Never-ending-snake (15 page)

Satisfied, she returned to where Ella waited. “There’s a low-profile employee entrance that requires a security code to open from the outside. He left the building.”

“Let’s go find Betsy,” Ella said, glancing around but no longer seeing the Navajo with the bolo tie.

They found the young woman at her desk.
Grady’s office door directly behind her was wide open, but no one was inside.

Noticing Betsy tensing up as she approached, Ella smiled. “Relax. We’re going to keep this informal.”

“I don’t know what I can tell you. Mr. Grady’s a good man. He came here to make sure the
Diné’s
casino runs smoothly, and he’s got years of experience managing gaming operations. He was involved with helping some of
the Rio Grande Valley pueblo casinos get set up, and look how successful they are.”

“Does Mr. Grady feel that the tribe is targeting him unfairly?” Ella asked.

“No, not at all. He says that the casino business is tough and there are always going to be people in the community opposed to gaming for religious or other reasons. The way he sees it, his goal as casino manager is to make sure the tribe
turns a healthy profit. He’s done it for other tribes, and plans to do it here, too. That’s why he’s not worried. He knows he’ll be back at his desk soon.”

“Do you like the way he’s running things?” Justine asked.

Betsy considered it for several long moments. “Yeah, I do. The casinos are in the business of selling dreams. Get rich quick—all it takes is a coin or token in a slot, or a lucky hand
with the cards or throw of the dice. The tribe, of course,
will
make money because people refuse to see the
reality of it—that casinos are a business with a built-in profit. The tribe operates this casino to make more money than it gives away. But those who come here to play get something out of it, too. They get hours of excitement dreaming about all the ‘what ifs.’ ”

“You said that Alan believes
he’ll be back at his desk before long. Do you think he’s right?” Ella asked her.

“Oh, yeah. He’s got enemies—all successful entrepreneurs do. But it’s results that matter in this business, and he’s getting results.”

“How long have you known Alan Grady?” Justine asked her.

“Since he came on board as casino manager. He trained everyone before opening day.”

Ella reached for the photos she’d printed
out. “Do you know either of these men, and have you ever seen them here?”

“I know both of them. That’s Kevin Tolino,” she said, pointing, “the attorney representing the tribe in the lawsuit against Mr. Grady and Casino Enterprises Management. The other man is that soldier who won all the medals fighting in Afghanistan, Sergeant Lonewolf—Adam, I think. I don’t know him personally, but every news
program in the state has carried a story about him. He’s an honest-to-gosh hero. There’s a photo of him by the entrance, next to the tribal president and the Council member from this district.”

“Have you ever seen Mr. Tolino here at Mr. Grady’s office?” Ella asked her.

“Sure. He’s been here several times, the most recent being a few weeks ago. The door to Mr. Grady’s office was closed so I didn’t
hear what they were saying, but by the time Mr. Tolino left, Mr. Grady was in a really bad mood. He hung up on someone, and yelled at the cleaning crew. I stayed out of his way the rest of the day. A few days later we heard about the lawsuit.”

“What about Adam?”

“I’ve never seen him here—and I would have remembered him,” she added. “Good-looking, but he’s married. Such a tragedy—him getting
shot, I mean. I hope he makes it.”

“Me, too,” Ella added.

Ella and Justine left the office and headed for the exit at the far end of the enormous facility. “We need to find out when Kevin learned about Grady’s suspected ties to the mob,” Ella said.

“You’re thinking that was the reason Kevin came by a few weeks ago?” Justine asked.

Ella nodded. “He must have already known. Lawyers are like
cops, most of the time they already know the answer to a question and are just looking for a reaction, or setting a trap.”

“Kevin might have been pushing to get Grady out of the casino as soon as possible so he wouldn’t be in a position to cover his trail, or intimidate anyone who might testify against him.”

“I’m sure Grady gathered his own forces just as quickly,” Ella said. “Kevin’s got clout,
but Grady’s no pushover. Look at the facts. He managed to stay in control and maintain the status quo—until
after
the shooting, that is. That incident was what finally motivated the tribal president to remove Grady from the public eye.”

“So where to next?” Justine asked.

“The hospital. I want to talk to Adam’s wife, Marie, then follow up with Kevin.”

Ella and Justine walked down the outside
steps and into the parking lot, passing casino patrons along the way. Business seemed to be thriving despite the economy, Ella surmised, noting the cheerful expressions on the faces of the mostly Navajo crowd.

They were nearly to the car when she heard steps coming
up from behind. In a heartbeat, an arm snaked around her throat. “This is just a warning, whore!”

Ella instantly slammed her fist
back, hammering him in the groin. As he gasped, doubling up, she stomped hard with her heel on his instep, then spun and punched up, catching him in the throat. He staggered back, dazed and off balance.

Justine was fighting her own battle. Her partner had been lifted off the ground, but she immediately kicked back, whacking her attacker on the kneecap. He yelled and dropped her.

The attackers,
Anglos, not Navajos, had clearly come looking for a fight—and they wouldn’t be disappointed.

“We’re cops. Back off,” Ella shouted.

“Yeah, and I’m with the ’effing bee eye,” her attacker replied.

Having recaptured his balance, he came at her, swinging. From his unpolished assault, he was obviously an untrained street brawler used to relying on his bulk.

Ella ducked beneath the blow, and kicked, sending him sprawling back. As Ella reached for her holster,
the man bolted to his feet.

“Look out, this hooker’s got a gun!” he shouted.

“Dude, run,” the other man yelled. The two raced away, heading down the row of parked cars.

“Get to the cruiser and cut them off,” Ella yelled to Justine as she sprinted after the men. They were faster than Ella had expected them to be, but kept making the mistake of looking back. As they raced around a curve in the
lot, Justine cut them off, blocking the way.

The first man was going too fast to stop, but as he tried, his partner collided with him and they both tumbled to the pavement.

Justine was out of the vehicle in a second and grabbed
the big man’s hand, forcing him to stay down with a painful twist of his wrist.

Ella caught up to the other as he rose to his knees, and kicked him in the chest. He
bounced off the car, falling onto his back. Ella cuffed him while Justine did the same to the other suspect. Their prisoners secure, Ella recited the out-of-breath thugs their rights, and together with Justine, shoved them into the back of their tribal unit.

“You’re both going down for assault on two police officers,” Ella said.

Judging from their calloused hands, work shirts, pocket-knives
in holders, and extra belt loops on their carpenter-type pants, and, more importantly, their lack of fighting skills, Ella figured the men were probably blue collar workers from a nearby site.

“The Indian dude said you were hookers, doing guys in the parking lot,” the big man argued. “This is a mistake.”

“Attacking prostitutes is okay, then?” Justine replied.

“No, that’s not what he’s saying,”
the other man blurted out, slamming his buddy on the shoulder. “The dude . . .”

“
What
dude? Somebody put you up to this? Tell us everything you know—now. This is your only chance,” Ella added

“We’re not criminals, we just . . . never mind, we’ll talk,” the bulky, blond-haired Anglo man said. “What do you need to know?”

“Start with your names,” Ella said.

“I’m Larry Brown,” the big man said.

“I’m Gene Murphy,” his redheaded partner added. “Cut us some slack, okay? Some Navajo guy from casino security said you were hooking up with the patrons, and that was giving the casino and the tribe a bad rep. He paid us to scare the hell out of you, you know, so you wouldn’t come back. Honest, we didn’t know you were cops.”

“
Who
hired you?” Ella demanded.

“A short Navajo guy built like a wrestler.
He was wearing a suit and one of those turquoise bolo ties. He said he was working security, and that he’d warned you two before, but you keep coming back. He said that lately you’d just take off every time he got close. He pointed you out inside, then paid us two hundred dollars to put a scare in you. We owe the casino some money, so . . .”

Ella thought of the guy who’d been watching them earlier
inside, and Cardell Natani came to mind. “Did he show you any kind of ID?” she asked, bringing out her handcuff key to tempt them.

They both shook their heads. “No, but he was carrying a gun and stuff. He acted legit, and we thought it was a good way of clearing our debts with the tribe. Sorry,” Murphy said.

“That’s not enough information to keep you out of jail, boys. We need more,” Ella said,
putting the key back into her pocket.

“We’ve told you all we know,” Larry said. “Can’t you cut us a deal?”

“If you want a deal, you’ve got to give me something to work with,” Ella prodded. “Tell me more about this Navajo man—a lot more.”

“His belt buckle was gold, with a cowboy roping a calf. There was some kind of lettering on it, too, like it was a prize. Maybe he competes at the rodeo,”
Larry suggested. “His suit was pin-striped and his boots were custom-looking, snakeskin, maybe.”

“Since when did you start checking out men’s fashions, bro?” Gene said, rolling his eyes. “I saw his wheels, because he came out ahead of us—said he wanted to watch, from a distance. Climbed into a nice lowrider Dodge with a custom bed liner, black leather interior, under-sized wheels. It was hard
to miss, too—yellow, with that pearl kinda finish, and parked in one of the security parking slots. Sweet ride for picking up the ladies.”

“There are lot of trucks in this area, and yellow isn’t exactly uncommon,” Ella countered.

“Maybe not, but this was auto-show quality, like you’d see cruising in Albuquerque—or more likely, L.A.,” Gene added.

“Come up with something else,” Ella pressed.
The description she’d been given matched the guy she’d seen near the slot machines. If only she’d been a little closer.

“That’s all we’ve got,” Gene insisted. “But I’d trade my old lady for that ride.”

“Your old lady dumped you during the last Super Bowl, loser,” Larry sneered.

Justine shook her head and Ella groaned in disgust.

“If all you’ve got is B.S., boys, this interview is over,” she
said, reaching for the front door handle.

“No, wait, I just remembered something,” Larry added quickly. “That belt buckle backs up something else I noticed. He had a tribal rodeo booklet in his shirt pocket. They have a bunch of them inside the casino to advertise upcoming events, remember, Gene?”

Gene looked confused for a second, then nodded. “Oh yeah, by the ATMs.”

“All right,” Ella said,
helping them out of the cruiser and taking off their cuffs. “We’re going to cut you loose but don’t make us regret it.”

“Sorry for the trouble, officers. You’ll never see
us
again—promise,” Gene said. The men walked away briskly, never looking back.

Justine glanced at Ella. “Let me run a check and see who among the casino security staff owns a fancy yellow truck—for cruising the ‘hood.’ ”

Ella nodded, then told Justine about the man she’d seen watching them earlier. “Start with the younger men—they’re the ones with the biggest case of wheel envy. Somebody’s got to remember seeing it. Who knows, it might point us in the
right direction for more than one crime. Check on Cardell Natani’s vehicles in particular.”

Several moments later, Justine looked up from the computer terminal in
the center console. “Several yellow trucks listed here. I’ll send this on to Marianna for follow up. Cardell’s got a pickup, all right, but it’s a white Ford 150 with a crew cab.”

“Okay. Then let’s get back to Shiprock and focus on Marie and Kevin. I have a feeling that neither one is giving us the whole story.”

They arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later. “Do you want me to talk to Marie
while you interview Kevin?” Justine asked as they stepped inside the main entrance.

“That’s a good idea, but I want you to really press her. We need to find out everything she knows, starting with the obvious—if she can think of any reason why Adam might have been a target. If so, we want to find out who she thinks the shooter was, or who might have ordered the attack.”

“To me, it’s looking
more like Kevin was the intended target and the hit on Adam was just a way of making sure the right man went down. Once on the scene, the gunmen might have had trouble figuring out which professional-looking Navajo man in the suit and tie to kill. Kevin and Adam are about the same build, and both were carrying briefcases. At a hundred feet . . .”