Coyote's Wife (5 page)

Only on the Rez could a telephone be considered a luxury. Then again, when there wasn’t enough food to feed a family, or ways to keep warm in winter, priorities
shifted.

Ella stepped into the room and saw another familiar face—Abigail Yellowhair. The late State Senator James Yellowhair’s wife had become quite a power by her own right. Abigail had a real Midas touch when it came to business. Once the scandals surrounding her husband had died down, she’d turned most of her husband’s marginal business ventures into profitable ones.

From what she’d heard,
Abigail was one of StarTalk’s major investors. That had earned her the title of vice president, which she shared with her daughter, Barbara—Ervin’s wife. Abigail was careful, conservative, and as smart as they came. Although she’d helped the PD out on a few occasions before, Ella’s own experiences with Abigail Yellowhair
weren’t all positive. There was an almost instinctive distrust between them
that had been there for as far back as Ella could remember.

Calvin Bidtah, wearing a large silver concha belt and his best turquoise and silver bolo tie over his western-style shirt and jeans, rose from his chair and walked to the podium. He cleared his throat, then led the group in the pledge of allegiance and then a Navajo prayer.

After that, the meeting began. Two pending issues involving
disputes between neighbors about grazing rights were addressed first. The discussion, which turned into arguments, went back and forth. Finally, the matter was settled.

At long last it was time for the item on the main agenda. Ervin Benally rose from his seat in the front row and walked to the podium. He hooked a portable microphone to his shirt, then stepped away, no notes in hand. Ella knew
right then that either the man was thoroughly prepared, or destined for deep water.

“Most of you know me and my family,” he said, waving his arm back toward the chairs behind him where Abigail Yellowhair sat beside Barbara. “We’ve been working hard for over a year to bring you a service that will make things better for everyone on the Navajo Nation. As it is right now, only forty percent of The
People have telephones. We can change that. Through our inexpensive satellite phone system, which will be subsidized by the tribe to make certain every household can afford to participate, we can finally stay in direct contact with our families, neighbors, and emergency services.”

Though Ervin was small in stature, he was a dynamic, charismatic man who commanded everyone’s attention with just
one look. Slender and boyish in the face, he was like a hummingbird in a flower garden, all energy and movement.
Everyone focused on him as he walked back and forth, full of gestures and animated expressions.

Ella was reminded of the old school evangelists—much like her father—who took instant control of a crowd and held them spellbound with just the force of their personalities. Though as a
speaker Ervin would have still come in a distant second to her father, he was a beacon of confidence—a leader who could make things happen. Barely thirty years old, he was
The
visible force behind StarTalk. Ella hoped that the product would match the presentation, because Ervin was certainly coming across well.

Ella listened to Ervin explain the technical details behind StarTalk. The satellite
phones would be able to interface with any other phone—cell or landline—and were licensed to communicate through Low Earth Orbit satellites already in place. It sounded like a very practical solution. At long last, they’d have an effective phone system that would require very little infrastructure.

“Almost sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it?” she heard someone whisper in her ear.

As she
turned her head, she bumped her nose against a chest of gargantuan proportions. Teeny, as Bruce Little was known to his closest friends, stood a step behind her. Teeny resembled a ceiling-high rain barrel with arms. At close to seven feet tall, he commanded respect simply by entering a room.

“What do you think of all this?” Ella whispered, knowing his expertise in electronics was second to none.

“I’ve looked into the details. If he can pull it off, it’s going to work to everyone’s advantage.”

If it hadn’t been for budget cuts and management decisions made at Tribal Council levels, Teeny would have never left the police department a few years ago. Yet, in retrospect, leaving the P.D. had been a very lucrative step in Bruce Little’s
career. These days, as a security and IT consultant,
Teeny earned far more than he ever would have on the force.

“Service crews will take care of any equipment problems. These people are being trained as we speak. All are Navajo,” he continued in a whisper. “StarTalk doesn’t require cell towers or transmission lines that’ll interfere with our holy sites either, so that’s a big plus. Their biggest problem will be educating the users and distributing
the units.”

Ella listened as Ervin went into details about a portable, solar-powered charging system for those many Navajo homes without electricity. “Is it workable for the department?” she whispered to Teeny. “I know he’s making it sound good, but I have to report to Big Ed. He’s going to want more than the PR slant we’re getting here tonight.”

“You’ll have to go outside to use it—a direct
line between antenna and satellite is needed—but it’ll be as reliable as you can get,” Teeny answered.

By then, Ervin had finished his presentation and people began asking questions. Not everyone present welcomed StarTalk, and the murmurs and anger from some of those attending made that very clear. Yet Ervin seemed to take the opposition in stride, countering their arguments smoothly and persuasively.

At long last, with no more questions, Ervin thanked everyone at the gathering, but before he could finish, a loud shout came from just outside the door.

“Hey, I said stop that!” a man yelled again.

Ella heard a curse and then the sound of breaking glass. Police instincts rising to the surface, she raced out the side door, Teeny at her heels.

Outside, Ella caught the fumes of fresh paint about
the same time she realized some of the windows on the white StarTalk vehicle were smashed out. Two figures were crouched by the side of Ervin’s SUV, wearing ski masks over their
faces. One, holding a wrecking bar, was warding off elderly Mr. Nez, or
Hosteen
Nez.

“Police! Don’t move!” Ella shouted, knowing that the chances of that happening were slim to none.

The men broke into a run instantly,
scattering in two directions as they sprinted across the parking lot.

“I got the one on the right,” Ella said, seeing Sergeant Neskahi right behind her. Without looking, she knew Teeny was either helping Neskahi, or had gone to his truck to give chase.

Ella passed
Hosteen
Nez, who was cursing angrily at the fleeing figures, shaking a clenched fist. She moved effortlessly in the limestone gravel,
trying to keep the fleeing suspect in sight as he passed between an old pickup and a sedan two rows farther ahead.

Running was one of the things Ella did best. She wasn’t really a sprinter, but no one could touch her when it came to endurance. Unless the guy got to his vehicle in a hurry, she’d catch up to him. It was inevitable.

The man left the parking lot, racing across the main highway at
the intersection without a glance for traffic. Running out of steam, he continued at a fast jog up the side street, which was lined with parked cars and trucks, an overflow from the chapter house meeting.

Ella increased her pace, closing in on him. Though focused mostly on the running target, Ella caught a glimpse of someone inside an SUV parked just ahead. She slowed, not knowing if the driver
had seen her coming. Suddenly the vehicle roared to life and pulled out in her path, headlights on bright, blinding her.

“Look out!” Ella yelled, moving to the right, but the SUV turned, too, still heading straight at her.

“Crap!” Feinting right, Ella leaped to the left instead, sliding across the hood of a parked sedan. There was a thud
as she careened off the vehicle, falling to the sidewalk
hands first. She scraped both her palms, rolled, then slid into some old goathead vines in the dirt beyond. She ended up on her belly, like a baseball player trying to avoid the tag. The closest base, however, was the post of a mailbox three feet away.

Trying to ignore the stickers she felt in her thighs and arms, Ella brushed herself off as she scrambled to her feet, looking around for the SUV
and suspect. Her pistol was still in its holster, but the grip was probably badly scuffed. Hopefully, the cell phone in her pocket wasn’t crushed.

Hearing a car door, she saw the man she’d been chasing dive into the SUV. The driver sped down the highway, slid to a stop long enough to pick up the second vandal, then raced off again. Neskahi, chasing them down the highway on foot, wasn’t close
enough to intervene. The vehicle quickly disappeared, the taillights fading as they headed east out of town.

With squealing tires, Teeny suddenly appeared at the intersection in his pickup, racing out from the chapter house lot. Neskahi pointed east, and Teeny took off, leaving tread marks as he hit the gas, his powerful truck fishtailing slightly on the asphalt.

Ella smiled. They’d never get
away.

Her momentary satisfaction vanished in an instant as an old pickup suddenly pulled out from the diner just a hundred yards farther down the road. Teeny had to stand on the brakes, his truck sliding to within inches of the other pickup before coming to a stop.

Ella’s heart jumped to her throat as she saw that the driver of the old pickup was Mrs. Yazzie, one of her mother’s Plant Watcher
friends. The woman made Rose look young by comparison.

As Ella hurried toward them, she could hear Mrs. Yazzie shouting Navajo obscenities at Teeny through her open driver’s side window.

Neskahi joined Ella, handheld radio in hand, and fell into step beside her as they jogged forward. “I called Dispatch, hoping an officer between here and the Rez line could intercept the SUV, but no such luck.
They’ve notified the sheriff’s department, asking them to keep an eye out.”

“That’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try. At least Bruce got lucky. I thought he was going to t-bone that pickup for sure,” Ella said.

“Me, too,” Neskahi said. “The old lady pulled right out into traffic—never even looked!”

Ella had intended to try and calm Mrs. Yazzie, but before she could get there, Teeny was already
out of his truck, talking to her. Teeny could intimidate almost anyone but, amazingly enough, he could also charm people when he so chose, much like an oversized teddy bear. By the time Ella reached them, Teeny had put a smile on Mrs. Yazzie’s face.

Teeny stepped out into the highway, held up his hand to stop a car coming from the east, then motioned the elderly woman to proceed. Mrs. Yazzie
drove past Ella and Neskahi, waved, then made a sharp left and entered the chapter house lot.

“I know her. She cleans up after chapter house meetings, can you believe it?” Joe said. “She can barely see—and heaven knows she can’t drive—but she keeps the place spotless.”

Ella and Neskahi joined Teeny, who’d pulled his truck off onto the shoulder. “Did either of you get a good enough look at the
driver to be able to identify him?” Ella asked.

“All I saw was the back of his mask. And there were no plates on the SUV,” Teeny said.

Ella looked at Joe, who shook his head. “I can describe their clothing and size. My guy looked a little thinner than the other runner. That’s it, except for the color of their ski masks.”

“Then let’s go see what kind of evidence we can find back at the scene.
Maybe we can get some prints or some other trace evidence.”

As Ella reached the parking lot adjacent to the chapter house, she saw people milling around Ervin’s white vehicle. Getting closer, she noticed that the vandals had crossed out the sign painted on the driver’s side door with a big, sprayed on red x. Above it was a crudely sprayed word—StarCrock. In addition to that damage, the windshield
had been shattered, probably with a jab from the wrecking bar. Unfortunately for forensics, that tool was now in the hands of
Hosteen
Nez.

Dozens of people, among them the StarTalk guests, were outside watching as she and Neskahi came up. Turning to Neskahi, Ella said, “Joe, you’ve got charge of the scene if you want it. I can give you my statement in the morning before you file a report.”

“No problem,” Neskahi replied.

As Ella approached, Ervin was examining the damage and his wife was on her cell phone. Abigail Yellowhair stepped forward to meet her and Neskahi and, from the expression on her face, Ella knew to expect a challenge.

“They got away, right? As usual, the police department’s response is too little, too late,” Abigail said.

Ella could see that Abigail was furious
and wanted a public confrontation. Determined not to give it to her, Ella stepped over and smiled at
Hosteen
Nez. “Uncle, would you set that down, please? The sergeant might want to check it for fingerprints.”

Nez smiled apologetically, then set the wrecking bar on the curb and stepped back.

“At least tell us what you intend to do about this,” Abigail demanded.

“It’ll go down as an expensive
act of vandalism, plus a
few other charges,” Ella said. “Right now, we’re going to try to get a complete description of the suspects and gather evidence. We’d appreciate
everyone’s
cooperation and understanding, so will everyone who’s not a police officer stand back for a moment?” she added, addressing the crowd.

“You were chasing them. Don’t tell me that you didn’t get close enough to take a
look at them,” Abigail demanded, her voice rising another octave.

“Two officers and a former officer gave chase, but all we have are general descriptions of size and type of clothing—plus a vehicle make and color. Perhaps you’ve heard
Hosteen
Nez mention that they
were
wearing masks?” Ella said in a voice completely devoid of emotion. She would
not
allow Abigail to get to her.

Nez nodded. “They
certainly were, the cowards!”