Never-ending-snake (4 page)

“We should make up a list of names, focusing particularly on those who might
have had military training. These guys were confident, not to mention extremely well armed. And they are skilled fighters. One of them pinned me down with cover fire while the other deployed a smoke grenade to screen their escape. Otherwise, I’d have had a clear shot at their vehicle up close, and maybe taken out a tire—or more. They thought this thing through.”

They arrived at the hospital less
than five minutes later and parked beside the EMT vehicle in the space reserved for the police.

Paramedics were busy replenishing their supplies and putting away their gear, but seeing Ella, one of the med techs came to meet her. “Both men are now in surgery, but we’ve set aside their personal effects for you.” He pointed to a pair of labeled and signed plastic bags.

Ella thanked them as Justine
took possession of the items.

“Do you want me to stick around or should I head back?” Justine asked her.

“Go help the others at the airstrip. I’ll be fine.”

As Ella walked into the small emergency room lobby, she saw Dawn at the water fountain and Rose seated in a
straight-backed chair, staring at her hands. Herman stood beside Rose, his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Turning at the sound of
the door opening and seeing Ella, Dawn ran over and hugged her tightly. “They won’t let me see him, Mom. Can’t you do something? Dad would want me with him. I can’t even get anyone to tell me how he’s doing!”

“You’re going to have to be patient. The doctors are busy and can’t take time for us right now,” Ella said, easing her hold.

As Dawn stepped out of her arms, her eyes grew wide and huge
tears began spilling down her face. “Mom, you’re still bleeding!”

Ella’s stomach sank. The last thing she’d wanted to do was scare her kid even more. “Any cut on the scalp bleeds like crazy, Pumpkin. You know that. Remember when you fell off Wind in the arena and bumped into the gate? Relax.” She lowered her voice, and in a whisper, added, “Right now I need you to keep it together so you can
take care of your grandmother. Can I count on you?”

Her words had the desired effect. Dawn straightened and wiped her eyes. “I’m fine, Mom. I’ll take care of
Shimasání
,” she said, using the Navajo word for Grandmother.

“You know how she feels about hospitals, so you’ll have to stay close to her.”

“She hates it here,
Shimá
, but I can’t leave, not until I see Dad,” Dawn said in a strangled voice.

Ella heard the fear and the steely determination in her daughter’s voice. Nothing was going to convince Dawn to leave.

Rose came over and joined them, strain mirrored clearly on her face. Ella found herself wishing that she could have sent Rose and Dawn downstairs to what was clearly the most peaceful section of the hospital. Her best friend, Dr. Carolyn Roanhorse, would have gladly looked after
both of them. But it was completely out of the question. Carolyn was the
Navajo Nation’s only pathologist, and downstairs was the morgue. Since Carolyn had regular contact with the dead, most Navajos, including Rose, assiduously avoided her, not to mention the morgue.

Ella gave her mother an encouraging smile. “My daughter just needs reassurance from the doctor. Once she hears that her father’s
out of surgery and in the recovery room, she’ll go home.”

Rose sighed. “She’s as stubborn as you were at that age.”

Ella chuckled, knowing it was the truth. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said. “I need to get these cuts cleaned up.”

Ella went up to the desk, then followed one of the nurses into a small examination room. An Anglo doctor she’d never met before came in about five minutes
later.

His name tag read Dr. James Kelner, and from his age, Ella guessed he was one of the young doctors who came to work on the Rez as a way to pay off his student loans. Often highly skilled, though not necessarily experienced, most found the customs of a culture they’d known little about prior to their arrival, overwhelming. Though there were exceptions, the majority left as soon as they
could.

Dr. Kelner checked Ella out quickly, cleaning the wounds again under bright lights and sterile conditions.

“You’re hair is beautiful, but I could get a better look if you let me cut some of it away,” he asked, reaching into a drawer and bringing out clippers.

Ella’s black hair had lightened a bit with age—or maybe because of the job—but it had been down well past her shoulders since
she’d left the Bureau many years ago. As he came toward her, she answered his question with a “how would you like a kick in the groin” look.

Kelner laughed, placing the clippers back in the drawer. “I never argue with a woman wearing a gun.” He adjusted the overhead light and took another close look at her scalp.
“And a very lucky woman, it seems. I understand you were involved in that shooting
at the airstrip, so I’m reporting that long furrow as a bullet graze. Your department will probably want copies. But it looks like you won’t need stitches,” he said at last. “I’ll give you a prescription for antibiotics, and I want you to come back in another day or so. I’ll take another look then to make sure everything’s healing the way it should.”

“The wounded men who came in first,” Ella
said. “Have you heard anything about their condition?”

“I only attended, but the one with the shoulder wound—the pilot—is listed as stable now. The other two went straight into surgery. Sergeant Lonewolf is in critical condition, but his companion’s wounds were less serious and his prognosis is good. If you need more information, you’ll have to talk to the surgical team once the patients go into
recovery.”

“Thanks.” Ella followed the doctor out of the room. The second she was in the hall, Dawn came rushing up, looking up at her head. “Mom?”

Ella smiled at her. “I’m fine, and it looks like your dad will be, too.”

“I know.
Shimasání
got one of her feelings and told me,” Dawn said.

Ella smiled. Rose’s feelings on matters of this kind were as reliable as the rising sun. No one had ever
been able to explain it, but it was hard to argue with a track record like hers. “Your father’s still in surgery, and afterwards he’ll need to sleep for several hours. You won’t be able to talk to him, not for quite a while.”

“Maybe I can see him when they take him to his room,” Dawn said in a whisper. “Will you stay with us, or do you have to go back to the crime scene?”

Ella noticed she’d
said “crime scene,” not airport. Dawn had learned the hard way about the demands of her mother’s work. “I’ll stick around for a bit.”

While they waited, Ella noted that Rose sat on the edge
of her chair, never quite leaning back. Herman stood by his wife’s side, scarcely moving, his hand still on her shoulder, a gentle comfort and reminder of his presence.

As the minutes passed, Ella kept checking
back with her team via cell phone. Just as she took another call, Dawn went back to the vending machine for the third time. So far, her daughter had eaten three bags of potato chips and drunk a can of soda. Dawn had a very healthy appetite, but never put on weight. Whatever she took in, she burned off almost as quickly. Ella smiled wistfully, remembering a time when the same had been said about
her. These days she had to work out hard or she’d pack on the pounds.

Hearing the door to the emergency room open behind her, Ella turned and saw a tired, somber-looking, middle-aged doctor in surgical scrubs approaching.

“Investigator Clah?” the Anglo doctor asked, looking directly at her. When she nodded, the man stepped forward. “I’m Dr. Sanderson.”

From his age, Ella guessed he was one
of the few MDs who’d chosen to stay and continue his practice on the Rez.

“I thought you’d want to know that Mr. Tolino has just been taken into the recovery room. He’s stable, his signs are good, and unless there are some unforeseen complications he should fully recover.”

Ella saw her daughter leap into her grandmother’s arms. Reassured by Dawn’s response, Ella focused on the work at hand.
“And the other patient, Adam Lonewolf?”

Dr. Sanderson stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The next twenty-four will be critical for Sergeant Lonewolf. After that, we’ll see where we stand. Head trauma doesn’t always follow a predictable course. I wish I had better news.”

Ella nodded somberly. “I’ll need the slugs and any foreign fragments recovered from the victims as well as their clothing.
I’ll also want to question both men as soon as they regain consciousness. Can you give an idea of when that’ll be?”

“I understand that you’re conducting a criminal investigation, but as I said, Mr. Lonewolf’s condition is far from stable. There’s no way of predicting when, or if, he’ll regain consciousness,” he said. “And head trauma is often accompanied by short- or long-term memory loss.”

As the doctor excused himself and turned away, Ella felt a hand on her shoulder. The unexpected touch made her flinch.

“Easy, Clah, it’s just me,” Special Agent Dwayne Blalock said.

“Dwayne,” Ella said, recognizing the distinctive voice instantly and turning. Throughout the years, she and the tall, athletic FBI agent—nicknamed FB-Eyes because he had one blue and one brown eye—had worked many
cases together. “It’s been one heckuva day.”

“So I hear,” he answered, giving her a crooked smile. “Officer Goodluck called me from the scene so I thought I’d come by and give you a ride when you’re done.”

“Thanks,” Ella said. “Right now I need to check in with my people and see if the van’s been found.”

“Every agency in the Four Corners has picked up on that ATL broadcast, and everyone’s out
looking. Roadblocks have been set up, too, but so far no luck.”

Before she could answer, Dawn came up to her. “
Shimasání
wants to go home, but I want to be here when Dad wakes up. Can I stay with you?”

“That’s not a good idea,” Ella said. “You need to go home and help
Shimasání
. It’s been a scary morning and she may need to rest. Remember that your dad may not wake up for hours. As soon as he
does and is allowed to see visitors, you can come back.”

“But Mom—”

“No. The nurses will call
Shimasání
when your father wakes up, and you can come back then. Sitting in a chair here at the hospital won’t make things go any faster,” Ella said. “I’ll be leaving shortly, too.”

Rose came up to join them. “My granddaughter and I will be fine. We’ll wait here until suppertime, then go home. Go do
whatever you have to, daughter.”

Ella smiled at her mom. Rose was always there whenever Ella needed her. No one knew how old Rose really was, but her mother had boundless energy. As an active member of the Plant Watchers, Rose often went on long nature walks that would have tired even a seasoned hiker.

As Ella’s family left, two Navajo women rushed in and hurried to the front desk. The younger
one was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt and Ella recognized her instantly from a recent newspaper photo. She was Adam’s wife, Marie. The second woman was around Rose’s age and wearing a traditional long skirt and loose-fitting blouse.

The women were followed by an older Navajo man wearing jeans and a western shirt with snaps instead of buttons. He had long hair, a red headband, and boots—the equivalent
of cowboy garb, Indian style. He joined them at the counter.

As Ella glanced over wondering if this would be a good time to introduce herself, the man turned around, spotted her, and approached. He smelled of hay, sheep, and hours of hard work outside.

“You’re the policewoman who was on the same airplane—that nurse said. We came as soon as we could, but we were at our sheep camp in the Chuskas
when the officer tracked us down. It’s a long drive into town,” he said, pushing back a strand of white hair that had worked free from the pony tail at the base of his neck. “My son . . . is he . . .”

Ella realized then that he was Adam Lonewolf’s father. From the way he avoided the use of names, she also surmised he was a Traditionalist. “Your son is fighting for his life, but there’s hope.
He’s young and strong. Your son’s doctor will be able to tell you more.” Seeing Dr. Sanderson coming down the hall, Ella signaled him.

Ella introduced the men, then stepped back as they joined the two women, who’d been watching anxiously.

Dr. Sanderson gave them the same highlights he’d given Ella earlier, then added, “He’s undergoing another procedure right now but, fortunately, he’s holding
his own and that’s a positive sign.”

“We want a
hataalii
to come to the hospital and do a Come-to-Life Sing,” Mr. Lonewolf said.

Ella knew that her brother Clifford specialized in those. As one of the tribe’s most respected
hataaliis
, medicine men, he was often called in to perform the ceremony whenever a Navajo was rendered unconscious. Navajos believed that the living part of a man, his life
spirit, sometimes became separated from the body. When that happened the proper ceremony was needed to restore order and bring about harmony.

Leaving them to work out the details, Ella joined Blalock, who’d gone over to buy two cans of soda. He handed one to Ella without comment. “Thanks,” she mumbled, opening the can with a tug on the ring.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Let me touch base with
the surgeon one last time,” she said, heading toward the doctor, who’d just stepped away from the Lonewolf family.

He met her halfway. “I’ve left instructions for you to be called when either of the men regain consciousness.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

He looked back at the Lonewolf family and shook his head. “I’ve worked here for almost ten years, but I still can’t get used to giving
medicine men access to my patients.”

“Our tribal beliefs matter,” Ella said simply.

“Yes, and to be fair, I’ve seen your medicine men get results I can’t even come close to explaining. But in this particular case, with the chance of infection and complications so
high—” Before he could finish, his pager went off. Excusing himself, he hurried down the hall.

“They always come ready to dismiss
what they don’t understand, and end up finding more than they bargained for,” Ella told Blalock, who’d come up.