Changing Woman (3 page)

“Then go. You’ve eaten enough.”

Ella shook her head as Dawn scampered into the living room.
“Mom, you really shouldn’t excuse her until we’re all finished.”

“Those
bilagáana
rules will still be around when she’s older. Right now with all her energy, she’s doing well just to sit and eat as long as she does.”

Knowing the futility of an argument, Ella stood, placed her dirty dishes in the sink, then washed and dried her hands. “My daughter’s father said he might come by later. If he does,
try to be nice to him,” she said, avoiding mentioning Kevin by name out of respect for Rose’s beliefs. Her mother was a traditionalist who believed names were endowed with power a person could draw upon in times of danger. But using them often weakened that power and depleted their owner. In this house, only the names of their enemies were used freely.

“He won’t come. There will just be another
excuse. It makes him nervous to be around her, you know. He doesn’t understand her when she speaks, and has no idea what to say or do with a child.”

“I’m sure he understands her, Mom. She speaks clearly enough,” Ella said. “And two languages. What more can you ask of a two-year-old?”

“I think he wants her to discuss law and tribal politics.”

Ella laughed. “Mom, you really shouldn’t be so hard
on him. He
does
try.” Ella knew she wasn’t going to change her mother’s mind about this or anything else, but she had to say something. “Remember not to discuss Coyote or anything else you saw on that computer screen with anyone.”

“I
never
discuss your work, daughter. It’s about the only thing I can do to protect you these days.”

Ella gave her mother a light kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you
later, then. Don’t bother waiting up for me.” She
took her pistol and holster from the top shelf in the kitchen and clipped them onto her wide leather belt. After a quick good-bye to her daughter, she put on her heavy jacket and walked out to her vehicle across the hard, frozen ground.

Big Ed Atcitty would be around the station for another hour or so, which was good because she needed to talk
to him.

Fifteen minutes later she walked through the side doors of the Shiprock station. Before she’d gotten more than a few feet down the hall, Sergeant Joseph Neskahi stepped out of the squad room and intercepted her.

“The chief wants to see you before you and Justine go out tonight.” The young-looking, barrel-chested officer still wore his hair in a buzz cut despite the winter weather.

“Okay, thanks,” Ella answered. Neskahi was a fine officer, and they’d worked well together, sometimes in the most dangerous circumstances imaginable.

As she turned the corner and headed down the hall, she spotted Big Ed Atcitty standing in the doorway to his office. “I thought I heard you out here, Shorty.” He’d given her the nickname as a joke since Ella was a full head taller than he was. “Come
in. We need to talk.”

Ella followed her boss into his office, then sat down as he waved in the direction of a chair. If Neskahi was barrel-chested, then Big Ed Atcitty was a redwood stump, impervious to age and impossible to knock over.

Seeing him close the door behind them signaled to Ella that the discussion was going to be more than just a quick briefing on operations.

Big Ed’s expression
was somber. “I’m very concerned over what happened yesterday with that bomb. That’s not just another prank, it represents a real escalation in the vandalism we’ve been fighting. Just a few seconds one way or the other, and neither you or Charlie would have been around to tell the story. I want you to track down the explosives and nail whoever was behind this.
Taking a baseball bat to a mailbox
is one thing, but setting off explosives is a big step up.”

Big Ed leaned back in his chair, rocking gently for a moment. “We need to send out a message to the community that we don’t take an incident like this lightly. I just wish we had a clue who’s behind it, and why. The whole thing is frustrating, trying to watch thousands of square miles with a handful of officers while carrying out our
normal patrols and investigations.”

“We’re in a bind, that’s for sure. I’ll put the SI team on it,” Ella said. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”

He exhaled softly, and nodded. “Let me cut to the chase. I’ve heard that Officer Goodluck is having a problem qualifying with her weapon.” He leaned forward, opening a folder on his desk and looking through the papers briefly.
“She barely made it, as a matter of fact.”

“Chief, those lowlifes cut off half of Justine’s trigger finger. Her hand’s healed, but she has to find a new grip.” Ella paused for a second. “I know my partner, Chief. She just needs a little more time and practice to get it together, but she
will
make it work.”

“How is she adjusting overall? Speak frankly, Shorty. I need to know exactly what the
situation is with her. Some of the higher-ups are worried she might be a danger to herself and her partner after all she went through.”

“That’s baloney. I’m her partner most of the time, and
Vm
not worried. Justine is just frustrated that she’s having trouble making the kinds of scores she’s used to having out on the firing range.”

“All right. But keep me posted.”

“You’ve got it.” Ella paused,
then continued. “I needed to talk to you this morning about something else, Chief.”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s about my contact, Coyote. He’s been in touch again,” Ella said, and filled in her supervisor on the contents of his latest message.

Big Ed considered what he learned, trying to put everything together in his mind. “From what you’ve told me before, he’s convinced that the attempt to frame you
for Justine’s apparent death last year was just the first move by this group. But all we really know for sure, based on the vague testimony we had from one of the perps, is that it
was
an organized effort. To extend that conspiracy to gambling requires a lot more corroborating evidence. But the vandalism is having an effect on the people.”

Ella nodded. “It’s too bad we weren’t able to get any
more from that bunch. We might know who to talk to about the bomb, the broken windows, and all the rest.”

“But we did catch the perps who framed you. If there
are
others, and they are behind this property damage and the rest, we’ll find out about them sooner or later. The one thing I do know for certain is that we can’t afford to disregard what your contact tells you.”

“Chief, do you know something
I don’t?”

“I’ve made a few discreet phone calls. There are a few feds I trust and, from the scanty feedback I got, I think your contact is FBI.”

“If what he says is true, then this self-styled Indian mafia has picked a ripe target this time. With all the troubles facing the
Dineh
right now, the potential revenue that gaming could pull in appeals to a lot of people.”

“It would create a lot of
jobs and generate income for the tribe. No argument there.”

“But it would also attract some negative influences the tribe doesn’t need,” Ella answered.

“The tribe will make its own choice,” Big Ed said flatly. “That’s not up to the department. Our job is to put a stop to all the vandalism, no matter who is behind it, and make sure the decision to approve gaming, or not, is one our people make
freely.” He paused, and then continued in a heavy tone. “Now tell me, have you made arrangements for extra patrols tonight?”

“Yeah, we’ll have more cops out on the streets,” she
answered, “but you know how understaffed we are. Any chance the Tribal Council will find some money this spring to hire more officers?”

“Actually, Shorty, I expect our operating budget to be cut even more. No one in
the council is really listening to us at the moment. Rather than admit that our department is stretched to the limit, it’s easier to just label us incompetent. They don’t have to come up with any more resources that way.”

“We’ll catch the vandals, eventually, Chief. Sooner or later, their luck will run out,” Ella said, standing up. “But I’ve got to tell you, I still have a problem believing that
a little action by a few punks is linked to a huge conspiracy.”

“Little connections lead to big ones, Shorty. As Navajos, we’re taught to believe that everything is interrelated. Just look for the overall pattern until it all makes sense.”

Ella left the chief’s office feeling uneasy. Like most good cops, she could feel trouble in her gut before it even happened. Right now, instinct and experience
warned her that conditions on the Rez were becoming unstable and, unless they were careful, a lot of cops would go down in the crossfire.

Ella continued down the hall to her office and found her young assistant, Justine, waiting. She’d known Justine all her life—they were second cousins—and the changes Ella could see in her face after several years on the force were startling. Justine was relatively young, in her midtwenties, but the eagerness and the optimism of youth had been replaced by the hardness of a seasoned cop.

“I’m
ready to go, are you?” Ella said, anxious to get going.

Less than five minutes later, they were on the road in an unmarked sedan.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Ella said, glancing over at her partner. She’d noted that Justine wore a black wool watch cap over her long jet hair, and, like Ella, was in street clothes. The Special Investigations Unit was not required to wear uniforms.

“I’m just trying
to get a handle on things. It’s the dead of winter, Ella. In January, what we usually see in the Four Corners are deaths from exposure, and car accidents from the bad roads, not a rash of petty crimes. Around here, people like to stay inside whenever they can and watch TV. This year, with the Rez’s economy nothing short of a disaster, people have cut back on everything—including driving. So what’s
with all the misdemeanors?”

“Maybe it’s just street gang activity,” Ella suggested. “Face it. Kids get restless when there’s nothing to do.”

“I agree that fences being knocked down, dents put in cars, and spray-painted graffiti sounds like gangs. But
letting the air out of tires during church? And what happened yesterday to you with that Dumpster being split open like a tin can, that’s not their
MO at all. Think about it. High explosives with a fuse and detonator instead of gunpowder and a pipe bomb? Uh-uh. Stealing that kind of stuff isn’t easy, Ella, and it’s a federal crime.”

“Somebody’s relative could work for one of the mines or a construction company. Or, who knows, it may have come from off the reservation. Blalock is working with the ATF now to track down the lot number from
the partial wrapping recovered at the scene. And the residue is supposed to be chemically tagged as well, so it should tell us which manufacturing batch it came from.”

“Well, all I can say is that we better get some leads soon. This is making us look like idiots, and a lot of us are getting flak from the community, especially in the Shiprock area, where most of it seems concentrated. I was having
dinner with Wilson over in Waterflow and you wouldn’t believe some of the snide comments people started making about the department once they realized who I was. It was pretty insulting, Ella. And I’m not the only one that’s happened to, either. I’ve heard the grumbles in the bullpen before briefings. I have a feeling some of our cops would resign if unemployment wasn’t so high right now on the
Rez.”

“We’re being run ragged because we don’t have enough cops on the force. Everyone’s dead tired, so naturally morale’s going to take a beating. But squelch the defeatist talk when you hear it, will you?”

“Sure thing. But the only way to really stop it is to catch the vandals. Maybe then we can go back to working single shifts.”

“I know.” Ella watched out the passenger’s side window as they
moved slowly through the old tribal housing project on the eastern outskirts of Shiprock. Nearly every one of the small frame houses had a vehicle or two parked on the concrete pad beside it or along the street.

The people in this neighborhood, for the most part, worked at one of the coal mines or power plants along the eastern perimeter of the Rez. Their jobs, for now, were safe.

“How are things
going for you, cousin? I hear you’ve been practicing long hours at the firing range.”

Justine nodded, her eyes on the road. “It hasn’t been easy.” She flexed her right hand on the steering wheel. Her index finger was missing the first two joints, and the stub remaining poked out like it had a mind of its own. “I used to enjoy going to the range to practice, Ella. I’ve, always been a marksman
and able to give you some serious competition. But lately. . .” She let the sentence hang.

“What’s giving you the most trouble when you shoot?”

“Maintaining control. The recoil from the first round screws up my grip and the following shots go wild unless I really clamp down with my left hand, too. But to qualify we have to be able to shoot one-handed,” Justine answered. “It’s a trick and a half,
Ella. I’m using my middle finger for the trigger. All that’s left on the grips are my last two fingers and, of course, my thumb, as it wraps around. I’ve got small hands, so the extra control that my middle finger gave me before really helped stabilize the weapon in rapid fire. If I could use something other than standard ammunition, that might help, but that’s not allowed, particularly when
qualifying,” she said, frustration evident in her tone.

“How about Pachmayr grips made of neoprene—only custom made to fit your ’new’ hand?”

“They might help,” she said, considering Ella’s suggestion. “I’ll check around and see who might be able to work with me on that.”

“Maybe we can go out to the range together and come up with a design,” Ella said.

“I’d appreciate the help. Wilson has been
out with me, and I’ve been practicing a lot. But I’ve got to tell you
that I wouldn’t have qualified at all the other day if I’d had to shoot another round. By the end of the session my right hand was really in bad shape. The hammer kept tearing into the web of my hand every time the pistol recoiled.”