Never-ending-snake (43 page)

Ella looked up when one of the crime scene investigators shifted the body enough to lift a cell phone from Grady’s pocket.

“What was the last number he dialed?” Ella asked her.

The tech, a small Hispanic woman, checked and read off
the number. “It’s the same number on his last three calls.”

“That’s my cell,” Rudy said from the living room.

Ella nodded absently, and began looking around again, when Sheriff Taylor called her. “I think you’ll want to see
this.” He stepped back, showing her what was inside the office closet.

The first thing that caught her eye was the .223 ArmaLite assault rifle. The model AR-180B appeared
identical to the ones used in the airport attack. There also was a box of ammunition, two twenty-round magazines, and a bullet-resistant vest.

Ella picked up the heavy vest, noting the impact marks and the ceramic plates inserted within. Hearing a light thud, she looked down and saw a smashed bullet on the floor. “I hit whoever was at the airstrip, but he didn’t go down. . . .”

“We’ll check
that and any other rounds we find against those fired from your weapon,” Taylor said. “Do you think Grady got spooked figuring you were getting too close, and decided to end it on his own terms?”

“Not unless he taped, then untaped both his wrists first,” Justine answered from across the room. “In my opinion, the entire scene was staged.”

Ella drew close and studied the victim’s arms, noting
the irritated skin and duct-tape glue that was still stuck to Grady’s arm hair. “You’re right. His hands were bound at some point.”

Sheriff Taylor glanced at Ella and cocked his head toward the door. “What do you say we go talk to his neighbor?”

“Good idea. People who live this close probably know more about each other than anyone realizes,” she said, walking out with him.

“I think having these
four- and five-bedroom McMansions so close together gives the residents the illusion of protection,” Taylor said. “But that’s just this working man’s opinion.”

“A working man who wisely carries a gun. The
illusion
of protection doesn’t carry much weight in our game,” Ella said.

They knocked at the neighbor’s door, and moments later were shown inside by a silver-haired Anglo woman wearing
jeans
and a red UNM Lobo sweatshirt. She led the way to a large leather couch and gestured for them to take a seat. “I’m glad you officers finally got here. I’ve been scared out of my mind since I heard those shots. In fact, I was getting ready to call 911 when that armed security man from the casino drove up in the yellow pickup. He showed me his ID and told me not to worry, that he’d take care of everything.
But you county people took forever to get here.”

“Tell us what happened,” Taylor said.

“About an hour ago I heard what sounded like a backfire from somewhere down the street, but when I looked outside there were no cars anywhere. Then I heard the second bang and realized gunshots were coming from inside one of the houses. That’s when I got scared and called Alan, my closest neighbor. He didn’t
answer. I knew he was home because the tribe had put him on leave, so I went to check on him. There was the sound of a car in the alley, but then the security man from the casino drove up, so I never went to look to see who it was.”

“You sure you heard
two
shots?”

“There were two identical loud sounds.”

“One right after the other?” Ella asked.

“No. I heard one, then about three minutes later,
the second.”

Taylor took the rest of the information, then walked back with Ella to Grady’s home. “The back door was unlocked, so we know how the killer made his escape. Looks to me we’ve got a clear case of murder on our hands.”

“Let’s take a closer look at the crime scene, and see what else we can uncover,” Ella said.

Sheriff Taylor was about her height, and Ella was able to match his strides. “Your medical investigator will have to send the body to OMI headquarters in Albuquerque, and getting answers will take time,” Ella said. “Since the deceased was employed by the tribal casino and the tribe has an interest in this case, we could ask Dr. Roanhorse to take charge.
Then everything would be done here and we’d have answers a lot quicker.”

“That’s fine with me. I’ll call our deputy medical investigator and tell her not to respond.”

“I’ll call Dr. Roanhorse,” Ella said.

After getting the Navajo Tribe’s medical examiner on the second ring, Ella explained what she needed.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Carolyn answered.

“Good,” Ella said. “The county’s
crime scene team is ready to wrap up.”

“Thanks for calling me in on this, Ella. There hasn’t been much to do lately, and I was getting restless. When I’m restless, I eat. I think I’ve put on ten pounds this past month,” Carolyn said.

As far back as Ella had known her, Carolyn had been a large woman, and though keenly aware of all the dire
warnings about obesity, she very simply enjoyed eating
too much to curtail her appetite. The fact that she was a pariah on the Rez, where the dead and anything connected to them were assiduously avoided, undoubtedly was a big part of the problem.

Ella moved closer to one of the crime scene techs, who was speaking into a digital recorder, and listened. “No defensive wounds,” the tech said. “Reddish brown liquid spreading outward from the wound.”

Techs working a crime scene never listed anything as blood. Until it was tested, it remained a “liquid substance.” Ella’s attention was suddenly diverted when another tech reported a new discovery—a second bullet in the sofa cushion.

“Two rounds were fired from the gun found beneath the vic’s hand,” Taylor said, coming up to Ella. “And the serial numbers were filed down on the revolver, which
means it was stolen. If the ME confirms this was murder, not suicide, we can get a forensics expert to try and restore those numbers.”

“Maybe we’ll find latent prints on the weapon, too,” Ella said, though she knew it was a long shot that would require a great deal of luck. Unless the suspect had touched smooth metal, like the slide or barrel, handguns usually weren’t very productive when it
came to latents.

Minutes later, hearing a vehicle arrive, Ella glanced out the closest window and saw Carolyn pulling up in what the tribe’s ME had dubbed the “body bus.” The joke had been lost for most people on the Rez. Nobody liked talking about death.

As Ella watched her longtime friend get out of the van, it struck her how much Carolyn’s split with her husband had aged her. Feeling guilty,
Ella found herself wishing that she’d had more time to spend with her. Carolyn had even fewer close friends on the Rez than she did, but since they both had
extremely demanding jobs, neither of them had much time to socialize.

“Hey,” Ella said, going to greet her.

“Where’s the body?” Carolyn asked, already focused on what lay ahead.

“Inside—still seated at a desk in the first room to the left.
Indications are that the suicide was staged.”

“I’ll let you know,” she replied.

Ella moved aside. Carolyn was in full ME mode. She could hear it in her friend’s voice. Although police work required a strong stomach and steady nerves, Carolyn’s work was on another level entirely. She’d often wondered how Carolyn stayed sane.

While Carolyn worked, Ella watched the techs finish searching the sofa
where the second round had been found. “Will you be using a laser trajectory kit to track the position of the gunman?” Ella asked.

The young woman nodded. “It might also help us establish the sequence of events.”

As she spoke to the tech, Ella had one eye on Carolyn. “I’m going to need to know as soon as possible if the slugs caught by the vest came from my service weapon. My partner will provide
you with comparisons.”

“Good. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something,” the woman said.

While Carolyn worked, Ella made herself useful by helping the county team continue to gather evidence. The back door knob was clean of prints, and was of a type that could easily be “bumped” open by any competent burglar. It was clear how the killer had gained entry. When she returned to the living
room, she saw that Carolyn had already persuaded two sheriff’s deputies to load the body into the van.

“It’s sure easier to get help out here,” Carolyn said as Ella came up.

“From what the crime scene unit has pieced together, it
appears that the victim was shot, then the shooter placed the gun in the vic’s hand and fired off a second round. That way there’d be powder residue on the vic’s hand,”
Ella said as she walked with Carolyn to the van.

“That’ll leave clean patches on the victim’s skin—places where the gunshot residue was blocked by the suspect’s hand. I’ll look for that. With that cheap old revolver, there should be plenty of residue. I’ll let you know my findings as soon as possible,” Carolyn answered.

“You and I . . . We always say we’re going to get together, but our jobs
keep getting in the way,” Ella said.

“I know. That’s why I decided to get a new best friend and roommate.” Seeing Ella’s surprised look, Carolyn laughed. “I’ve adopted a guinea pig. One of the nurses bought it for her daughter, but it created havoc with the kid’s asthma. Anyway, GP and I are perfectly suited. He loves to eat, and will sit on the couch and watch TV with me at night. During the
day when I’m gone he munches on alfalfa and takes his power naps.” She paused. “I’ve decided that in my next life I’m coming back as a guinea pig.”

“Just make sure to stay in
this
country. They’re dinner in some others.”

Carolyn laughed. “Call me later and I’ll have some prelims for you.”

As Carolyn drove off, Sheriff Taylor joined Ella. “We’re dealing with murder, so I’m going to need whatever
you have that pertains to the vic.”

She nodded. “You’ll have it as soon as I do. If I’m right, the primary suspect’s on your turf. My hunch is that O’Riley’s our man and that he planted the ArmaLite and the other items here to try and confuse the evidence,” she said, giving him the pertinent details. “I think Grady’s death was nothing more than another attempt to misdirect our investigation.
Whoever’s pulling O’Riley’s strings wants me to believe that Grady was the other shooter at the airstrip.”

“Send your ballistics data on the rounds from the airport shooting to our crime lab and we’ll see if anything matches the .223 in the closet,” Taylor asked.

“I’ll have Justine get on that, but my guess is we’ll get a hit. That’s all part of the gunman’s plan.”

“What makes you so sure Grady
wasn’t involved in the shooting at the airstrip? The shooters wore masks, correct?”

“Yes, but Grady is too short, and besides, we’ve checked out Grady’s alibi. The man was in his office at the critical time. Several people at his workplace confirm that he was there, though it was Sunday, and surveillance images for that time period verify it.”

“He still might have hired O’Riley and Perry. And
now that Perry’s dead, maybe his partner decided to eliminate the only loose end that can point to him,” Taylor suggested.

“It’s possible, I suppose, but my gut tells me that the casino theory is taking us in the wrong direction,” Ella said. “And with that, I’d better get going.”

A short time later Ella and Justine were on their way back to the reservation. Justine seemed upset and Ella noticed
it almost immediately.

“What’s up? Did you have a disagreement with one of the locals on the scene?” Ella asked.

“No, it’s not that. Abigail Yellowhair called. She wants to fund a public memorial service for Adam Lonewolf, and won’t take no for an answer. She really leaned on me for a contribution, but I told her I wanted to spend my money helping the family once they returned from seclusion.”

“Any idea why she’s being so pushy about this all of a sudden?”

“No, not a clue,” Justine said, “though she’s paid a special interest in this from the beginning. Remember her showing up at the hospital, obviously going there directly from whatever
business trip she’d just made? Her carry-on was still in the car.”

“I remember her asking if Adam was still alive.” Playing a hunch, Ella called Marianna
Talk next. “Give me a twenty on Norm Hattery,” she said, asking for a location.

“I’ve stayed with him for most of my shift. He met with Jaime Beyale for about fifteen minutes, then closed himself off in his motel room—alone. That’s where he’s been for the last few hours.”

“Stay with him,” Ella said, then after hanging up, glanced back at Justine. “I’d love to be able to assume that he’s taking
a nap, but that doesn’t sound like a man trying to land a network news job.”

“A couple of hours. . . .” Justine mulled it over. “If the motel has Internet service, my guess is that he’s updating the station’s Web news or blogging on his Web site. Probably both.”

“Terrific,” Ella snapped. “More trouble. I can feel it in my bones.”

They arrived at the station ten minutes later, and Ella accompanied
Justine to her office. The lab’s computer was the fastest available. “I want to see everything Hattery’s showing online: video, photos, blogs, whatever,” Ella said.