, he may be trying to confuse the issue hoping he’ll be remembered not as a killer, but as a man who was willing to fight for his right to bear arms. Or he may have rationalized Mrs. Hunt’s death as collateral damage, and convinced himself that he’s a patriot and we’re the bad guys. I don’t know, but experience tells me that men willing to die for what they believe in all too often take others along with them. I want to cut the chances of that happening—to him and to us.”

“From what I’ve heard so far this guy sounds like a loon,” Lucas said. “I recommend we suit up and go out there expecting a war. If it goes down easy, then we’ll take it as a win.”

“Who wants to make the initial approach and try to get him to come out and talk?” Big Ed asked. “You want to handle this?” he asked the FBI agents.

Blalock looked at Ella, then back at him. “I was going to suggest Clah. Her track record for cheating death is pretty good, and it’s her turf,” Blalock said with a half grin, then
growing serious added, “But Lucas and I will go with your people to provide backup.”

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to be the first face he sees.” Ella took a deep breath. “I vote for an initial low-key approach. I’ll drive up alone and the rest of you stand by behind cover and hidden from view. There isn’t much ground cover, but there are plenty of low hills and boulders that have tumbled down from the Hogback just east of there. We’ll play it by ear after that and see what he does.”

“When you first get there, stay in your unit, and see if he’ll come out to meet you. You’ll be safer outside,” Big Ed said.

“And he’ll think I’m treating him like a traditionalist,” Ella said with a nod. “Good plan. That little courtesy might make things go easier. I like it.” Ella looked at the others. “Any objections?” When no one spoke, she added, “Then we’re all set. Let’s roll.”

Bruce Smiley’s wood-frame house was north of the highway and just west of the twenty-mile-long ridge known as Hogback. His closest neighbor, Victor Garcia, lived nearly two miles east on the sliver of non-reservation that stood between the Navajo Nation to the west and south, and the Ute Mountain Indian Reservation on the north.

While the other officers were getting into position, Ella decided to pay Victor a visit first. The man’s house, in the middle of a rough section of desert dotted by old coal mines and depleted oil wells, gave him an unobstructed view of the road all the way to Smiley’s house. There was no telling what he might have seen that could be helpful to them now. All things considered, it was worth a stop.

Ella let the backup team know what she was doing, then proceeded to Garcia’s house.

Victor was working in his small vegetable patch as she drove up. Jabbing his shovel into the ground, he came over to her. “Can I help you?”

Victor was in his early eighties, but he looked strong and in good health. Although he didn’t live on the Rez, Ella could see he had Navajo in him.

“How’s it going?” she greeted.

“It’s a good day for loosening up the soil,” he answered, then wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “What brings the Navajo Tribal Police here? I usually see the Utes instead.”

“I hope you don’t mind. You’re not really in my jurisdiction, but I’d like to ask you a question or two.”

“About my neighbor?” He gestured to the small pitched roof house in the mouth of a canyon to the west.

“What makes you assume that?”

“That’s one very angry young man over there. I always figured that it was only a matter of time before he got into trouble. Mind you, I have very little to do with him, but we run into each other whenever his goats get out and come over to browse in my cornfield. At first I’d try to help him round them up, but he always acted as if I was actually saying he couldn’t handle it alone so I quit offering.”

“I didn’t realize he had any animals,” Ella said casually.

“For a long time he did. But in the last few months he sold them all. I thought he was getting ready to move on but then he got involved in reservation politics when the gun issue came up. That’s all he talks about whenever he comes by. His truck is filled with bumper stickers and his favorite says that the only way you’ll get his gun is by prying it from his cold, dead hands.”

Ella had seen the sticker dozens of times. Many law-abiding New Mexicans had that particular one on their vehicles. But violent lawbreakers who had a personal armory gave that particular sticker an entirely new meaning.

“You’ve got a real clear look at his home from here,” she said, looking in that direction. “Have you seen anything unusual going on down there?”

“You mean besides the fact that he’s been target shooting
that automatic rifle of his? He’s aiming into the side of an arroyo, but it still makes me nervous when I hear a bullet ricochet. I spoke to him about it, but it didn’t do any good.”

“Is he a pretty good shot, or could you tell?” Ella asked.

“He showed me his targets—which by the way are drawings of people aiming guns straight at you, not the circular bull’s-eye type. He groups his shots tightly and aims for the head.”

“How far is the arroyo from here?” she asked.

“It runs kind of northeast and southwest just on the other side of the fence down there. That’s the reservation boundary, you know.”

She saw where he was pointing and nodded. “Does the rifle fire full auto, or does he just squeeze off several quick shots?”

“I think it’s an M-16. He fires it full auto in short bursts, three or four rounds at a time. Maybe he doesn’t want to overheat his weapon.”

“Did you notice if he has any other firearms like that?”

“I can tell you he’s got at least one M-1 carbine, a para-trooper model with the folding stock. The others I’ve seen him toting around are an M-1 Garand and a big Colt forty-five autoloader. I asked him once why he had all those former military weapons and he said he’s been collecting them for years.”

Once again she remembered Payestewa’s suggestion. Before coming here, they’d done a quick check and found that Smiley didn’t have the federal firearms permit necessary to own an automatic weapon. Arresting him on that charge would be one way to solve the problem if they couldn’t get anything more substantial on him right away.

“Does your neighbor get many visitors?”

“Not really. I saw him shooting one time with a Navajo man I’ve met at the trading post a few times—I think his name is Norman—but that’s about it.”

“Do you remember seeing your neighbor at home yesterday afternoon at around three-thirty or so?”

“He drove away at around two as I was putting away my gardening tools. I know it was two because that’s when I go inside to watch my favorite TV show,
Doctor Bill
. Then, when I came back outside after dinner, at around six to do a little cultivating, I saw him drive up. Of course he might have come back and left again while I was in the house.”