Never-ending-snake (27 page)

“It sounds to me like Carl’s getting ready to leave,” Blalock commented from about ten feet to her left. “Do you see O’Riley anywhere?”

“No. Carl may be going to meet him. We need to move fast and take him into custody before he gets to
the highway and can endanger someone else. Where’s SWAT?” She turned and looked up the slope. The sun had set minutes ago and everything was in shadow down in this low spot.

“They were going to give me a buzz when they were within a quarter mile. They’ve got us on their GPS—at least my cell phone. They sure picked one helluva time to be running late.”

“Stay low,” Ella whispered as the house
went dark.
“Carl’s going to be taking a close look around before he comes outside.”

“If he reaches that Jeep, it’s over. He’ll take off and we’re not going to be able to catch him. By the time we get back to the car, he’ll be long gone,” Blalock said.

“So we have to make our move before he gets to the Jeep.”

“Okay, let’s do this. Since it’s my jurisdiction, stay where you are, and cover me,”
Blalock said.

“No, let me do this. I’m closer, faster—and less bulky.”

“All right. Go for it. I’ve got your back,” Blalock whispered.

Ella sprinted to the now-darkened house, crouched low, and as she glanced around the corner, Carl stepped out the door holding something in each hand. He turned in her direction, and she was suddenly blinded by the beam of a powerful flashlight.

Ella ducked
back just before he fired several shots at her. The bullets from his pistol struck the corner inches from her face. Then she heard the front door slam.

“You okay, Clah?” Blalock called out.

“Yeah. His flashlight blinded me for a second, that’s all,” she said, edging around the corner of the house. “He’s back inside, right?”

“Yeah. He screwed up my optics and I didn’t have a shot. Damn nightscope.”
Blalock was at the passenger side of the Jeep now, down on his knees and using the vehicle for cover. “Guess we wait for SWAT.”

“At least we know we have the right guy,” Ella said.

“And he’s not going anywhere,” Blalock answered. “No back door.”

Suddenly the glass on the front window shattered and a burst of bullets erupted from within, striking the front of the Jeep. A few bullets went high
flew across the flats, whining into the distance.

Ella recognized the distinctive whistle of a .223 round. He was using the assault rifle now. She looked over to see if Dwayne had been hit, and saw him turn toward her and shake his head.

Ella considered her options. She couldn’t return fire, the angle was wrong with him still inside and at the far end of the building. The window at the east
end, behind her, was too small to enter or exit, and too high off the ground to give her a shot to the interior.

Stepping to the back corner of the house, she checked the rear. The small window back there was closed, covered by a curtain she couldn’t see through. Returning to the front corner, she looked over at Blalock. He was on one knee beside the passenger-side front tire, protected by the
engine block, his M-16 held at eye level. He gave her a thumbs-up.

Ella crouched low and kept her aim on the front door, grateful she’d settled years ago on a tritium night sight system for her pistol that gave her the edge in low light conditions. But she might not need to fire a shot tonight—SWAT would arrive soon. All they had to do was keep Perry pinned inside.

Suddenly something flew out
the broken window, bounced off the Jeep, then burst into flames. Three seconds later Perry rushed out the door, firing from the hip. Ella returned fire instinctively, aiming at the body mass. Blalock was shooting back as well.

Their enemy fell to the ground, then rolled to a sitting position and swung his assault rifle around in Ella’s direction.

She fired twice in rapid succession aiming at
Perry’s head. Blalock, on his feet now, continued to shoot across the hood of the Jeep. Perry pitched forward, dropping the rifle as he fell on his face.

For a moment Ella remained frozen to the spot, her hand shaking. Then, at long last, she moved her finger away from
the trigger. Taking a breath, she stepped forward, pistol still aimed at the body.

Blalock came around the front of the bullet-riddled
Jeep and studied the burning object Perry had thrown out. “It’s a kerosene lamp,” he said, though no explanation was necessary. The scattered flames leapt off the ground and gave an eerie surrealism to the whole scene.

The awkward angle of the body lying on the ground assured Ella the man was dead. Up close now, she could see a pistol sticking out of his jacket pocket. It was a Beretta Model
92 similar to U.S. Army issue. The assault rifle in the sand was an AR-180B, just as she’d expected.

Blalock crouched, felt the pulse point at Perry’s neck, and cursed. “We needed him alive to find O’Riley and whoever hired both of them.”

“He didn’t give us a choice,” Ella said.

Blalock nodded. “Carl must have known he had to make his move before our backup arrived. I might as well call off
SWAT and get a crime scene team here.”

As Blalock called it in, Ella holstered her gun and brought out two pairs of latex gloves from her jacket pocket. Fumbling to pull them on over still-shaking hands, she stepped past the shot-up front door and switched on the lights.

The kerosene fire on the ground outside was smoldering now but another, acrid scent caught her attention. A ribbon of black
smoke was curling upwards in a corner of the kitchen. Ella soon spotted an odd-shaped object burning on top of one of the burners of the stove.

Rushing over, she grabbed a dish towel and pushed the smoldering mass into the sink, then turned on the water. There was a rush of steam and the fire went out, revealing the melted remains of a smashed cell phone.

Hearing footsteps, she glanced back
and saw Blalock. “He obviously didn’t want his cell phone to fall into our hands,” she said.

“So he knew we were out there, and that he might not get away,” Blalock said in a low, thoughtful voice. “Loyal to the end.”

The entire cottage consisted of the combination living, sleeping, and cooking area, and a small bathroom with a tiny shower. There wasn’t much space to search. While she went through
the cabinets, Blalock looked beneath the bed and found Carl’s food supply—boxes of military surplus MREs. In the wardrobe against the wall were several shirts and pairs of jeans along with underwear and socks, all folded neatly, but no more weapons. The contents suggested that Perry had lived alone.

“The only thing in here is an empty twenty-round .223 magazine. The metal’s bent, which probably
makes the feed unreliable,” Blalock said.

As Ella’s gaze traveled around the small living room, what struck her most was the total absence of personal items. She was about to comment to Blalock when she realized he’d gone back outside and was crouched by the body.

He looked up as she came out. “Assuming he was planning to make a run for it, he would have probably grabbed whatever was most important
to him.” He reached for Perry’s wallet, opened it, and whistled low. “This is some wad of cash.”

“Getting clear prints from bills is nearly impossible,” Ella said. “Maybe the crime scene team will be able to lift other prints inside the house that’ll lead us to whoever paid Perry and O’Riley.”

Blalock removed a worn photo showing two soldiers from the victim’s wallet. “Perry and O’Riley, in
their younger days,” he said.

Less than ten minutes later, the county’s crime scene van arrived.

Time slipped away as the house, Jeep, and the surrounding grounds were swept for evidence. The findings would take even longer to process. Knowing that, Ella glanced at her watch, then at Blalock.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“If ballistics confirms that Perry’s weapon is a match for either
of the guns used in the previous incidents, we should keep that information under wraps. We might be able to use it to our advantage somewhere along the way.”

Blalock considered it, then nodded. “Let me go talk to the crime scene supervisor, then I’ll call Sheriff Taylor.”

“It might also be good to hold off releasing Perry’s identity for the same reason. The public information officer could
say that the name of the deceased is being withheld pending notification of next-of-kin.”

“Good strategy, Clah.”

As Blalock went to talk to the others, Ella touched bases with Justine and asked how the plan to move Kevin was going.

“It’ll happen at around two-thirty a.m. I’ll leave my house driving my pickup, and head over to the hospital. Joe’s going to cover my back and make sure I don’t
pick up a tail.”

“Excellent plan. Have you let Kevin know?”

“Yes, it’s only a matter of telling Rose now.”

“I’ll handle that.” Ella telephoned her mother next, and quickly told her what to expect.

“I think this is the right step, daughter,” Rose said.

“So do I, but I’d like Dawn to spend the night with her friend. That’ll keep her out of the way. Can you arrange that?”

“Getting her over
there to spend the night won’t be possible. She’s not talking to her best friend right now. They had an argument. But I have another idea. I can ask her if she’d be willing to sleep with me and let my husband have her
room just for tonight. I can tell her that I haven’t been able to sleep because he snores so loudly. She wouldn’t question it.”

“Of course not. She knows he snores like a buzz saw,”
Ella said, laughing. “And since she’s such a sound sleeper she’ll never hear her dad arrive.”

Blalock joined her just as Ella hung up. “What are you up to?” he asked.

She told him about Kevin’s move.

“You’re planning to keep Kevin at your place, and you don’t think Ford’s going to find out?” he asked incredulously.

“This has to be a need-to-know only.”

“Your call,” he said, checking his watch.
“It’s close to nine now. Why don’t I drive you home? Maybe you can get at least a few hours of sleep tonight.”

“No, I have a better idea. Let’s go pay Councilman Begaye an impromptu visit. He should be home and tired after a long day of trying to ditch me.”

“I’m game. How do you want to play this?”

“I want him to think that the Prickly Weed Project is now getting Federal attention—from the
Justice Department, not the Department of Agriculture. If there’s something dirty going on, maybe that’ll rattle him, particularly if he’s involved.”

“The county has matters in hand here now, so let’s go,” Blalock said. “I’ve also placed an ATL out on O’Riley, so everyone will be on the lookout for him.”

As they headed back to the reservation, Blalock glanced over at her, then back at the road.
“It’s going to hit you hard later—just as soon as you sit down and get more than three seconds to yourself. And we may never know which of us fired the fatal shot,” he said in a barely audible voice.

“I know. Even if it was a clean shoot, the dead follow us in nightmares we never outrun,” Ella said.

“You’re right, it never gets easier no matter how many years you’ve been carrying the badge,”
Blalock said.

“Our own humanity won’t let us forget.” Ella thought of Dawn, her mother, and Herman. “But knowing that what we do keeps others safe—that’s what ultimately keeps me going.”

“There are lots of people out there who never have to deal with this, Ella. They get up, go to work, come home tired, and sleep easy. Do you ever wish you were one of them?”

“You and I would have died by inches
in a job like that,” Ella said with a rueful smile. “When I get up in the morning I know why I’m bothering to kick the covers aside. What we do carries a price, but it also makes a difference. You and I need more than the length of days to be happy.”

“True,” he admitted.

“What makes us good at what we do is our ability to brush the crap off ourselves and keep going.”

“Or maybe it’s just fear,”
Blalock said. “Without the rules we’ve chosen to follow, we’d push the limits and become the enemy we’re fighting.”

Ella said nothing for a while, just staring at the road in the headlights. “The same rules that bind us also define us. All in all, it’s not a bad trade-off.”