Never-ending-snake (45 page)

Ella brought out her cell phone as she watched Justine, who was on her knees beside Begaye. After a long pause, Justine looked back at her and shook her head.

Ella put away the phone, retrieved her own
weapon, then walked over to the state patrolman, a short, brown-eyed Hispanic who couldn’t have been much over twenty-one. His hands were shaking and she couldn’t blame him. Truth was, she wasn’t far behind him on that score herself.

“You okay, Officer . . . Ramirez?” she asked, reading his name tag. A lot of officers shaved their heads close these days, but all it did for Ella was create the
impression they were rookies. The style belonged to another generation, she decided, suddenly feeling old and tired.

“What did I step into here? I was just pulling in to take a code seven,” he said, his hands tightly gripping the department-issue twelve-gauge pump.

“It’s over now. Time to cool down,” Ella said. She turned to check with her partner, who was examining O’Riley. From Justine’s expression
it was clear there was no need for a rescue unit.

“My crime scene team’s en route,” Taylor said, coming
over as his deputy stopped several tavern patrons who’d come out to gape. “I don’t think we’ll have any problems establishing what went down. It looks like a clean shoot,” he added. “You need some time, Ella?”

She shook her head. “I’m better off busy, working the scene. Later, it’ll hit me.”

“Always does. Feel free to step away anytime. I’m sure the witnesses will confirm what happened. Lethal force was necessary here,” he said.

Ella nodded, and, putting on her gloves, braced herself as she approached O’Riley’s body. Though she thought she’d been prepared, seeing him up close was more than she could take. What was left of his face was an image that would haunt her nightmares for
as long as she lived. She swallowed convulsively, pushing back the burning, acid taste that stung her throat.

“You sure you’re okay?” Taylor asked quietly, coming up beside her.

Ella nodded, then shook her head and ran around the corner of the building to the garbage bins to throw up.

No one commented when she returned to the scene. Every experienced officer there had been through that before—whether
at a TA, mobile home fire, or a shooting. Though she desperately wanted time alone, Ella knew her job was just beginning. The crime scene team was busy, and as Ella drew near, she saw the tech reach into O’Riley’s pocket, pull out the envelope, and count the bills.

“How much?” Ella said, noting that her voice still wasn’t back to normal.

“Two thousand dollars in hundreds, fifties, and twenties,”
she answered after a moment.

Ella nodded and stepped back, letting the techs complete their work. Begaye’s body, a few feet away, was less messy, though he’d been shot at point-blank range in the heart.

Taylor came up and joined her. “You made the right decision taking the head shot. You’d already faced this guy before when he was wearing body armor.”

Overhearing them, the tech by O’Riley’s
body confirmed it, opening O’Riley’s shirt. “Looks like law-enforcement issue—still has a serial number on it. Probably stolen from some officer’s vehicle,” he said.

Leaving them to their work, Ella returned to the tribal unit and wrote the statement she knew Sheriff Taylor would be needing. Justine joined her about ten minutes later, sliding behind the wheel. “I’m guessing Begaye was paying
O’Riley for the Grady hit, and when the state cop showed up, O’Riley thought he’d been ratted out. We already know O’Riley was involved in the airstrip shootings, so it all fits.”

“No, not all. Grady was capped to throw us off, and it looks like Begaye set up that hit. But why shoot Adam when the IFT deal was still up in the air—something Begaye was pushing for? And what does this have to do
with the briefcase of money Adam was carrying?” Ella asked. “We’re still missing some key information.”

“My people have things under control here,” Taylor said as he approached. “I know you want to get rolling, so once you two write up your statements, you can leave. We know where to find you.”

Ella had already finished the paperwork, so after Justine was done they got underway. “It’s past office
hours, but we need to get back to Shiprock and go through everything in Begaye’s office,” Ella said.

As Justine drove, Ella tried to concentrate on the case and block out the image of the man she’d just killed. “I’ve got a theory to run past you, partner,” Ella said.

“Shoot . . . uh, sorry. Go ahead.”

“I keep going back to the money Adam was carrying. Everything we know about him tells us that
he’s a straight arrow. So let’s say he was given that money to deliver to IFT as a
bribe. Maybe it was to the seal the deal with that Williams fellow he seemed to dislike. Then, somewhere along the way, Adam decided that he couldn’t go through with it.”

Justine nodded slowly. “Yeah. That theory fits in with what Adam told Marie about doing the right thing, and the possibility that he might lose
his job. But that still doesn’t answer the big question—
who
gave Adam the money?”

“Begaye? Or maybe it was Adam’s closest tribal contact, Billy Garnenez. We’ve got too many bodies . . . not enough answers.” Taking the job in D.C. working for John Blakely suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“Partner, are you
really
okay?” Justine asked gently.

“For now. I should be able to keep it together
as long as I stay focused on the case. Later . . .”

“Yeah, I know,” Justine murmured, looking down at the missing digit on her right hand. “There are some things that are impossible to forget. We just have to learn to deal with them.”

“Yeah,” Ella answered in a barely audible voice.

An hour later, they were sitting at the video monitors inside the tribal building’s security office. They’d spoken
to the security guard on the evening relief and obtained surveillance camera disks dating back a week prior to the Sunday shooting at the airstrip. Ella was hoping to find evidence of a meeting between Begaye and either of the shooters.

Ella watched the images from the lobby camera, which covered the front interior and the main hallway junction, while Justine, at a second monitor, went through
parking lot surveillance. Although the going was slow and the work tedious, Ella couldn’t face going home despite the late hour.

Taking a break she walked outside, leaving the security chief and Justine to continue. Ella stood a few feet from the side door and took a deep breath. Nightmarish images pushed from the edges of her mind, but with a burst of will, she forced them back. She had to close
this case once and for
all. She’d know no peace until she did. Afterwards, there’d be time to figure out what to do about her life. Working anyplace far from the source of her nightmares was becoming more tempting with each passing hour.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Ella spun around in a crouch, and reached for her weapon.

“Easy, partner,” Justine said quickly.

“Sorry,” Ella muttered. “Still
jumpy, I guess. Did you find something?”

Justine smiled. “Yeah, on the parking lot video. You’re going to want to see this for yourself. It covers the last time Adam met with Begaye and Garnenez before returning to D.C., and matches the schedule Teeny unscrambled for us from Adam’s BlackBerry.”

Ella followed Justine back inside, then stood behind her, watching as the guard ran through the digitally
recorded images time-stamped the day prior to Adam’s last trip to Washington. As she watched, Adam Lonewolf arrived, crossed the parking lot carrying his briefcase, then went inside and out of view. The guard fast-forwarded five minutes, then Begaye arrived.

“Regular speed now,” Justine said.

Begaye climbed out of his luxury sedan, reached for a large paper sack on the seat, then walked inside,
carrying the bag by its two handles.

“Run Alfred crossing the lot again, but slow it down. And can you clear up the picture?” Ella asked.

“Some, but not much,” he warned.

Ella wished the equipment here could have had half the capabilities of the one at the bank, but it wasn’t to be. The guard worked with the screen until, at long last, the image cleared, and, when he paused the frame, Ella
caught a glimpse of the box sticking out of the bag.

“M-O-N-O,” Ella said. “Monopoly.”

“And did you notice the shine—from the plastic wrap?
That’s got to be the board game that had the money hidden inside it,” Justine said. “We probably can’t prove that, but it fits. Begaye passed the money to Adam, and now we know when that took place. Do you think Adam was unaware of what he was carrying?”

“And was he just volunteering to deliver a gift from Alfred to someone in D.C.? Then why bring it back? No, Adam knew,” Ella said. “Later, he either decided to keep the money, or return it to Begaye and blow the whistle, knowing it would probably cost him his job. Considering what we know about Adam, the last option seems most likely.”

As the digital images continued rolling, they saw Adam leave,
again carrying his briefcase. Billy left a few minutes later, but all he was carrying was a small folder and a laptop under one arm. Begaye came out almost an hour afterwards, empty-handed except for a soft drink.

Ella asked the security guard to take a walk and give them some privacy for a while. Once he was out of earshot, she sat back, gathering her thoughts. “Okay, from what we’ve seen and
the timing, we can assume that Adam was slated to deliver that game, and bribe, to someone at IFT. The way the money was packaged was brilliant, too. It made it through airport security—twice.”

“But there’s a flaw in our theory. The bribe was never made, yet the deal still went through. What happened?” Justine asked.

“Either the bribe wasn’t needed, or someone else managed to come up with enough
money to grease the right palms at IFT,” Ella answered. “Remember the discrepancy about when the deal was sealed. That’s the key. We now know that Adam was supposed to deliver the bribe, but he didn’t. Whoever was supposed to be getting that money—most likely Williams—must have complained to Begaye or whoever else was working with the councilman. Then the second payoff attempt was made
after
the
airport shooting. That one
succeeded and that’s when the deal went through. But there’s still another player we haven’t identified. The person who tipped us off today was hoping that things would end badly for O’Riley. He wanted to destroy any trail that might lead back to him. He also knew that even if Begaye wasn’t hurt, he’d be implicated and out of the picture.”

“That plan had a good chance
of succeeding. O’Riley was a loose cannon. It certainly didn’t take much to set him off.”

“And whoever it was knew O’Riley well enough to figure that into the equation,” Ella said. “But there’s also a chance that O’Riley was sent there to kill Begaye, and the patrolman showing up only hastened the inevitable.”

“That’s possible, too.”

The security guard returned and made them a copy of the DVD,
identifying and signing it out to them to maintain the chain of evidence. Once it was in their possession they went out to the parking lot.

“What about Billy? He was also in the building at the same time that the game was given to Adam. Chances are he’s our other player.”

“I know how to find out for sure.” Ella considered it for several moments. “We have reason to believe that the bribe
was
paid—in one form or another. That either required an electronic transfer through a financial institution, which would leave a trail, or a quick trip to D.C., which can also be traced. Go to Blalock’s office. We’ll need his clout now.”

About an hour later, Ella sat across from Blalock’s desk. Justine was pacing.

“Sit down, Justine,” Blalock growled, looking up from his computer terminal. “You’re
driving me crazy.”

Justine sighed, then did as he asked.

“No money was transferred from either Begaye’s or Garnenez’s accounts,” Blalock said. “Neither of them has that
kind of money anyway, not unless they happened to have seventy-five K stashed in their mattresses. My guess is that someone else rounded up that cash, then hurried to D.C. to hand over the replacement bribe right around the time
Adam got back. But who on the Rez would have that much cash lying around?”

“We don’t know that the second amount totaled seventy-five thousand. It might have been a lot less, with a promise of more to come,” Ella said.

“But Dwayne still has a point,” Justine said. “Who around here has that kind of cash?”

Silence stretched out until Ella finally spoke. “Abigail Yellowhair’s home sale—actually
for her cabin—closed the day before we came back from D.C.,” Ella said, remembering what Teeny had told her. “She must have received a fat check.”

“I’ve got some travel records here. Both Alfred Begaye and Abigail Yellowhair flew to D.C. and back around the time you did,” Blalock said. “Begaye left two days before your return, and came back the same day you did, Sunday, only later. Abigail flew
there on Saturday, the day before your return, and came back on Monday morning.”

“Yeah. Her luggage was still in her car when she dropped by the hospital to check on Adam’s condition, remember? I’m going to need a warrant to go through Abigail’s financial records,” Ella said.

“Let me go to my grandfather on this. I think he’ll move quickly for us,” Justine said.

“Go. I’ll stay with Blalock,”
Ella replied.

“Let’s say that we’re right and Abigail’s behind the bribe. Why would she risk
everything
for something like this?” Blalock said, thinking out loud.

“Abigail likes power, and that comes with money. Her funds have been really depleted by her recent business failures, so this might have been a desperate attempt to gain
some lost ground. She’s already sold her high-end home and moved
into a modest three bedroom, and now her cabin is gone—at a loss, according to my source. With her last remaining bundle sunk into the Prickly Weed Project, she couldn’t afford another financial hit.”

“What about Begaye?” Blalock asked. “What’s his role in all this?”