Ghost Medicine (29 page)

“Wait him out. Is backup on the way?” Ella asked.

“Negative. None available.”

“We’ll be there in fifteen,” Ella said. “I’ll call when we’re close.” She looked over at Dan, who’d been listening intently. “Shots fired—Joe and Benny need backup
and I can use some help. Do you have a vest in your car?”

He nodded. “I’ll be right behind you.”

*   *   *

Ella gathered up Justine from the lab, then brushed past two reporters in the parking lot, ignoring their questions. Five minutes later, they sped by Shiprock High and the Phil, the concert hall just to the west. After that, Highway 64 stretched out before them.

Dan remained right behind,
his county cruiser easily keeping pace with their big Chevy Suburban. Once Justine turned south onto the dirt road, Dan allowed the distance between them to grow so he could avoid the spray of gravel they left in their wake.

Ella decided not to use the radio to contact Joe and Benny, suspecting the disabled unit had been turned off, and the radio wouldn’t be powered up. Instead, she called Neskahi
on the cell phone. “We’re closing in from the highway,” she said as soon as Joe answered. “You two okay?”

“Yeah. He’s stopped firing for the moment. Maybe he’s out of ammo.”

“Don’t count on it. Stay put. He may be waiting for you to break cover. We’re coming in two vehicles and will split up before we reach you. Stay on the line, and we’ll come up with a plan on the fly.”

Five minutes later,
she spotted the disabled white department vehicle, and Neskahi’s stocky shape behind the engine block, shotgun in hand.

Ella looked around for Benny. Seeing him lying prone a few feet to Joe’s left, her heart nearly froze. Then she saw movement as Benny turned back to look.

“We’ll go a hundred yards past Joe’s vehicle and take up firing positions,” she told Dan via the radio. “I want you to
stop about fifty yards short of his unit, then get set up to give us some cover fire. We’ll flank the shooter, force him to reveal his location, then make our move, pinning him down while others advance.”

“’-four,” Dan said.

“Hear that, Joe?” Ella said over her cell phone.

“Copy,” he replied.

Justine raced past Benny and Joe’s position, then stopped abruptly, raising a cloud of dust. She slid
out, then covered Ella as she jumped out the same side and retrieved the assault rifle from behind the seat.

Ella took a firing position over the hood as Justine took the assault rifle and dropped down prone beside the rear tire.

With Justine in firing position, Ella crouched low and inched around to the front of the SUV.

“You get a location on the shooter?” Ella asked Joe via cell phone.

“Yeah. While you were exiting the SUV, he ran into the brush. He’s now about a hundred yards west of his vehicle. I think there’s an arroyo over there—like a trench network running roughly north and south. He shifts positions after each shot. There’s another person with him now. That subject was already in the arroyo area, and he joined him or her. So far, though, we’ve seen only one gun, and there
hasn’t been any cover fire from that location.”

“React like there are two weapons, just in case. I’m going to circle around the south flank while Dan takes the north. Justine will provide cover fire. How you doing on ammo?”

“Shotgun is topped off and we’ve both got a full magazine, so when he starts shooting again, we can help pin him down. The shooter has a rifle—bolt action, I think. Benny
said he heard him working the bolt. That gives him five shots before he needs to reload. If he’s got only one box of reloads, he can’t have more than ten rounds left.”

Ella contacted Dan and relayed the information, then moved forward in a crouch, zigzagging, pistol out, and using the brush to screen herself. Dan was also on the move, but no shots were fired.

Three minutes later, she discovered
a four-foot-deep arroyo at the base of a slope. It ran northeast-southwest—a trench, of sorts, as Neskahi had predicted.

Ella jumped in and stayed low, checking for tracks. While she searched, Dan’s voice came in over her handheld radio.

“No tracks in my direction. I can see the arroyo to my left. Nobody in sight,” he said.

“Keep watch. I’m down inside. I plan to follow the arroyo south, in
your general direction. If anyone’s head pops up, let me know.”

Ella worked her way along the natural ditch, carefully checking around each curve and blind spot before moving on. Finally she saw fresh tracks in the damp earth ahead. The side of the bank had caved in slightly, suggesting this was where the gunman and his companion had either entered or exited the arroyo.

As she got closer, she
saw a small shovel, one of the folding ex-GI designs, on the ground beside a hole about a foot deep. Scattered nearby on the ground were several brass rifle casings, along with a maze of tracks. To her left, a fork in the arroyo led west. There were two sets of tracks leading off in that direction.

“I’m rising up to take a look. Hold your fire,” Ella said over the radio, then her cell phone.
She paused a few seconds, then stood and took a look west. The suspects had run in that direction, sticking to the arroyo.

A second look at the tracks revealed one set was larger than the other—a man and a woman’s, probably. Beyond the casings, in Dan’s direction, there were no footprints at all.

Crouching down again, Ella spoke to Neskahi first. “The second subject must have been here when
you arrived, digging up something. From the looks of the hole, it wasn’t buried too deep, nor was it bigger than, say, a basketball. They left the shovel here and took off west down a fork in the arroyo. I’m going to follow from within the arroyo. Advance in this direction, but do it in stages with someone keeping watch in case they try to circle or stand up to take a long shot.”

She contacted
Dan and Justine next. Dan moved west from his position, guarding her flanks, while Justine kept watch with her assault rifle scope. Ten minutes later, Ella came to the end of the trail. The tracks disappeared as the arroyo opened up onto a gravel-littered wash at least fifty feet wide.

Ahead was higher ground punctuated by deep arroyos originating below a broad mesa, then beyond were the piñon-
and juniper-covered foothills. Above that were steep canyons leading up the mountains and into Arizona.

Ella hurried back to the others, meeting them at the junction in the arroyo. “From their tracks, we’ve probably got a man and woman. I lost their trail in the rocks, but it looks like they’re heading west. There are two routes leading toward that last mesa just before the foothills, but unless
we figure out which one, we could lose them for hours.”

“What we need now is a helicopter—or an old school Indian tracker,” Justine said.

“Well, we can forget the helicopter, but my brother’s still the best tracker around, and the tribe has used him before. Let me get permission to call Clifford in.” Ella dialed Big Ed and gave him a quick update of the situation.

“I’ll call your brother and
make the request myself,” Big Ed said. “He’s already been contacted about the threat to your family, so he’s already up to speed on some of this. In the meantime, I’m pulling in officers from the Arizona side to watch the road junctions in case they manage to find transportation. Let’s box these suspects in before it gets dark and they disappear completely.”

Ella hung up and updated Justine.
“Judging from the size of the footprints, I’m guessing that we’re chasing down Truman and Eileen.”

“Maybe she made me after all,” Dan said, joining them.

“Let me call the Little Bear Café. If she’s still there, we may be looking for the wrong pair.” Ella stepped away to make the call, then returned. “She took off about two hours ago, probably to warn Truman. It must have been right after you
were there, Dan. My guess is they decided we were getting too close, but before making a run for it, stopped to dig up something they considered important. When Benny and Joe made them, they must have panicked.”

“I wonder what was so important that they’d risk coming back here for it,” Justine said.

“Money? Our friend’s weapon? Who knows?” Ella said. Hearing her phone ring, she looked at the
display. It was Ralph Tache.

“The dentist is finished with me. I’m ready to come back to work,” he said, his words slurred. “Where do you need me?”

“You sure you’re up to this?”

“Yeah. I can’t drink water without drooling on myself, but I’m clearheaded.”

“Okay, get a warrant to search Truman John’s residence and property. Then meet Joe at Truman’s. He’ll need backup. Search the place for Native
American artifacts, anything connected to the county thefts and Billy O’Donnell, or our friend’s murder. We still haven’t recovered his gun, notebook, or cell phone.”

“On it.”

“If you want me to go over there,” Joe said, having overheard, “I’ll need the keys to your SUV. My vehicle is shot—literally.”

“I can’t afford to be stranded,” Ella said, then looked at Dan. “Can Joe catch a ride with
you?”

“Sure. I’ll drop him by the station, or stick with him, whatever’s needed.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Joe said. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, make sure you wait for the warrant before you go inside. Do everything by the book. We don’t want this getting thrown out of court,” Ella said. “And, Dan, thanks for the backup.”

“Gotcha. Keep me in the loop.”

As Neskahi and Dan headed back to the road,
Benny stepped up.

“Where do you need me, Ella?” Benny asked.

“You’re the best tracker here, and there’s no sense in wasting daylight. Let’s start from where I lost them. Maybe you can pick up something I missed.”

“Let me walk ahead of you, then. Give me a good thirty feet. I’ll work across the wash, back and forth, and search for their trail.”

Ella nodded and watched Benny move out ahead of
them. “Stop often and randomly, and look around, Benny. I’d rather risk losing their trail than walk into an ambush.”

“For sure,” Benny said, moving up the wash.

Five minutes later, he stopped and pointed to a long ridge of sandstone bedrock along the center of the shallow wash.

Ella stood rock-still, waiting, then hearing a faint noise to her left, slowly lowered her hand to her weapon.

“Relax, it’s me,” Clifford said, his voice barely audible as he jumped down into the wash and into full view. “Your boss told me all I needed to know.”

Ella and Justine followed Clifford as he walked toward Benny, deer rifle slung over his right shoulder. Her brother was wearing a greenish brown jacket and tan slacks—his hunting clothes, minus the bright orange vest. As usual, she hadn’t heard
him approach until the last second. He could be as silent as Wind when he wanted to be.

Benny greeted Clifford with a nod as Clifford walked ahead of him for several feet, searching the ground and brush along the perimeter of the wash. After a minute, Clifford stopped.

“We’re going in the right direction?” Benny asked.

“Yes, you are,” Clifford said, “but they left the wash. They stepped into
the middle of those bushes to hide their tracks, but they pick up again over by the tree,” he said, pointing Navajo style by pursing his lips. “They’re moving southwest.”

“Stay in the lead, brother,” Ella said. “Benny, stay focused on possible hiding places and look for signs of ambush. Justine, hang back and cover our six. I’ll keep an eye on our flanks.”

They set out again. After several minutes,
the footprints led them west through a maze of rock formations ranging from house-sized outcrops to weathered sandstone towers fifty feet high or more. Though massive, these were mere infants compared to those east of the Cortez Highway or the towering giants of Monument Valley.

Despite the difficulty of tracking anyone over hard ground, Clifford never lost the trail, finding scuffs or recently
overturned rocks still slightly darkened on one side due to moisture differences.

Soon they came across an old ceremonial hogan standing about twenty-five yards from a single-wide trailer home. From there, a rutted pair of tire tracks led downslope toward a dirt road about a quarter mile away.

Among a stand of junipers was a log corral made of relatively straight lengths of cottonwood. Inside
were two well-muscled, shaggy horses and a half dozen churro sheep browsing for any errant plant debris or blade of grass.

A sturdy-looking loafing shed provided shelter for a stack of dry-looking hay just past the enclosure and out of the extended reach of the horses.

“There’s an old man in the shade over there,” Benny said, pointing with his chin.

“He’s got a rifle,” Ella said.

“He’s not
our man,” Clifford said. “Wrong shoes and too short for the stride of the tallest … what do you call him, subject?”

“More like killer,” Justine said, her hand on her pistol.

“This man must have seen our suspects,” Ella said. “Scatter and keep alert while I go ask.”

“Wait, sister. Let him make the first move.”

Ella nodded. Judging by the presence of a hogan and the lack of a television antenna
or a telephone line, this man was probably a Traditionalist. She stood still, looking in the man’s general direction, but not making eye contact.

The man soon waved, motioning her forward.

Ella approached, brushing her jacket aside casually to reveal her badge. “Good afternoon, uncle,” she said, greeting him with appropriate respect.

The man nodded, propped his Winchester against a fence rail,
then waved her closer. She was almost to his personal space when he held up his hand. She stopped, still not making eye contact.

“The
yee naaldlooshii
and his woman walked down that trail,” he whispered, pursing his lips toward the path.

Ella recognized the term for “skinwalker.” Literally, it meant someone who walks on four feet. The stories about Truman had traveled all the way out here.

“His grandfather was evil, and now him. That family’s got bad blood. Need an extra gun?” he asked.

“Thank you, uncle, but no. Stay here and protect your home,” Ella said. “How long ago did they pass?”