Ghost Medicine (18 page)

“Like you and Big Ed were when you came under fire?”

Ella looked up at him quickly. “How—?”

He held up one hand. “Come on, of course I heard. People know and trust me.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised. Teeny had sources all over the reservation. “Are there any rumors about who may have been responsible for that shooting incident?”

“No, not a peep, and I’ve been pushing,” he said. “Go check out O’Donnell. Greed’s always a motive, and good ole Billy knows a lot of Navajos.” He walked with them to the door. “One last thing. I have it on good authority, via a woman deputy, that he finds ladies who carry a badge a real turn-on.”

Ella rolled her eyes. “Good to know. Thanks.”

As they went back outside, Justine glanced at Ella.
“I’ve met a few guys who are really into women cops, but I’ve never understood the attraction. Is it the idea that they could dominate an authority figure?”

“I’m not sure, but to be fair, plenty of women find the idea of a male police officer a turn-on, too. Maybe it’s the opposite of what you just said—wanting to be dominated by what they consider an alpha personality.”

“I’m no shrink, but
what’s the big deal? If that’s your thing, you can buy a real-enough-looking badge on eBay, pin it on any guy or woman you want, and play around.”

“Role-playing versus the real thing?” Ella laughed. “Our problem is that we deal with the reality of the job on a daily basis. It’s hard to even want to envision a fantasy around something you know so well.”

As they pulled out of Teeny’s compound,
Justine at the wheel, Ella glanced over. “Head for Blalock’s office next. I’ll call him on the way.”

While Justine drove, Ella texted Dan, telling him that she had the names she needed. Right after that, she called Blalock.

Special Agent Blalock answered his phone after the third or fourth ring, then growled his name.

“Is it that bad a day?” Ella asked.

“Computer problems, Clah,” he snapped.
“The thing keeps locking up on me. I’ve rebooted three times today already. It’s making me crazy.”

“Let me guess. You still haven’t hired a new office assistant?”

“Not yet. I’m thinking of leaving that to the next resident agent. You know I’ll be fifty-seven soon, which means mandatory retirement in the FBI. I could apply for a couple of years’ extension, sure, but why postpone the inevitable?”

“So, have you figured out what you’ll do next? Join a security firm? Set up a business?”

“Hell no. I’m ready for a little Dwayne time. I’m going to remodel half of the garage into a train room and build a replica of the Georgetown Loop. That’s an old mining line west of Denver. My grandfather worked as an engineer there. Dad and I would drive up from time to time to see the depot, and Grandpa
would tell me stories about the place.”

“I never realized you were into all that.”

“I love everything to do with the rails, and now I’ll finally have the opportunity to indulge myself. Ruthann is going to help with the construction and scenery.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Ella said, knowing how close Dwayne and his wife were, now that they’d found each other again and remarried.

“But that’s
not why you called. How soon will you be here?”

“Twenty minutes.”

After Ella hung up, she stared out the passenger window for a while, noting how different the landscape was from when she was a kid. Everything was changing. Almost everyone she knew was moving in a new direction.

“What’s up?” Justine asked, looking over.

She told Justine what Blalock had said. “I’ve never had a hobby like that,
something I want to do but just never had the time. My life’s always been centered around my family and police work.”

“You love horseback riding.”

“Yeah, I enjoy that, but a few hours a week is enough for me.”

“Maybe your problem is that you don’t have a grand passion outside your family.”

“Yeah, I do,” Ella said. “It’s investigative work. I like digging for answers, interviewing witnesses,
and trying to get into someone else’s head so I can solve the puzzle. It gives me an incredible sense of accomplishment and it’s one helluva rush.”

“You were born to be a cop, Ella,” Justine said .

“No, you’re wrong,” she said after a beat. “What I love most about our work isn’t necessarily tied to my badge.”

“In that case, I hope O’Donnell doesn’t fantasize too much about you.”

Ella burst
out laughing. “Drive, partner, and keep your mind on the road.”

They soon arrived at Blalock’s office, located in Shiprock on the northern mesa among various tribal agency buildings. He was standing behind the computer terminal, checking connections as they entered the cool, air-conditioned office.

“Can I help?” Justine asked as Blalock looked up.

“If you get this thing to stay up and running,
I’ll adopt you, Officer Goodluck.”

Justine laughed. “Let me take a look.”

“While she’s doing that, I need to talk to you,” Ella said, then sat atop an adjacent empty desk. Though it had been originally intended for a second resident agent, none of the ones who came had ever stayed for more than a few years. This wasn’t the kind of field assignment most young agents wanted, particularly those
intent on climbing that proverbial career ladder.

Ella told Blalock about her conversation with Teeny. “I want to interview Billy O’Donnell regarding possible crimes on the Rez and in county, and you’re the only one here with joint jurisdiction. I need you to be there, Dwayne.”

“No problem.”

“You can try to boot up your network again,” Justine said. “Your ethernet cable has been damaged and
has probably been cutting out. I think it got pinched between the wall and the desktop and the insulation wore off. I straightened out the kink, but you need to replace it or your Internet will be coming and going.”

“Thanks,” Blalock said, then started searching through desk drawers. After a few minutes, he brought out a yellow cable in a plastic bag. “Will this work?”

“That’s the one. Let me
switch out the cables for you,” Justine offered, taking the bag.

A few minutes later, Blalock nodded and sat back in his chair. “Finally. I’ll print out the file I need, then we’ll go.”

They left in two separate vehicles and, forty-five minutes later, pulled into the large asphalt parking lot in front of the Emporium. The front had been designed like an Old West general store, with a false second
story. Facing a major intrastate highway, this was clearly an attempt to appeal to the tourist trade, not just county residents.

Once they were inside, Ella looked around, circling the inside perimeter of the main display area while Blalock introduced himself to the clerk and asked to see the owner. Seeing an open doorway on one side of the hall, Ella positioned herself at an angle so she could
see inside the small room. On a table with a photo-studio-type curtain backdrop rested a Native American clay pot decorated in grays and black. A camera on a tripod, flanked by two lights on stands, was aimed at the object.

Ella stepped into the hallway and took a closer look, trying to recall if there had been any reports at department briefings of museum thefts or pieces stolen from private
collectors. The pot on the table looked really old and genuine, at least to her untrained eye.

As she crossed the hall, a man coming out of the next room saw her. He turned around in a flash and headed toward a door at the opposite end of the hall.

“Stop!” she said. “Police.”

The man doubled his pace.

“Runner! Cover the rear,” Ella called out to Justine.

As the man ran outside, Ella raced
down the hall. Help was already on its way. She could hear Blalock’s heavy footsteps right behind her.

By the time she reached the loading dock, the man had jumped onto ground level and was running toward the far corner of the building.

THIRTEEN

Justine was waiting in ambush. She appeared from around the corner and tripped the man as he cut the corner, knocking him to the ground.

When Ella and Blalock caught up, the suspect was already lying facedown on the ground. Justine handcuffed him and began reading him his rights.

“No tribal cops have jurisdiction here!” he yelled. “This is San Juan County, not a reservation.”

“I’m Special Agent Dwayne Blalock of the FBI, and you’re under arrest for fleeing an officer and possibly theft,” he said. “What’s your name?” he asked as Ella helped Justine haul the thirty-something Anglo to his feet.

“I’m Billy O’Donnell.” He was wearing a Western-cut short-sleeved dress shirt, blue jeans, and a wide leather belt with a big silver and turquoise buckle. His boots looked expensive,
either snake or alligator. “I’m not a thief, I’m the owner of the Emporium.”

“Then why did you run?” Blalock asked. “The lady identified herself as a police officer. We all heard.”

“At the time, I didn’t believe her. I saw three people come into my business carrying guns,” O’Donnell said smoothly. “I thought I’d better take off and call the cops.”

“The phone inside doesn’t work?”

“I had to
get away before I could call, didn’t I?”

“So you fled because you wanted to protect your customers and employees,” Ella said. “That’s your story?”

“You understand me perfectly,” O’Donnell said.

Blalock laughed derisively. “Better than you realize, buddy. Let’s go inside. We need to talk.”

“You have no right to keep me cuffed,” O’Donnell said. “Not unless you’re charging me with something.”

“Evading an officer is at the top of my current list, but we’ll uncuff you,” Blalock said, and gave Justine a nod. “If you try to run, your next stop will be the county jail. You get me?”

“Sure,” he said as the cuffs came off. “My office?”

O’Donnell led the way to a large room at the far end of the building. A beautifully crafted mahogany desk had been carefully positioned opposite a window with
a view of the river valley and mesas rising to the south. Closer to the center of the room was a comfortable-looking brown leather couch and several matching leather easy chairs.

“Nice setup,” Ella said.

“I never settle for second best. You only live once, pretty lady,” he said, giving her a wink.

Ella suppressed the urge to punch him. “Then why risk spending some of that precious time in jail
for dealing in stolen merchandise?”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “I thought I’d settled all that nonsense last month. I admitted using poor judgment buying those laptops at the flea market. I had no idea they were stolen.”

“Forget the laptops. I’m talking about that pottery in the back room, the jug you’re set up to photograph,” Ella said. “Do thieves issue four-color catalogs to
their buyers now?”

“That’s a
private
room. You have a search warrant?” he clipped.

“The door was open, Einstein, and what I saw was from the customer area. If you wanted it to remain private, you should have closed the door. I now have all the probable cause I need,” Ella said. “I’m very familiar with the laws dealing with antiquities. Are you? Give yourself a break and tell us about that artifact.”

“In the spirit of cooperation, I’d be happy to,” O’Donnell said. “I picked up some nice Native American pieces from a roadside vendor near the Rez. Just to be sure, I had a friend in the sheriff’s department check the hot sheets, and they weren’t stolen. I went back as soon as I could, hoping to buy more items, but by then the vendor wasn’t around anymore.”

“Can you give us a name, a description,
anything?”

He shook his head. “Didn’t get a name, and it was strictly a cash transaction. The man was elderly, maybe in his eighties, and said they were pieces he was given when he got married, decades ago.”

“Was he Navajo?” Ella asked.

“Yeah. Well, Indian. I guess he could have been Ute or Apache. I didn’t ask.”

“You really expect us to believe that story?” Blalock said.

“It’s true,” O’Donnell
said.

“Unauthorized digs are illegal. You know that, right?” Ella said.

“So who’s digging?”

“We can charge you with illegal possession of Native American antiquities,” Ella said. “To comply with the law, you’ll have to prove ownership and document the purchase.”

“I didn’t dig them up or steal them,” he said flatly. “You can’t prove I did, either.”

“We don’t have to prove anything other than
the fact that you have them. We can arrest you for possession alone,” Ella said.

“You need permits to have those items in your possession unless you can prove you’ve got Native American blood, or that they weren’t obtained illegally,” Blalock said.

Ella saw O’Donnell squirm and decided to press him harder. “Where were you on Tuesday between, say, twelve and five?”

“Here, mostly, though I did
take off for lunch at one.”

“Was it anyplace where people would remember you?” Ella asked.

“No. I usually have lunch at home and come back at around two. It’s my routine. You can ask Cassie, she’s at the front register. She takes lunch from twelve to one.”

“I’m going to take a closer look at those pottery pieces,” Justine said.

“Go right ahead,” he said, though it hadn’t been a question.

“We’ll need you to come to the sheriff’s department and make a statement,” Blalock said.

“I want my lawyer there with me.”

“Make the call. I’ll wait.”

Leaving Blalock with O’Donnell, Justine and Ella walked back into the room where she’d seen the pottery. “What do you make of this, partner?” Ella asked.

Justine took close-up photos of the clay pot at the center of the table, then walked over
to look at other Native American artifacts on a shelf at the far end of the room.

“These stone corn grinders and ceremonial objects look genuine, Ella. I remember seeing similar pieces at the tribal museum in Window Rock. Look how these have been worn down and weathered. I’m betting they’re older than the ones on display at the museum.” Justine studied the corn grinder. “I’m no expert, but I’d
say most of these are Pueblo or Anasazi in origin. If O’Donnell can’t show proper documentation, or prove that he dug them up on private land
prior
to 1979, when the Archeological Resources Protection Act kicked in, we can arrest him. Dealers aren’t immune from prosecution.”