Tracking Bear Page 17

  “We have to check for prints just in case, but my guess is that the intruder wore gloves. This was a professional search,” Ella commented thoughtfully. “It was almost certainly the same person that hit the storeroom, or someone working with him. And the use of a silencer in the storeroom means we’re dealing with a pro who’s willing to kill anyone who threatens him or gets in his way.”

  “But what could they be searching for?” Justine asked.

  “We’ll have to ask Wilson later and see if he has any ideas. Meanwhile, we can check for the obvious, like missing guns or electronic gear.”

  Officer Ralph Tache arrived several minutes later looking a bit bleary-eyed, but awake. “I need coffee…and a raise. Okay, raised doughnuts, if the tribe is really as broke as they say. But they have to be the apple cinnamon kind. I’d forgive a lot for those.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Ella said, chuckling. “Doughnuts we can spring for, but as for money—well, I wouldn’t count on it unless the tribe starts printing twenties and fifties. Or they start giving finder’s fees for money found in paper bags in the back of file cabinets.”

  Time passed quickly as they worked, though processing of the interior was painstaking work. Sometime later, Justine emerged from the den and met Ella, who was dusting for prints around the back door.

  “Wilson’s hunting rifle, ammo, and his computer are gone. I know where they’re supposed to be.”

  “Have you found anything that links the break-in at the storeroom to what happened here?”

  “There would be work-related files in his home computer and papers in his stolen briefcase. That could suggest the thief was looking for records or documents. We can check with Wilson on that angle. As far as physical evidence, the front lock was twisted off in much the same way the storeroom door was, except that Wilson had a dead bolt so it needed to be kicked in as well. I’ve also found some black hairs, but they’re my length, so my guess is that they’re mine. I’ll let you know more later.”

  “Okay. While you process the evidence, I’m going to go speak to Wilson. Everyone starts early in the hospital, so they’ve probably woken him up by now. If you find out anything we can use, call me right away.”

  “There’s one thing…” Justine said slowly. “I’ve been talking to people about the dead councilman, I didn’t get the impression that anyone thought he was dirty, though with the discovery of that hidden cash, maybe he was just good at keeping a secret. On the other hand, there’s a lot of gossip about Emily, his wife.”

  “What kind of gossip?”

  “I’m told she has a way with men—the ability to wrap them around her little finger is the cliché I’m thinking of, I guess. She’s good-looking, charming, and can apparently make men act real stupid around her. Nobody has ever suggested she’s been unfaithful, but she certainly gets a lot of attention.”

  “I could see circumstances where she could be a real guy charmer, all right.”

  “I met her once,” Justine said. “It was at a barbecue the councilman sponsored before the last election. You know Wilson can’t pass up free food.”

  Ella laughed. On the Rez, few ever people did. That was why it was such an effective way to reach the voters.

  “Maybe someone wanted to make sure Mrs. Redhouse was a widow again,” Justine speculated. “Someone waiting to step in and comfort the grieving woman. Men have killed for love before, and there could be a disturbed guy out there who may have mistaken a wink and a smile from Emily for a lot more than a casual gesture. But I realize that doesn’t have anything to do with NEED, the break-ins, or the unexplained cash he had around.”

  “Jealously and obsession are very good motives for murder. Let’s keep digging. While you’re working up the evidence, I’ll pay my brother a visit. Clifford may know if there was another suitor or two before or after Emily married the councilman.”

  “Could this person with the three-eighty who killed Officer Franklin have decided to kill Redhouse for an unrelated reason since he’d already committed one murder?” Justine asked.

  “Sounds unlikely, especially when we consider that break-ins or robberies are associated with all the recent shootings. And then there’s the unexplained cash.” Ella took a deep breath. “But there has got to be a common link somewhere between all the crimes. The use of the same weapon makes that clear. Let’s see if we can find out what it is.”

  “Better get back to work, then. Oh geez, I almost forgot. The reason I came here in the first place was to get Wilson some clean clothes. If you’re going to the hospital, will you take some to him?”

  “Sure.”

  Ella headed back into Wilson’s bedroom with Justine and waited while she picked out a sweater, jeans, and clean underwear from the piles of clothes that had been dumped on the floor. As Ella reached for an athletic bag to carry them in, she saw a photo of Wilson, Clifford, and her taken back when they’d been in high school more than a decade ago. The boys were wearing letterman jackets, and she was wearing a red-and-silver Lady Chieftains sweatshirt.

  Memories poured into her mind unbidden. It had been so long ago…Back then she’d wanted nothing more than to just leave the reservation and never come back. Now her life, and the things that gave her the most comfort, were all here. It had taken a long time for her to find home again.

  Ella placed the photo on the dresser. Wilson held on to his memories just as she did. To know yourself in the present, you had to know who you’d been in the past.

  Five minutes later, after telling Justine that they might be taking Bruno’s training workshop later in the morning if there were no new complications, Ella was on her way to the hospital. She intended to press Wilson for answers. He had to know something that could bring all these crimes into focus.

  Ella arrived a short while later, parked, and went inside. She stopped at the front desk, intending to get Wilson’s room number, when she saw him walking in her direction from the main hall. “Where the heck’s Justine? I’ve been ready to leave since sunup.”

  Ella quickly filled him on everything that had happened and saw the shock register on his face.

  “You should have called and had somebody wake me up, Ella.” Ella started to argue, but he held up a hand. “Let’s just get out of here. You owe me a ride home.”

  “Fine. We’ll talk on the way.” Ella allowed the silence to stretch out as they walked to her Jeep, giving Wilson a chance to collect his thoughts. Finally, once they were well under way, she asked, “What do you have in your possession that would compel someone to search the storeroom where you work, steal your briefcase from your office, then ransack your home looking for it?”

  Wilson said nothing, his eyebrows knitting together as he considered it. “I have no idea. That’s the truth. And I can tell you this—if I had something of value, I certainly wouldn’t put it in the storeroom. Too many people have access to it.”

  “This person seems to be searching for something that’s work-related—papers or documents or files on your computer. But wait. Maybe I’m off base on that. There’s the loss of your hunting rifle to consider.”

  “My rifle?” He groaned. “Don’t you get it? That rifle is an almost irresistible temptation! Had I broken into a home and had seen that gun, I would have taken it, no matter what I’d originally gone in there to steal. It’s a Savage Model 99 lever action in .243 caliber. It’s smooth and sweet, right on the money at two hundred yards over open sights, and fits great on my pickup gun rack. That’s one rifle I’m really gonna miss,” he said with a sigh.

  “Okay, I’ll get the serial number from you later. But let’s get back to what I was asking. What do you have that someone might want bad enough to risk killing somebody over? Something that is written down—like a document or something, I’d guess. We’re dealing with a professional thief, or somebody into something even badder than that because it probably includes killing Officer Franklin and the councilman. And while you’re thinking, add this to the equation. What books, docum
ents, or whatever do you own that might have somehow ended up being stored in the garage where the patrolman was killed?”

  “Nothing that I put there, that’s for sure,” he answered quickly. “I know Professor Franklin, but have never met his ex-wife, who, if I’m correct, owns the garage. I’ve never had any dealings with anybody connected with that family other than the professor.”

  “But Professor Franklin stored some of his boxes of stuff there…” she said thoughtfully. “Did he also store anything in your storeroom, or give you anything to keep for him?”

  “He doesn’t use the storeroom. You’ve seen that place. It’s barely large enough for the staff. And as far as him giving me anything—I think he handed me the notes to his lecture once, but I filed them away somewhere. It wasn’t a big deal, you know? He’s not exactly an integral part of my curriculum except as a role model for my students. What makes you ask? And what’s the tiein to the garage where the professor’s son was killed?”

  “Nothing I can think of, except it seems like the same person has been responsible for all this. I’m just trying to find connections and a motive.”

  The rest of the trip Wilson quizzed her on the condition of his home, and she did her best to describe what he’d soon be viewing.

  When they arrived Ella walked with him to the door. Then, as they stepped inside, she heard Wilson expel his breath loudly.

  “Why the hell would anyone do this to me? This is nuts.” He stopped and looked at her. “That’s your answer. You’re dealing with a crazy,” he said.

  Ella waited until Wilson had checked for missing items, but it had been as Justine had reported. Cautioning him not to overdo it, Ella recommended that he stay elsewhere for a few days. Wilson refused the suggestion, but at least agreed to pay one of his student aides to come over and help him restore order to his home.

  Ella and Justine returned to the station, and Ella had just sat down on her office chair when Sergeant Neskahi appeared at the door. “Ella, that training woman, Bruno, called about a half hour ago, and left this number for you to call back. She said it was about today’s workshop session.”

  “Thanks, Joseph.” Ella took the note with the number he handed her. “Hang around a second, and I’ll be able to let you know if the session is on for today.”

  Ella punched in the cell phone number, one she recognized already, and the ex-policewoman answered by the second ring. “Bruno,” the woman answered cryptically.

  Ella listened to the instructions Bruno gave her, then disconnected the call and looked up at the sergeant. “The training exercise is on for ten-thirty this morning. She wants us to pick up a note that she’s leaving for us at the security office in the Navajo power plant, and asked us to come together, and not be late. But she wouldn’t say what the training topic was.”

  “Any ideas?” Neskahi asked.

  “No, but obviously it must have something to do with the power plant itself. My guess is that it’s some sort of a combined forces drill, our team and plant security.” She looked at her watch. “It’s less than a fifteen-minute trip if we make good time, so maybe we should get the team together now, spend a few minutes trying to figure out what she may be planning, then ride over in the crime-scene van.”

  Neskahi nodded. “A good officer goes over the possibilities and knows his options ahead of time. I’ll go find Tache. Is Justine back in the lab?”

  Ella nodded. “I’ll tell the chief where we’ll be, then go by the lab and get her. We’ll meet at the van in five.”

  In four minutes Ella and Justine arrived in the small fenced-in area where the crime-scene van, a small RV with special facilities, was parked. She and Justine climbed into the vehicle to join the two men, already seated up front.

  “What is yálti’í nééz cooking up for us today, Ella?” Officer Tache asked as he started the engine. “The sergeant said it might be some kind of combined drill, maybe like a takeover or hostage situation.”

  Ella laughed, noting the Navajo term, a kind of nickname, really, that meant “tall talker.” It certainly applied to Margaret Bruno.

  “Anybody read through their green training folders yet?” Justine asked, looking at their blank faces. “That’s what I thought. Well, I did, and one of the sessions she suggested was meant to evaluate our response to a simulated act of sabotage or violence from an individual who goes postal. My guess is that Bruno is going to set up some sort of imaginary threat that we’ll have to counter.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me.” Ella looked around at their faces from her small jump seat in the back beside Justine. “Any more thoughts?”

  “I think she’ll manipulate events to make sure we lose,” Ralph said. “Bruno struck me as an ex-cop with an ego, maybe a little excess self-esteem. We did pretty well last time on the paper exercises, and already knew the answers to most of her questions. She’ll want to remind us this time that she’s the ‘expert,’ if only to justify her training sessions,” he said, then after a brief pause, added, “I think she’s competing with you, Ella. She wants us to see her as the authority figure, but you have a hell of a lot more experience than she does and already know the jargon.”

  “I agree with Ralph,” Neskahi said. “No offense, but I find women associated with law enforcement are extremely competitive, for a lot of reasons we already know. But how can we make sure we beat Bruno at her own game?”

  Ella glanced over at Justine to see if she agreed with the men’s assessment. Her assistant nodded, adding, “I think there’s a lot of truth in what the boys are saying, boss. How are we going to make sure we win? Cheat?”

  “No,” she said, chuckling. “Let’s play this out by Bruno’s rules, at least this time. My ego is secure. Besides, we’re a great team, and if anyone can pull off an impossible training exercise, we can.”

  They all exited the van immediately, gathering around Ella outside the security office. “Okay, boss. What now?” Justine asked.

  “We’re guessing that Bruno is almost certainly around here somewhere, in disguise because otherwise that Amazon would really stand out. If she is, that means she’s either going to play the bad guy, or try to observe us without us knowing it’s her. I’m betting she’s the bad guy in this upcoming drill. It’s in keeping with everyone’s estimate of her personality. Now let’s go pick up that note.”

  Ella led the way into the security office, a small room attached to the main plant facility, a massive structure several stories high and covering several acres adjacent to the large lake that provided coolant water.

  Ella looked up from the note. “Okay, team, here it is. Without clearing the facility, which can’t be done except in a real emergency, we’re supposed to find Bruno, who’s playing the role of a disturbed former employee planning on setting off a bomb. There’ll be a major explosion unless we ‘kill’ her with a paintball hit before she sets it off, which will be at 11 A.M., less than fourteen minutes from now.” Ella took another look at the paintball gun she had picked up from the security desk, along with Bruno’s note, which had, according to the security man at the desk, been left there by Shives earlier. The three other members of the team had similar weapons, each capable of only one shot.

  “How will we know when this ‘bomb’ goes off—if we lose?” Neskahi asked.

  “We won’t lose. It says to avoid scaring the employees, instead of a loud bang we’ll hear a well-known Doors tune from her location. ‘Light My Fire’ would be my guess. But enough of that, we need to track Bruno down before the time runs out. We’ll make good use of the cell phones the community-policing program has provided.”

  She pointed to a sign on the wall listing power plant offices and their phone numbers. “Justine, call the guardhouse at the gate and see if Bruno or any visitors came into the plant this morning, when they arrived, and where they were headed or might be right now. Ralph, call the administrative offices, and see if anyone saw Bruno or Shives this morning. Joseph, you call the control room and do the same. Make it quic
k, people.”

  Ella made a fast call to Delbert Shives’s office, hoping to find out something from his secretary. Shives knew Bruno, and the chemist had probably helped her facilitate the exercise through his superiors. Shives’s secretary might have seen them today and still not have been cautioned to keep their location a secret from the SI team.

  Ella punched out the number, and was still trying to get a connection when Justine turned toward her again, putting away her own phone.

  “I’ve got something, boss. Bruno must have arrived with Delbert Shives disguised as a male school teacher, unless we’re being victimized by a terrible coincidence. The person with Shives was a tall blonde wearing sunglasses, a cowboy hat, denim jacket, and brown Western-cut jeans,” Justine added.

  Joseph Neskahi turned to listen, already having disconnected his call. “Nobody saw anyone but regular staff in the control room, which is off-limits normally anyway.”

  Ralph was still on the phone, but had tuned in on their conversation and nodded to show he’d heard.

  Ella looked at her watch, then finally ended the call attempt. “I couldn’t get anyone to pick up the phone at Shives’s office, so that wasn’t much help. Bruno’s probably already made herself scarce, hiding out somewhere until eleven o’clock, when she says she’ll be setting off the ‘bomb.’ Even if she took off her disguise, she’d stand out around here among all the nonblondes. We couldn’t hear any music from most of the power plant area and farther south where the coal is brought in, and I think she’d want us to know we’d failed just to make a dramatic point. I think the administrative and support areas are our best bet.” Ella took off down the hall, and the others followed.

  Ralph finally ended his call. “The secretary at Administration said that Shives and the teacher with him went into his office as soon as he arrived, and nobody saw the teacher come out again, though Shives left about twenty minutes ago.”