Tracking Bear (19 page)

“Yeah, that’s the way I feel, too.” As they looked at each other, Ella realized how
comforting it was to be with Carolyn. They understood each other so well. “It’s not always easy, is it?”

“No, but it’s right—for both of us.”

“You know that no matter how busy I get, you can always count on me if you need a friend.”

“And vice versa. But I’ve got to tell you, I really worry about you now. The police department’s in trouble, isn’t it?”

Ella nodded. “Yeah. Too much work, not
enough funds, and not enough support from the tribe. We’re really out there on our own, even more so than usual.”

Carolyn grew somber. “I hear you. I desperately need some new equipment in the lab. I keep hounding administration and the tribe, but you know how that goes.”

She nodded. “Right now, we’re short of officers and reliable equipment, but money that should have been used to repair or
replace radios and vehicles was spent on a series of training exercises we’ve been going through. We have one more session to go, but I swear I’m going to kill our instructor before it’s through.” Ella shook her head.

“You looked really whipped when I first saw you today. Was this what that ‘hell of a morning’ was all about?” Carolyn asked.

Ella explained what had happened at the power plant,
and when she got to the part about “L.A. Woman,” Carolyn cringed.

“How did this Bruno woman find out about that?”

“She knows one of the chemists from the power plant, Delbert Shives. He’s worked there for several years, and must have heard it from a Navajo employee. Bruno’s really competitive, an ex-cop, and obviously did it just to bug me.”

Carolyn nodded. “But you’ve heard that before, and
nowadays even your enemies call you ‘that woman detective’ or ‘Investigator Clah.’ Your actions have earned you the respect of the People. But I have a feeling an old nickname isn’t what bugged you the most today.”

Ella thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “I failed the team today, Carolyn. I made some mistakes, and we were beaten because of that. I hate to lose, even during training.”

“Come on, Ella. The woman cheated. She said you had fifteen minutes, then set off the imaginary bomb five minutes early when she saw you enter the lobby. She was watching for you. There was no way you could win. It was an exercise in character—or humility.” Carolyn smiled. “You’re the best cop around, nobody could have done better.”

Ella shook her head. “I know. And Bruno was a hundred percent
correct to point out in that way that bad guys, terrorists, or mentally disturbed people make their own rules. I should have known that from the very beginning and come up with another strategy where she couldn’t see any of us coming in time to set off the ‘bomb.’ In a real situation, I’d have gotten us all killed, and the knowledge that I could screw up again scares the hell out of me. From now
on, in a situation like that, I’ll do whatever it takes to win.”

“Ella, if you’re half as hard on the bad guys as you are on yourself, the rest of us can continue to sleep comfortably at night. Learn from this, certainly, but don’t go beating yourself up just because something went wrong during a drill. You’re supposed to make mistakes in training so you can identify pitfalls and avoid them on
the job.”

Ella nodded, then switched the conversation back to the case they were working at the moment. As they talked shop, the connection between them strengthened. Finally, Carolyn looked at the clock on the wall. “I better be getting back. At least I’m not keeping a patient waiting.”

Laughing, Ella paid the bill for both of them, despite Carolyn’s protests, then walked outside with her.
“Let’s try to do this more often—despite our schedules.”

“Deal. You going to be okay?”

Ella nodded. “Life always seems easier on a full stomach.”

“Words to live by.”

As Carolyn pulled out of the parking lot, Ella started the engine. She’d just started to back up when she heard the sudden blast of a siren somewhere close, followed by the squeal of tires. A heartbeat later, a vehicle pulled
up right behind hers. It was Sheriff Taylor.

Ella pulled back into the parking slot and waited. Sheriff Taylor, a rugged cowboy in his late fifties with pale blue eyes, came over from his unit to meet her.

“Hey, Ella,” he said, leaning in her driver’s side window. “I thought I recognized your Jeep. How about having some coffee with me. There’s something
I really need to discuss with you.”

“Sure.”

Ella went back inside the diner and joined him at a center table against the back wall. From where they were seated they both had a clear view of the room and the only entrance.

The waitress smiled, recognizing Taylor, who was in uniform, and immediately brought over two cups of coffee without being asked.

“I was planning on calling you at the station,
but they gave me your twenty, and I decided to stop by. I wanted to talk to you about one of your officers, the one that was killed the other day. I didn’t really make the connection until I started catching up on some crime reports the Farmington Police Department sent us as a courtesy since our jurisdictions overlap. Did you know that the officer’s father had his home broken into just two
weeks ago?”

“Kee Franklin?” she asked, needing to make sure.

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s a physics professor.”

“I’ve spoken to Professor Franklin about his son, of course, but he never mentioned any break-in. I wonder why,” Ella said.

“He probably never connected the two events. We’ve had a rash of residential burglaries in that neighborhood, and the city cops are working on some leads in conjunction
with my department. Their jurisdiction ends just west of that area. But I thought I should pass this information along to you, especially when it looks like Officer Franklin was killed when he walked in on a burglary.”

“Have the burglars off the Rez been targeting anything specific?”

“Mostly cash, jewelry, and consumer electronics—stuff that they can stuff into a pillowcase and carry away, you
know? But the break-in at Franklin’s place didn’t exactly fit that profile. That’s what bothered me about it and why I thought I’d let you know. They took a laptop computer and some backup CDs, and went through his files. But they left a three-hundred-dollar game system that’s the hottest thing around on the black market. Apparently Professor Franklin is addicted to leading-edge arcade-style games.”

“Burglars
never
leave those expensive gaming systems behind. They’re too easy to sell at flea markets and such.”

“No kidding. Truth is, I’ve never heard of a burglar passing one up. Sometimes, it’s the only thing missing after a break-in.”

“Was the game well hidden?”

“Yes and no. It was out of sight, but because the burglar had broken into the cabinet where it was kept, he knew it was there.
Of course it’s possible something spooked him, and he left in a hurry.”

“Thanks for the tip, I appreciate it.” Ella said, standing up. “I better get back to work now.” She reached into her wallet for money, and the sheriff held up his hand.

“It’s on me. You can buy the coffee next time, Ella.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Sheriff. Thanks.”

“If you uncover anything on the robberies that I can use,
pass it along, okay, Ella?”

“Of course.”

Ella left Taylor at the table and walked out. Right now, she wanted to talk to Kee Franklin. She was already in Farmington and knew his address, so she went directly there from the diner. When she arrived Professor Franklin was outside raking up leaves. Officer Judy Musket, a tribal cop Ella recognized, was sitting on the porch step wearing her street
clothes and sipping something from a cup.

Seeing Ella, Judy stood and walked over to her immediately.

“I’m on leave this week, in case you’re wondering why I’m visiting Kee during my regular duty hours,” she said.

“I wasn’t,” Ella said. “I’m just here to ask the professor a few questions.”

“Mind if I stick around?”

“No, just don’t interfere.”

Franklin came up then, greeted Ella, and invited
her into the comfortable living room. “What brings you back here, Investigator Clah? Do you have a suspect yet?”

“We’re still working on the case, and that’s why I’m here. I understand that someone burglarized your house about two weeks prior to your son’s death.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Other families in this neighborhood have also had break-ins, if I recall correctly. Why do you ask?”

“Do you
see any connection whatsoever between the break-in at your house and your son’s murder?”

“No. Is there one?” He gave her a puzzled look.

Ella noted that his response was almost immediate. She’d expected him to think about it first, and his rapid answer made her wary. “Your son was killed during the course of a break-in.”

“Well, yes, but the gangs that run around on the reservation don’t come
into the city, and vice versa.”

“What makes you think the break-in at the garage in Shiprock was gang-related?” Ella pressed.

“I’ve been checking around on my own, and I’ve learned that my son befriended a young man, a gang member by the name of Albert Washburn. My son had asked him to keep an eye on things in that neighborhood. If gang activity hadn’t been a factor in the area he patrolled,
my son wouldn’t have recruited Washburn.”

Ella remained quiet. She wouldn’t argue police business with him, nor explain that Albert hadn’t just been keeping an eye on gang activity. He’d been watching for any signs of criminal activity. Instead, she allowed the silence to stretch.

Finally, Dr. Franklin stood and walked to the window. “I don’t really know what to believe anymore. But I still
don’t think there was anything of any real value in that garage. My ex-wife liked holding on to things, except me, but she wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t have kept anything worth more than a few dollars in that old building.” He turned around and faced her. “But if you’re following up on something like the burglary of my home, that must mean you have no solid leads on the murder of my son.”

“I wouldn’t
say that, sir. We do have leads. I just don’t like to leave loose ends.”

“Just find my son’s killer.”

“We
will
do that. But perhaps you can help me a bit more. I understand you worked for the government before you taught in Los Alamos. Could you have made any enemies who have followed you here?”

An emotion she couldn’t quite identify flashed in his eyes, but it was gone in a second. As she
gazed at him speculatively, his expression became guarded. “You’ve seen too many spy movies, Investigator Clah. My work at the labs may still be labeled classified, but these days it’s mostly out of habit than the need for secrecy. I don’t rate the kind of enemies you speak of.” He stopped, met her gaze, and held it. “If that weren’t true, I wouldn’t say so. There’s no way I’ll ever find peace and
harmony again in my life until my son’s killer is behind prison walls.”

His words rang with conviction, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Professor Franklin knew more than he was admitting. The professor was a highly intelligent man—but not one practiced at deception. She was sure Franklin had an idea about what had happened to his son, but for whatever the reason, had decided not to share
it with her.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir,” Ella said, standing.

“Can I walk out with you?” Judy asked her.

“Sure.”

Judy remained silent until they had reached Ella’s unit. “I know what you’re looking for, but believe me, whatever happened to Jason isn’t connected to his father. Kee’s been looking into his own past, too, wondering the same thing you have, but he hasn’t found any links.”
She paused then added, “By the way, I wouldn’t take everything Albert Washburn tells you at face value.”

“I haven’t caught him at a lie—yet.”

Judy shrugged. “I’ve lived on the Rez almost all of my life, and I’ve been a tribal cop for the past fifteen years. I know a lot of people around Shiprock, and Albert in particular. When I patrolled that area a year or so ago, Albert often talked to me
about local crimes. He liked being involved, you know? But I never could shake the feeling that
he
was the one behind the petty crimes I was looking into and that he liked trying to lead me around in circles.”

“Did you ever get any evidence to back that up?”

“No, and I tried very hard. There was something about that kid that always bugged me. I did arrest his cousin, Oliver Washburn, once, for
slashing somebody’s tires, and the boy told me that Albert had a finger in every pie. Rumor has it that he’s made a bundle fencing stolen property. But I couldn’t follow the trail, so I had to let it drop.”

“Do you think Albert Washburn may be involved in what happened to Jason, then?”

“If he is, you’re going to have a really hard time proving it. That boy is
very
street-smart and a skilled
liar.”

Ella drove away with Judy’s words still echoing in her mind, recalling Albert’s last phone call and his failure to identify his source. Had he made up the whole thing? This case was filled with leads that detoured, and half-truths. But somewhere within that maze lay the answers she needed to find. Ella had intended on calling Albert back, but hadn’t done so yet because she’d been so preoccupied
with other matters. She made a note either to call or stop by his home soon.

It was seven in the morning before Ella was able to contact her brother. When she arrived at Clifford’s medicine hogan, he was speaking to one of his patients in the doorway. Ella waited in the SUV until the elderly woman turned and walked off, heading into the desert.

As Ella went toward the hogan, her gaze stayed
on Clifford’s patient. The elderly woman had chosen a path that Ella had gone down many times when jogging. That section of desert was rugged, and even at a walk, could become strenuous exercise after a mile or two.

“Maybe she shouldn’t be going in that direction,” Ella said, pointing by pursing her lips, Navajo style.

“She’ll be fine. She’s tougher than you and me put together. She’s going
to go tend her sheep. They graze on whatever they can find this time of year. Toward evening her daughter meets her in their pickup and they haul the animals back to their pen.”

Ella smiled. “Old meets new. It’s that way everywhere these days.”

“Including in this hogan, sister,” he said, glancing down at the shield on her belt. “So what brings you here this early in the morning?”

“I need to
ask what you know about the wife of the councilman who was killed.”

“I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard from my wife that other woman have already begun gossiping about the widow. My wife says the others are just jealous.”

“Tell me what you’ve heard?”

“That the councilman’s wife won’t have to look far for another husband,” Clifford said as he began making preparations for his next patient.

“Her husband just died. Who’s giving her attention already, according to the gossip?”

“I’m not sure I want to discuss that with you.”

Her brother was stubborn, and Ella knew she’d have to word what she said carefully or she’d never get an answer. “Do you think our tribe will be better served if you withhold information when I’m trying to catch someone who’s killing Navajos?”

Clifford pursed
his lips. She had him now. Whenever he got that expression on his face, it usually meant that he didn’t like what he was going to do, but he’d do it anyway.

“Your child’s father has been over to her house at least twice already,” he said at last.

Ella stared at him. “Then it’s just since her husband’s death. It’s probably just lawyer business. No way he would have done anything out of place
with a married woman. He’s better than that.”

“No one has suggested that she was unfaithful to either of her late husbands. But that doesn’t mean other men weren’t pursuing her, or harboring desires that aren’t always hidden.”

She remembered how Kevin had been so attentive to Emily. But Kevin was no murderer. She was as certain of that as she was of tomorrow’s sunrise.

Clifford studied Ella’s
expression. “Does this gossip bother you?”

Ella considered it. “It’s never easy to acknowledge the ending of a familiar situation…particularly one that left me with a wonderful daughter,” she said slowly. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. “Our mother has a new life, and your child’s father is finding a new path. But what about you? How will you move on, sister? Is your future with the Deputy Marshal?”

She shrugged. “Are there any others you’ve heard of that have shown a romantic interest in the widow, either now, or before the death of her husband?”

“Yes.” He wrote a name down on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

Ella read it. She knew Larry Tso—a married man, at least the last time she’d heard. Tso owned a restaurant in Farmington—the Fair Winds. It was said to be an expensive, classy
place, catering to businessmen. “Thanks.”

“You should listen more to the spirit of the Navajo Nation. Wind carries messages. Tune in to the People, and you’ll have all the answers you need without ever asking a question.”

“That works for you—but I’m a cop. Asking questions is the only way for me to ferret out secrets people choose to keep.”