Grave Consequences (30 page)

“Guess I'll find out,” she whispered back. “You guys give me some cover.”

Gordon came up behind and tapped her on the shoulder, then took a position where he could watch beyond Charlie's field of view. Charlie covered the right side of the room.

Nancy moved into the room quickly, at a crouch, stopping at the near end of the island. She looked to either side, shook her head, then raced toward a big wooden table and chairs in a dining nook. As she moved, she kept her weapon aimed at the blind spot at the far end of the island. She took a position at the interior corner of the nook and nodded toward Gordon. He slipped in and looped around the kitchen side of the island, covering the patio door area. Charlie followed, stopping at the close end of the island.

From where he was now, Charlie could survey the entire space. Along the front of the house was a long, wide hallway, with the main entrance door halfway down on the left. Across from that entrance were stairs leading up. Way over to his right at the back of the building was another hallway, but from his angle he couldn't see what lay beyond.

“Charlie, stay here and cover the stairs and the hall to your right in case she tries to come up behind us or circle around and make for the patio,” Nancy whispered. “Gordon and I will head down the hall on my side and clear the ground floor.”

“Copy.” Charlie nodded, aiming his Beretta at the hall to his right. Once they were around the far corner, he could safely risk shooting in that direction, if necessary.

Gordon and Nancy worked their way down the street-side hall, bypassing the stairs leading up for the moment. They disappeared around the far corner of the passage. Now Charlie had both directions to cover, looking back and forth, but keeping his weapon aimed at the hall to his right.

A few minutes later, Nancy came into view from the patio-side hall, having circled the ground floor.

She hurried over to join him. “Like I thought, the hall goes all the way around,” she whispered. “We cleared the ground-floor rooms and couldn't find any sign of her. I just passed a duplicate set of stairs leading up, and Gordon is watching them now. There isn't any sign of a basement and she didn't go out any windows, so she's got to be up on the second floor somewhere—unless there's also an attic.”

Charlie nodded as they moved toward the set of stairs opposite the front entrance. “We'll have to root her out,” he said softly. “She'll either open fire while we're coming up, or try to slip down the back stairs.”

“And meet up with Gordon,” Nancy replied. “You want to wait for SWAT?”

“And give her more time to up-gun or set up a trap? I'm guessing she's going to shoot it out,” Charlie responded. “I'd like to take her alive, if possible, and maybe have the chance to get a few more answers. The feds would probably appreciate that as well. But it's your call. Either way, I've got your back.”

“Then let's roll, Charlie. We've taken enough crap from this bitch.”

“You still recording this?” He grinned, taking a covering position so she could move up the steps. There was a landing halfway up, then the stairs reversed direction.

“Hell no,” she whispered harshly, looking down at the small camera just to make sure it really was turned off.

Nancy kept her service pistol aimed up the stairwell as she took a quick look. Satisfied, she inched up the steps, hugging the wall, pistol directed toward the top. Charlie followed, covering any potential hiding place. She was almost to the first landing when something heavy rolled and thumped down the stairs, landing right in front of her on the platform.

“Grenade!” Charlie yelled.

“Get down,” Nancy pushed him back, then dove down onto the device.

Cursing, Charlie flattened as best he could, covering his head with his arms.

A few seconds went by before there was a muffled bang, then a quick gunshot from somewhere higher up, on the opposite side of the house. Charlie flinched, then looked up at Nancy. She raised up onto her elbows and stared down at the grenade with eyes as big as a horse's. There was a gray smudge on the front of her jacket. She sat up quickly and patted at the smudge, which was smoking slightly.

Charlie stood, looked at the round M-67 grenade, then cursed. “Pin's out, no spoon. It's a practice grenade, a damned diversion.”

Then he remembered the gunshot. He raced past Nancy, then stopped at the open doorway at the top of the stairs and peeked around the corner. Ahead was a narrow passage that led to a central hallway that branched toward opposite ends of the house. The other stairwell was somewhere to his right or left, branching off a room or landing down that hall.

Charlie moved quickly forward, and at the junction looked left. There were two closed doors facing the hall on either side, which ended at a wall. Checking to the right down that passage, he saw another set of doors, on opposite sides of the hall, like before. The first door on his left was open.
That must lead to the other set of stairs,
he deduced, advancing carefully.

He could hear someone breathing through that open doorway, so he proceeded as quietly as possible. The floor was oak, highly polished, but didn't creak at all despite his weight. Reaching the doorjamb, he crouched low and glanced inside. There was another open door on the opposite wall, and beyond a small landing and the other set of stairs leading down. Just inside the room from that entrance he saw a smear of blood on the hardwood floor. It formed a faint, darkening red trail that led around the foot of the bed, which was positioned along the right-hand wall. It didn't take any brain power to deduce that Sheila had been shot and was now hiding behind the bed. The bed was high off the floor, and he could see some of the bare floor beneath it.

A dangerous idea suddenly came into his head, and it might just work. After a quick check on the position of the dresser mirror, seeing it wouldn't ruin his plan, Charlie came into the room, walked up within ten feet of the bed, then turned away, his back toward where he thought Sheila was hiding. From her position on the floor beside the bed, she could easily see his feet—facing away from the bed.

Keeping his feet and legs still, he turned around as much as he could from waist up, looking back toward the bed, with his pistol up, over his left shoulder, aiming backward. It was awkward, but if she was watching … Taking a deep breath, he decided to go for it.

“Gordon! Where'd she go?” he said clearly.

Sheila rose to her knees, intending on shooting him in the back, then realized she'd been tricked. “Oh shit!” she gasped just as Charlie fired, striking her in the gun-hand shoulder. Sheila screamed in pain, dropping her pistol onto the bed.

Charlie spun around, holstered his Beretta, then grabbed the pistol as the woman slumped back against the wall, writhing in pain.

“What the hell?” Gordon yelled, stepping into the room, weapon up.

“Huh?” Charlie responded, his ears ringing and his eyes watering from the gun blast so close to his head. “I can't hear you.”

Trying to shake off the momentary hearing loss, Charlie stepped back and placed Sheila's pistol on a sturdy oak dresser, never taking his eyes completely off the woman beside the bed.

“Yeah, gunfire indoors makes a hell of a racket.” Gordon saw Sheila gripping her bloody shoulder. “What's this? Hit her in the shoulder? You were less than ten feet away. You're the one who's losing his touch, Charlie.”

Gordon put his pistol back in his holster and walked around the bed to have a closer look at Sheila, who was curled up in the fetal position now. “Hey, I was the one who shot her first,” Gordon complained.

Charlie heard that. “Glad I'm not the only one who can't shoot straight at the moment. I wanted her alive,” Charlie said. He heard footsteps behind him and saw Nancy come into the room. She looked a little disoriented as she approached, fumbling twice before she could secure her pistol in its holster.

Nancy saw Sheila lying there on the floor, and managed a smile. “Damaged, but alive. Good.”

Charlie stepped over, wrapped his arms around Nancy gently and pulled her close. “I can't believe what you did for me down there. Or maybe I can.”

“Gina would have killed me if I'd have let you die,” Nancy whispered. “Besides, I'm still the only one wearing a vest.”

“What did I miss?” Gordon asked, his eyes still on Sheila, who was cussing in Navajo, one hand on her bloody shoulder, the other on her thigh.

Nancy cleared her throat, gave Charlie a kiss on the cheek, then stepped out of his hug and reached for the radio at her waist. “This is Sergeant Medina. The building is clear and the subject is down with multiple gunshot wounds. Send EMTs to the second floor.”

“Already on it!” called DuPree, who was running noisily up the stairs. The detective came into view, weapon out, then saw Sheila, who'd managed to sit up, her back to the wall. Gordon looked over his shoulder as two armed officers came up the other set of stairs.

“That your dummy grenade, Charlie?” DuPree grumbled, nodding toward the staircase.

“Naw, it's Sheila's,” Charlie said softly, reaching out and giving Nancy's hand a squeeze. “Thanks again.”

 

Chapter Twenty-four

It was two in the morning and Charlie and Gordon were seated in Detective DuPree's cubical at the downtown station. In walked Nancy with Lola Tso, who was wearing baggy jeans, unlaced black high-top athletic shoes, a blue jersey with the number twelve, and a gray hoodie. With no makeup and her black hair cut shorter than Gordon's, she'd pass for a boy until someone got really close.

Charlie and Gordon stood.

“Yáaat́ééh,”
Charlie greeted in Navajo. “Good to see you again, Ms. Tso,” he added, offering her his chair.

Lola smiled and sat down, her head lowered. “Thank you, Mr. Henry.”

Nancy remained standing beside DuPree's desk so Gordon stepped out, grabbed a chair from the empty cubical, and brought it over. “Sergeant?” he said.

“You and Charlie take the chairs. I'm too tired to sit,” she responded, then glanced across the big office, which was almost empty this time of day.

“Nancy told me all you two have done to protect me, going after Sheila and Clarence, and I wanted to thank you both. I never intended for any of this to happen,” Lola said softly, her voice a little shaky. “So many have been hurt. Still, I'm anxious to learn the rest of the story.”

“Together we can fill in all the gaps, I hope,” Nancy said. “Here comes Detective DuPree, he's been meeting with federal law enforcement officers.”

After brief introductions, Lola finally began to describe what she'd gone through. “As you already know, I was taking college classes and dating Jerry; Jerry Benally. After a few weeks together he took me to meet his boss, Clarence Fasthorse, at the Pi
ñ
on Mesa Steakhouse. It was about eight thirty at night, and Clarence's mother was there too. Sheila was half owner, but Clarence was the manager, Jerry told me. I was very polite, but Sheila was rude, disrespecting me, and Jerry too, like we didn't even belong at the same table with them.”

“How'd you feel about that?” Nancy asked.

“I kept my cool, but as soon as I had the chance I asked Jerry to take me home, saying I had an early class. I didn't, it was a Friday. Nobody cared, so we left.”

“On the way to my apartment Jerry and I had a big argument. I told him that if they disrespected me they were disrespecting him too. How could he work for someone who treated their people like that?”

“What did Jerry say he did? What was his job?” DuPree asked.

“That he was a buyer, bringing in supplies and filling orders for Clarence. But he never said exactly what it was, really. It sounded like bullshit to me, and I guess I suggested that he was one of those gophers who ran errands and stuff,” Lola said.

“He got pissed, said I was wrong, and that Clarence was celebrating his mom's birthday next week and that he was invited. He'd bring me along and see that I was treated right this time. He explained that Mrs. Ben—that's what he called her—was having a few business problems and that she'd taken it out on me—a stranger,” Lola explained.

DuPree shrugged. “Okay, so it was at this subsequent party that you managed to come into possession of the turquoise squash blossom—the one that triggered the shootout at FOB Pawn.”

“No need to be polite, Detective. I slipped away from the party, went into the bitch's bedroom, and found the necklace in a big jewelry cabinet. I had it in my purse when I left. It was Sheila's fault. She'd started dissing me from the minute I came into her house, whispering to me even before I took off my jacket that I was a slut and that she didn't want to see me in her house again after tonight. She said she'd been checking up on me, and she had a reputation to protect.”

“So the next morning you brought the squash blossom into our shop and pawned it,” Charlie concluded.

Lola nodded. “How was I supposed to know that she'd had her people steal it from that silversmith's grave, like some kind of trophy?”

“Her people?” DuPree asked.

“Yeah, the same men that were carjacking people on the Rez and around the Four Corners,” Lola answered. “Jerry was part of that. By then he'd told me what he really did.”

“Why was it a trophy?” Gordon pressed. “That particular piece of jewelry.”

“Because the dead guy, Buck, had really screwed her over on some job sometime in the past. Then, a few months ago, he'd begun to blackmail her after he'd had a losing streak at one of the casinos. It was about something that happened between them a few years ago—connected to that job she lost. I never found out the details. Sheila had Buck killed after that, you know.”

“Who told you about the murder?” Charlie asked. “Jerry?”

“Yeah. He'd been the driver for some woman named Melinda the night it happened. He'd dropped her off outside the tribal casino where Buck was gambling. Later that night, Melinda weaseled her way into Buck's car, then shot him and dumped his body in a ditch. Jerry picked her up after that and brought her back to the city while some others got rid of Buck's car.”