Black Thunder (6 page)

“It’s also possible they’ve left already, but if not, we’ll have to do our best not to scare them off,” Ella said. “They’ve had the best view of the crime scene and we really do need to speak to them.”

As they pulled up to the dilapidated trading post, they noted that the cinder blocks above the word Hogback painted on the upper wall had fallen
or been broken off. All the windows had been broken out, but they’d been partially backed on the inside with plywood, providing some protection from the elements.

Justine parked about fifty yards to the north of the old store on the east side, closer to the imposing height of the giant rock formation. They were well into the shadows here, and it was noticeably cooler.

Walking up the side of
the old road, the main highway of a previous generation, Justine silently pointed out recent tire tracks. The pattern left behind showed barely a tread mark. This was definitely not the same vehicle that had been driven near the unmarked grave sites.

As they approached the doorway, they could both see that sections of the ceiling inside had rotted away in places and the roof had fallen through
in at least one spot. The boards from a porch overhang above the entrance also sagged down, and looked as if they’d break away in the next windstorm.

“The walls look sturdy enough, but the roof is going to give way once the summer monsoon kicks in. If anyone’s still here, we need to persuade them to find another place to stay that’s safer,” Ella whispered.

“The problem is that they probably
don’t have anyplace else to go,” Justine said.

“There are rescue missions and tribal agencies that’ll help,” Ella said, then peered through a gap between the board that covered the window and the framed edge. “Tribal police officers. Anyone here?”

In the darkened interior Ella could see clothing draped across packing crates that served as chairs. There were paper plates and several unopened
cans of food on a circular wooden spool table, the kind used by the utility companies to hold rolled-up wire.

“We’re not here to create problems for you,” Ella said, raising her voice after seeing an old bed frame resting on six cinder blocks. There were evenly spaced boards across the top, and atop them a cardboard box with the word blankets written on the outside in pencil. Beside it, also
on the bed, were two worn-looking book bags, one with a purple-and-white Kirtland High School sticker on it.

They listened, and looked from different angles without entering, but it was clear that the interior of the old trading post was unoccupied at the moment. Ella had a feeling the squatters had left when they’d pulled up and were probably nearby, hiding.

Ella then noticed a solid back door,
half open, which faced the rock wall of the Hogback not ten feet beyond. Whoever had been inside had probably ducked out the back.

“You’re in no danger from us. All we’d like to do is ask you a few questions. Won’t you come talk to us?” Ella asked, trying again.

All they could hear was traffic on the highway to the south—and the creaking of wood. Ella pushed against the door. It was wedged shut
from the inside by a board, but Ella knew she could easily reach down and remove it. Deciding against that for now, she called out again, but no one came forward or spoke.

The sound of an approaching vehicle drew her attention and Ella turned around. An old red sedan pulled to a stop, brakes squealing, leaving a pale cloud of blue smoke. The driver, a weary-looking Navajo woman in her mid-thirties,
stepped out to meet them.

“I’m Lois Bitsillie, and those are my children inside. They’re both going to school in Kirtland, and I’m now working at the Burger Haven, so I can provide for them,” she said. “We were only going to stay here long enough for their uncle to get back from overseas. We’ll be moving out of here tomorrow sometime, so leave me and my kids alone.”

Ella recognized the cap and
red-and-yellow uniform of the popular area fast-food restaurant. “We’re not from CYF, ma’am, we’re tribal police officers.”

Ella opened her jacket slightly, showing the badge and weapon on her belt, then turned to look over her shoulder as she heard footsteps from inside.

A teenage girl in faded jeans and a black tee-shirt had come in through the back, followed by a boy around eight wearing
baggy chinos, a faded knit shirt, and worn sneakers. The girl looked more angry than frightened, but the boy was clearly scared and hesitant to come forward.

“Del?” Ella asked softly as they came out. “You left one of your cars in the house up the street. The blue Jeep. Would you like it back?”

The boy kept his head down, avoiding eye contact. “It can’t be mine. I’m not allowed to play inside
that haunted house.…”

“What’s this all about?” Lois asked Ella, coming closer. “I saw all those police cars over by the fence line. Did somebody run off the highway? Are you two okay?” she added quickly, turning to look at her kids.

“We’re fine, Mom,” the girl said, and Del shrugged, his head still down.

“Can we come in for a bit, Lois?” Ella asked the mother. “We’re investigating a crime and
we’d like to talk to people from the area.”

“Sure, but the place is a mess. Our housekeeper has the day off,” Lois said with a quick half-smile.

Ella stepped through, followed by Justine, then reached into her pocket and brought out the toy Jeep. “I think this is yours.”

Del started to reach for it, then pulled his hand back, and looked up at his mother.

“Go ahead, Son,” Lois said with a sigh.
“And thank the officer for finding it for you.”

As Ella held the toy out in the palm of her hand, she saw the red dot of a laser gun sight appear in the center of Del’s forehead.

FIVE

“Gun!” Ella yelled, lunging at the boy. There were two faint pops and a massive fist punched her twice in the back. The breath knocked out of her, Ella fell forward and crawled over to the boy, shielding him with her body.

“Stay down!” Justine ordered the others, her voice barely heard above Lois’ screams and that of her daughter.

When no more shots sounded, Ella, nearly paralyzed with
pain, rolled away from Del. The boy, whimpering, curled up in a fetal position on the worn tile floor.

As Del’s family crawled toward him in the eerie stillness that followed, Ella sat up. Justine was crouched beside the doorjamb, pistol out. “I can’t get a location.”

“He’s using a silencer. Where the hell is he?” Ella said, coming up next to the partially boarded north side window but keeping
her body out of view.

“Across the road somewhere. Ella, I saw you get hit. I assume the vest held?” Justine said, still searching for the shooter.

“Yeah, I took two below my left shoulder blade. My back is killing me. I can barely move,” Ella said, trying to steady her voice.

“Better soreness than a G.S.W.,” Justine said.

“Did any of you see anyone?” Ella asked, turning her head toward the
family. Lois had slid over and was covering Del with her body. The daughter was huddled beside them.

“There was a dark shape in the shade of that tree,” Lois said, pointing across the road.

“Which tree? There are a half dozen over there,” Ella said, peering around the window ledge opposite Justine.

“Kind of in the middle,” Lois said. “Just this side of the falling rocks sign. I’ll show you
later—if we make it out of here.”

“Cover me, partner,” Justine said. “I’ll duck out the back door and work my way down beside the cliff. If he goes south, you’ll spot him.”

“No. Call it in. There must be fifteen cops within a mile of here. They can close in from the east. He won’t get away.” Ella crawled on her knees over to the doorjamb. “And while you’re calling, cover the back door—just in
case he crossed the road.”

“Roger that.”

*   *   *

Backup arrived within a few minutes, but there was no sign of the shooter, or a vehicle, only adult-size shoe prints beside a tree about a hundred feet from the front of the building.

Neskahi and Officer Pete picked up the tracks on the east side of the road, where the shooter had crossed. From there, they followed the trail north along the
base of the Hogback into a large grove of cottonwoods. They soon found tire tracks, which disappeared as they entered the asphalt. The tread pattern seemed to be a match for those they’d found near the graves. Yet the shooter and the vehicle had somehow vanished, driving right past the turnoff leading to the crime scene. No ATL, attempt to locate, was possible. They had no idea who or what they
were looking for and since it was late afternoon, the highway was crowded with people going home from their nine-to-fives.

Ella, stiff and sore, took off her vest, which would have to go into evidence, and recovered the nine-millimeter bullets trapped in the fabric.

She handed them to Justine, who’d log them in as evidence as well. The jacketed, hollow-point rounds looked identical to the six
of that type and weight found among the bodies, but only lab comparisons would be able to verify that they’d come from the killer’s weapon.

Despite all her efforts questioning the family, especially the boy, Ella was unable to get any more information about the crimes or the possible shooter. Del’s continued silence and refusal to even look at her made her suspect he knew something. More importantly,
nothing else explained why he’d suddenly become a target.

Ella took Lois aside. “We need to find a way to get Del to open up. I have a feeling he may have seen something he wasn’t supposed to see.”

Lois used her hand to wipe the tears that fell down her cheeks. “I try my best, but when you’re a single mom, every day is a fight to survive. The mortgage company took our house in Kirtland, and
since then, we’ve been living anywhere that has a roof, including our car. All my clan members live way over in Arizona, and I’d go there if I knew I could get a job. Right now my daughter, Belara, has more responsibility on her shoulders than anyone her age should. She and her brother usually have to hide out so Child, Youth, and Family doesn’t track us down. But I can’t stop them from going out
in the afternoons and playing games. They’re just kids. If I could watch over them all the time, I would, but I need my job.”

“I understand, but this place isn’t safe for you anymore.”

“We never planned on staying here long. My kids’ uncle is in the New Mexico National Guard and his deployment is finally over. I finally managed to contact him and found out he has a house in Shiprock. He told
us we could move in with him, but we had to hold off until he returned because his landlord might make trouble. I was hoping to drive over, get the key he hid, and have the house cleaned and ready for him when he arrives tomorrow evening.”

“Leave right now. I’ll get one of my officers to escort you to his house and make sure you’re not followed. If the landlord complains, we’ll arrange for a
safe house until the soldier returns.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You think this killer will still come after us, don’t you?”

“He might, which is why we need to make sure he can’t find you. Now start loading up your car.”

Ella called Officer Marianna Talk and requested that she escort the family. By the time they finished gathering their few possessions and crammed them into the red sedan, Marianna
arrived.

Ella hurried Lois and the kids to the car. “I’ll be in touch soon.” Stepping back, she signaled Marianna, then looked back at Lois. “You’ll be safe. Now go.”

After they disappeared from view, Ella walked back to the SUV with Justine.

“I want you to do something for me, Justine. Drive back down the road to the Blackhat residence, advise Mrs. Blackhat to expect a test shot, then go back
to the crime scene. After you tell everyone what you’re going to do, fire one round into the ground. I’ll stay here and listen. I need to find out how far the sound of a nine-millimeter round carries, especially this close to the ridge. If I can hear it from this location, the Blackhats, who are closer, would have heard it, too.”

Justine nodded. “That’ll help us determine if the shooter used
a silencer when he killed the vics. If he did, then that also suggests that he was the one who just shot you. It’s not likely to be a coincidence. There aren’t many silencers in the hands of the public.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too.”

“Luck was on your side today, Ella. It just occurred to me—those slugs…”

“Yeah. Good thing they weren’t armor-piercing, like with the first victim. We wouldn’t
be having this conversation.”

“Let’s hope he switched ammo because he ran out,” Justine said.

“I’m with you on that.”

Ella started back to the abandoned trading post, now stripped of everything the Bitsillie family could load into their old car. Noticing a narrow trail, Ella climbed up the side of the cliff to a large rock even with the level of the trading post’s roof. After checking for snakes
underneath, she took a seat on the warm, flat surface. Her back still hurt, but Ella forced herself to shake off the discomfort, gave thanks for Kevlar, and tried to make herself comfortable.

From her position on the rock, she took the time to study the surrounding area. She quickly noticed a house almost due north, in the direction of the old coal mines. Like the trading post, it was nestled
next to the cliffs of the Hogback, and, painted a pale green, was almost hidden from view. It was farther away from the crime scene than the Blackhat house, but it was possible that someone living there could have seen something.

As the minutes ticked by, she watched the vehicles pass by on the four-lane main highway to her right. Below, down the far side, lay irrigation canals and the San Juan
River.

Her thoughts drifted before eventually settling on Rose. Something had been bothering her mom lately and that, in turn, had resulted in a cooking frenzy. The food was wonderful as usual, but Dawn had complained that Rose was packing huge lunches for her, enough to feed the five girls she hung out with at school. It was starting to make her feel like a walking cafeteria.

Ella wondered
if the reason Rose was tense was because Dawn had decided she didn’t want the traditional
kinaaldá
, a coming-of-age ceremony that usually took place when a Navajo girl had her first menstrual cycle. The ceremony required the girl to carry out a series of traditional tasks and chores, such as baking a cake over coals, grinding corn—and all that with no sleep through a night of prayer in a special
hogan. It was very demanding, and lasted from two to four days.