Mourning Dove (34 page)

Ella gave him a gentle smile. “I think it’s terrific, Teeny. And I understand exactly how you feel. I don’t want to bring another person into my life.
It’s complicated enough as is. But, without someone, it can get . . .” she paused, fumbling for the right word.

“Lonely?”

“Yeah—but it’s a special kind of loneliness. I have a lot of people in my life, so I’m seldom alone. But there’s a corner of your heart that stays empty when you’re not in love. After a while, that emptiness becomes a part of you,” she said, then added, “Eventually, you start
to wonder if you even know how to fill it anymore.”

Teeny nodded somberly. “I hear you. You teach yourself not to care too deeply because, if you do, someone can come along and cut your heart out. Then, after a while, you take the easy route and stop letting anyone get close.”

“Yeah, like that,” Ella said.

“Jayne reminds me of all the things life’s taught me to forget.” He paused then added,
“Is that how you feel about the Reverend . . . Tome, not Campbell.”

Ella laughed out loud. “At the moment, the most I can say about Ford is that he interests me, and I’m starting to enjoy his company.”

“He’s got to be less boring than most of the . . . generic . . . men in your life,” he said with a grin.

Although he hadn’t said so, Ella knew he meant Kevin. To Teeny, and many current and former
police officers, five minutes with an attorney was four and a half minutes too long. “Ford intrigues me, I’ll admit that. But as for anything else coming of it . . .” she said and shrugged. “Who knows? You can like the first part of a movie, but it’s the last reel that sells you one way or the other.”

“Just watch your step with that guy, Ella. Something about his background is . . . off-center.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Ella stood up. “I’d better be on my way. I’ve got to check in with my people and see what we’ve got that’s new and will move the case forward. Looks like I won’t be going home again tonight.”

She’d nearly made it back to the cruiser when her cell phone rang. It was Blalock. “I’ve got some interesting news for you. ATF processed the weapons they confiscated at the raid last
night. Apparently some of them still have traces of U.S.-military-type solvents—formulations that meet the military’s specifications and are used by field units. Stuff from the motor pool.”

“Ben Richardson,” she said almost immediately. “He said something to the effect that he had to keep everything clean so it would run.”

“Funny you should mention him. I checked the customer list of that gun
shop we raided. Turns out Ben Richardson was one of their more frequent customers before shipping overseas. He always paid cash, according to the books. Richardson also bought an expensive rifle after he got back.”

“The CID man, Neil Carson, is staking out Richardson’s place. I’m going to check in with him.”

“Keep me posted. If anything goes down, I want in.”

Working on little sleep came easily
to her, and Ella was completely alert when she met up with Carson a half hour later in Farmington. The soldier was still in his vehicle, keeping a low profile. After alerting him of her presence by making a pass around the block, Ella came down the sidewalk and slipped into the passenger’s seat noiselessly.

Carson looked as if he hadn’t moved a muscle. After a stakeout of this length, she and
Justine would have been squirrelly, praying for some action. But Carson appeared alert, yet at ease, despite the tedious wait.

“Do you need to take a break?” Ella asked, noting there was no sign of a coffee mug or thermos bottle. Too much coffee on a stakeout could create all kinds of problems, she knew from experience.

“No, my job’s here. I can stick it out as long as it takes.”

“He still
hasn’t come home?” Ella asked.

“No. He doesn’t have a girlfriend—at least not a regular. I checked into his activities before I ever got into town, so I expect
he’ll show after he’s done playing poker and drinking with his buddies.”

Ella was impressed that Carson knew of Richardson’s schedule. She quickly updated him on the discovery of Jimmy Black-sheep’s rental, the body inside, and the news
that Richardson had done business with the gun shop.

“It’s possible that Jimmy Blacksheep’s killers know we found that rental,” Ella said. “If Richardson was part of that operation, he may be running scared.”

“Maybe, but he hasn’t bolted yet.”

“How do you know?”

Carson cocked his head at the rearview mirror and Ella saw approaching headlights.

The car pulled into the driveway and they both
saw Richardson get out. He was alone, and didn’t appear to have drunk enough for the booze to affect his stride.

“We can go in together now and question him,” Carson said.

“How about a change of tactics?” Ella suggested. “We’ve given him and the others something to worry about. If he’s got any evidence in that house, he’s going to try and get rid of it fast. The type of things we’re looking
for—guns, ammunition, metal preservatives, solvents—aren’t easily disposable. He can’t flush the solvent down the drain without eating up his pipes or leaving chemical traces, for example, and the guns are too hot to market now. So I’m betting he’ll try to move the stuff, maybe bury it someplace, and I’d like to catch him doing that. Since night’s the perfect time for sneaking around, we might get
lucky.”

“We’ll give him a few minutes to settle in, then I’m moving up close and taking a look inside,” he said.

“Sounds good. Just remember he’s probably well armed. Don’t get yourself shot.”

Carson brought out a low-light scope and started to watch the house. Ella called Blalock, but before she even finished, Carson called her attention to the side door. “Something’s happening.”

H
ang on, Dwayne,” Ella said, setting the phone down. Carson handed her the light-intensifying device and she looked where the CID man was pointing.

“He’s got a post-hole digger,” she noted, handing the scope back to Carson. As they watched, Richardson went to the alley behind his home, walked several feet, then began to dig in the hard ground. It was obvious
he was working slowly to avoid making excessive noise.

“We don’t have anything yet. Let him work,” Carson said. “Let’s see what he’s going to put in there. My guess is he’s not digging for fishing worms.”

“Agreed,” Ella said, then updated Blalock, who assured her he was on his way over, already in the neighborhood.

Ella glanced over at Carson. “Agent Blalock’s going to join us soon,” she said.
“He’s been working the carjacking case with us.”

“I know who he is,” Carson said, then gestured ahead. “Looks like Richardson’s made good progress since he got past the hard surface.”

There was a mound of dirt beside the hole. Richardson set the post-hole digger down, looked around the alley, then went back into his home. A few minutes later, Richardson came out the door
struggling with the
weight of two large metal containers. He placed one down, carried the remaining container over by the hole, then pried the lid off.

“We have to stop him before he dumps what he’s got into those holes,” Ella whispered.

“It could be anything. What if it’s cooking oil?” he countered.

“Covert lard dumping after midnight?”

“You’re right. Let’s go.” Carson was out of the vehicle in a heartbeat.

Ella bolted after the CID man, but before they got within fifty feet of Richardson, he looked up, saw them coming, and sprinted toward his home. Carson suddenly shot forward with incredible speed and intercepted him. By the time Ella caught up, Carson already had Richardson on the ground, facedown.

Hearing footsteps rushing up behind her, Ella spun around, reaching for her pistol at the same time.
She relaxed a second later, seeing Blalock hurrying toward them, out of breath.

“Carson, you’re in great shape,” Blalock commented. “I didn’t think anyone could cover that distance so fast.”

“When was the last time you had to advance under enemy fire, FB-Eyes?” Carson said, hauling Richardson to his feet after Ella cuffed him.

“Was that yesterday, or the day before, Ella?” Blalock shot back,
glancing at her.

“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.” Carson almost smiled.

Blalock pried off the lid on the closest container, then jerked back after taking a sniff.

“It’s just parts-cleaning solvent I’d had sitting around for too long. I wasn’t sure how to dispose of it, okay?” Richardson said. “I ran because you were coming at me in the dark. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

Blalock stared at
him, expressionless. “So what do you think—would an analysis of this stuff detect gunpowder residue and oils manufactured in places like, say, Iraq?”

“Even if it did, that wouldn’t prove anything,” Richardson argued.

“It would if some of that solvent formula turned out to be current U.S. Army issue—the same stuff used by your unit in Iraq. The military has its own specs, different than commercial
stuff.”

“Let’s search his garage,” Ella suggested.

“I have rights. You need a search warrant for that,” Richardson countered.

“Yeah, you’re right. Good thing that these days I can get one over the phone, search now, then show the paperwork to you later,” Blalock said.

“Of course, you might consider cooperating,” Ella said. “If you give us enough, you might be able to avoid the death penalty,
or a thirty-year prison vacation. But if you plan on helping us out, you’d better do that before we go search the garage.”

He said nothing for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell you what I know—which isn’t much, by the way. All I did was follow orders.”

“From whom?” Carson snapped.

“Jimmy. Jimmy Blacksheep. He’d tell me where to pick up the weapons. They’d be in storage
containers and ammo boxes stashed around our company’s base, usually field stripped to save space. I don’t know how they got shipped back to the States. After I got back home I was contacted via e-mail and told where to make the pickups. My job was to clean and reassemble the weapons and grind down some of the serial numbers and markings.”

“Who’s e-mailing you?” Ella asked. “It couldn’t have
been Jimmy. They don’t have computers where he’s at now.”

“Don’t know. Don’t want to know. Didn’t ask,” Richardson said. “That’s what got Jimmy dead—he asked too many questions. I didn’t want to end up like him.”

“How many people in your company are involved?” Carson asked bruskly. “Or was it just your platoon?”

“Man, you deaf? I said I don’t know, and I didn’t want to
know. I suppose it has
to be people in our unit who live in this area. But I don’t know who.”

Ella looked at him for a long time. “A Navajo man was killed on the Navajo Nation. We have evidence that links you to that event, and that means the crime falls under our jurisdiction and the FBI’s. The Army will be all over you as well. From where I stand, Ben, your future doesn’t look so hot. So we’re going to take you to
jail, and on the way, you might want to think of new and inventive ways to cooperate. Life, as you’ve known it, is now over.”

Blalock and Carson pulled an all-nighter questioning Richardson, who was locked up in Shiprock to keep him away from the Farmington officers in his Guard unit. Ella quit sometime after five in the morning, too tired to even think, and went home, desperate for a few hours
of sleep.

Shortly after nine in the morning, sounds of life right outside her window forced her awake. Although her daughter was trying to be quiet, Dawn loved Rose’s old mutt. Two loved her as well, and, between his occasional barks and her giggles, on top of the pony’s whinnies, Ella realized that additional sleep was not in the cards this morning.

With a martyred groan, she got out of bed,
showered, and dressed, ready for a quick breakfast. After that, she’d have to go back to the station. More than anything she wished she could have taken the weekend off. She really needed time to spend with her daughter, particularly with Kevin vying for additional custody. But the investigation was approaching a critical stage and she had to wrap up the case before the Army took away her remaining
suspects.

About twenty minutes later, Ella walked outside, a half-eaten breakfast burrito in her hand. Seeing her, Dawn came running over.

“Mom, can I spend the night at Daddy’s? He said I could.”

“Why do you want to go over there?”

“The new bed! It’s really cool. And he said I could ask Beth Ann over.”

“Whoa. Slow down. The bed? What bed?”

“It’s a bunk bed, Mom! Daddy bought it so I can
ask my friends to sleep over anytime I want. And he said that this weekend I could get a puppy, too! He would keep it at his house, so Two wouldn’t get jealous.”

In a supreme act of willpower, Ella forced herself to take a deep breath. “You and I agreed weeks ago that I’d buy the bunk bed you wanted
if
you raised your English grade on your next report card.”

Dawn looked down at her shoes. “Daddy
said it was okay, because it would be at his house, not here. And my grades
have
come up! But my next report card won’t be out for weeks!”