Red Mesa (42 page)

Ella parked in the student parking lot. Making sure her long hair was completely tucked inside the Red Chief’s baseball cap she was wearing, she climbed out of the truck and went toward Wilson Joe’s office. He’d be teaching right now, and if someone was watching
Wilson, he’d be in class or right outside the lecture hall door.

Hating what she was about to do, she stepped inside her friend’s office and shut the door. She knew that Wilson kept his computer access codes on a tiny sheet of paper taped to the bottom of his desk drawer. Copying what she needed, she quickly left the room. Although Wilson had a computer in his office, it didn’t have Internet
access.

To get to the computer lab, she’d have to go past the main lecture hall, and since that was where Wilson was teaching, it entailed some risk. Hopefully no one would recognize her.

Ella walked quickly, and as she passed a large trash can, she saw someone’s discarded backpack, which had a broken strap. Slipping it over one shoulder, hoping it would enhance her image as one of the students,
she hurried through the large building, keeping her head down.

As she passed a corridor that led to the inside entrance of the lecture hall, she caught a brief glimpse of the last man she wanted to see. Sergeant Manuelito was just inside the hallway, lying in wait for her. Somehow it figured that he’d be the one watching Wilson. He didn’t miss a trick.

She’d only had a brief glimpse, and he’d
been looking in the other direction, so she had no reason to suspect trouble. Yet his presence was still unsettling. She hurried to the computer lab and sat down behind one of the terminals closest to the open door leading to the next classroom. Hopefully it would give her a quick way to make an exit, if it came to that.

Ella used Wilson’s code to access the Internet through the college’s mainframe.
Once in that network, she began to enter her own user code, necessary to get her into the police system. But she stopped abruptly before typing in the last digit. If they’d played it smart, they would have set things up so that the moment she logged on, a trace would begin.

Ordinarily it would have taken some time for them to send an officer, but not now, with Sergeant Manuelito already on campus.
One call on his handheld radio and he could be there in a few minutes.

Frustrated, she looked at the keyboard. There had to be another way. She smiled slowly, coming up with the answer. Wherever Justine was now, she would have appreciated this. Using her cousin’s code, she logged on. They wouldn’t have deleted the code of an officer they thought was dead until the end of the month, which was
days away.

As she logged on, she saw the mail icon with a file attached. It said, “Activate Coyote.”

Smiling to herself, she looked around. Nobody was in sight. Her informant had been a lot more clever than she’d ever anticipated. He was obviously in the loop with law enforcement, at least enough to know her current predicament. He must have even seen Justine’s file, to know her access code,
too. Yet, despite the obstacles, he’d found a way to communicate with her by guessing her next move.

Ella clicked on the “Coyote” file and read the contents.

Hello, Ella. I thought you’d eventually stop by here. Enter your FBI badge number within the next twenty seconds, then hit the return key to access information that hopefully will help you. If the wrong number is entered, or if no number
is keyed in, this program will shut down and be deleted.

Ella carefully typed in the numbers and hit the return key, and the prompt told her she was accessing an Internet address. A file appeared with FBI letterhead, headings, and format. It was a series of classified reports that were not available to other agencies on the activities of Professor Jeremiah Manyfarms. From what Ella could see,
and what she remembered from her days in the FBI, the file looked legit.

Ella read the information carefully. The FBI had obviously kept a close eye on Manyfarms for quite some time. He’d been involved in Indian activism with several tribes in California and other western states as well. The FBI also believed he was forming espionage-style “cells,” which were defined as autonomous groups that
would act independently of each other. The goals of these cells had not been determined. Unsubstantiated reports claimed, however, that a select number of these cells had banded together to try and gain political control of several tribal governments by whatever means necessary. If true, it would represent a threat to the legitimate governments of the targeted Indian tribes.

Ella then glanced
at Manyfarms’ personal history. In addition to the teen he’d lost to gang violence, Manyfarms had twin nineteen-year-old sons and was still married to the mother of his children. The files listed a long history of suspected spousal abuse and the fact that currently Manyfarms was estranged from his wife.

Ella copied Susana Manyfarms’ address onto a sheet of form-feed paper. The woman lived in
Gallup, which was several hours away by the back roads through Burnham, White Rock, and Crownpoint. She didn’t dare travel the main route.

Ella would go visit her next. With luck, Susana wouldn’t have heard about the warrant for her arrest, and might give her information she could use.

She was entering commands, trying to figure out how to print the information on the screen, when she heard
footsteps behind her.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Manuelito growled. “I saw you on the sidewalk outside, and waited for you to make your way into the lecture hall. When you didn’t show, I went looking.”

Ella reached out quickly to turn off the computer. Trying to stop her, Manuelito dove, but he was too late. As the screen flickered off, she kicked out, knocking him back a few steps.

Manuelito
reached for his weapon then, but she pushed the chair back hard, slamming it into his midsection. Manuelito fell backwards onto the floor.

Ella didn’t wait to see how fast he could draw his firearm while flat on his back. She exited the way she’d come in, ran halfway down the corridor, and pulled the fire alarm.

In ten seconds the hallway was filled to capacity with students leaving all the
classrooms. Ella was already outside by then, and as she glanced back, Manuelito was nowhere in sight.

She didn’t slow down rounding the corner, and the extra adrenaline pumping through her system helped her now. In a matter of minutes, she was in the truck, speeding away from campus, going east. She checked the rearview mirror often, searching for patrol cars, knowing that she’d have to do her
best to avoid them. She was willing to break rules, but she would never jeopardize the life of a citizen or another officer.

As soon as she reached the turnoff near Hogback and headed south, she breathed easier. Patrol units were few and far between out here, and anyone who’d seen her heading east toward Farmington when she’d left the college would be unlikely to suspect she’d be turning south
instead. Once she arrived in Gallup, the danger to her would diminish. It was unlikely that she’d be running into people she knew so far from Shiprock.

The trip seemed endless. She kept the scanner on and monitored all the calls, which faded once she got far enough from Shiprock. Manuelito had reported in, but so far they were looking for her own truck, and she had a feeling Herman Cloud had
already hidden it well.

With plenty of time to think along the slow, dusty roads, Ella tried to figure out the best way to approach Susana Manyfarms. She was reluctant to use her name, and she had no badge. Finally she settled on the only approach. She still had the college ID in her wallet from when she’d started helping Wilson with his youth program. She’d use that and claim to be with the
college, doing a routine background check on Susana’s husband, who hadn’t been a professor in Shiprock for long.

The circuitous route, after getting lost two times, took nearly five hours, and by the time she arrived at the small stucco home in Gallup, she was more than ready to get to work. The tape from her small pocket-sized recorder couldn’t be used as evidence, but by recording the interview,
and playing it back later, she might be able to discover a clue she’d missed.

Ella knocked, and a middle-aged Navajo woman came to the door. Although in jeans, she was wearing thick foundation makeup and the darkest shade of red lipstick Ella had ever seen. Susana obviously believed in makeup—lots of it.

Ella introduced herself as planned, then went inside. As she studied the woman’s face, she
suddenly understood why Susana wore so much makeup. Despite the layers of foundation and powder, bruises and a slight swelling peered through in more than one place. Her cheek was dark and the edge of her mouth slightly swollen.

“Are you all right?” Ella asked softly.

“The makeup doesn’t really hide the marks, does it?”

“No,” Ella replied gently. “But maybe in a day or two…”

Susana nodded.
“Yeah, maybe then.” She sat back, then winced as she tried to find a comfortable position. “If you’ve come here asking me to extol my husband’s virtues, forget it. With luck, our divorce will be final soon.”

“He’s applied for access into all our science labs and computer rooms, and that requires a little extra background check. Everything you tell me will be completely confidential.”

“Jeremiah
is a self-centered rat who takes from everyone and gives nothing but false promises in return. He’s always managed to present a nice face to the public. He’s not so kind with mine.”

“I can’t imagine what it must be like for you,” Ella said honestly. “Why do you let him near you if he’s going to do this?”

“He comes to see the twins regularly, and when they’re here, nothing happens. But when they’re
not, he doesn’t put on his act. Sometimes he loses control and his temper goes wild. He still blames me for everything that happened with our youngest son.”

“I know he was killed.”

Pain flashed over her features. “Carlton needed the influence of a strong father, but Jeremiah was out there claiming to be taking care of Indians everywhere. Unfortunately, he didn’t take time for his own son. I
tried to warn him that I was having problems with Carlton. I couldn’t get our son to even talk to me. I begged Jeremiah for his help, but he would always tell me that the children were my responsibility. His was making a living and supporting us. Now, of course, he blames everyone but himself for what happened. Whenever we’re alone, the issue of Carl always comes up and he takes it out on me.”

“Who else does he blame? The gangs?”

“Well, yes, of course, but he mainly blames the Navajo Police in Shiprock. He says they stirred up trouble between the gangs, and Carlton was caught in the middle. Carl was barely fourteen when he was shot.” She paused. “Jeremiah believes that the reason our marriage fell apart is because I couldn’t deal with our son’s death. But it’s not me. It’s him. He won’t
let me forget. Look at my face and you’ll see I’m telling the truth,” she said.

“What happened this time? Was it a fight about the divorce?”

She nodded. “He didn’t want to sign the papers. He said I was making a big mistake, that we had to square things with the past first. He promised me that soon everyone responsible for Carl’s death would be brought to justice, and that it was my duty to
see it through with him. But I know him too well. All that means is that he wants me around so he’ll have someone to beat on if things don’t go the way he wants.”

“Why haven’t you gotten a restraining order?”

“I have, but it’s just a piece of paper. He always violates it, and unless the cops catch him, it’s just his word against mine.”

“I understand you two adopted Paul Natoni several years
ago. That just doesn’t seem in character with the man you’ve described.”

“That happened well before my son’s death. At the time I went along with it, willingly. Jeremiah was a close friend of Paul Natoni’s parents. When they died, we legally adopted Paul. He lived with us for about four years. By the time Jeremiah began his involvement with Indian rights, Paul was already eighteen and out on
his own, hustling for money in bars and pool halls, or playing cards in back rooms.” She shook her head. “It’s a wonder Paul hasn’t ended up dead or in jail.”

“Are Jeremiah and Paul close?” Ella asked.

“Yes, more so these days than when Paul was young. There’s a ruthlessness about Paul that I think Jeremiah wishes he would have had when he was that young. When Paul wants something, he goes after
it without worrying about the consequences, and he doesn’t stop until he gets it.”

“How does Paul get along with the twins?”

“There’s some rivalry between them, but nothing serious.”

Ella’s gaze fell on a family photograph on the coffee table. The twins were young men now, dressed in graduation gowns at what was obviously a graduation party. “Those are your boys? They’ve graduated from high
school, I can see.”

She nodded. “They’ve been running around a lot since then, and I’m very worried about them. They left last week for California to visit with their cousins, but they never showed up. I called and their aunt hasn’t even seen them. When I called Jeremiah, worried about what had happened to them, he told me to let them be, that they were men and needed their freedom. But I don’t
understand why they lied to me. That’s just not like them, and I have a feeling their father is behind this somehow.”

Ella studied the photo. The boys were tall and slender for Navajos and appeared to be about her own height and weight. As she remembered the shooting fiasco at the convenience store that had started the trouble between Justine and her, an idea formed in her mind. Maybe Justine
and she had both been right. If twins, dressed in clothing like hers, had pulled off that robbery, the discrepancies in Justine’s story and her own could be easily explained. It would have definitely been one way of stirring up trouble between her and Justine. Had luck been with the boys, they might have even managed to get Justine and her to shoot each other.

Ella stood up. “I better be going
now.”

“I’ve told you the way things are. I hope that you don’t see my husband as anything but what he is—a man who has many faces. But please don’t tell him that the information you got came from me. His anger … scares me, and the police here can’t protect me from him.”