Thunderbird

by Susan Slater

  “I’m calling in.” Tommy turned back. “The dispatcher will know if there’s been a report on Brenda. He can call her school for me to make sure.”

  Ben followed Tommy to the Bronco. It took Tommy a minute to clear the static. On a reservation that covered almost eighteen million acres and had over two hundred thousand people, a two-way radio was a lifeline. A cell phone was usually worthless. The officer in the Crownpoint tribal police station boomed out over the wireless.

  “Yeah. Report just came in. Brenda Begay didn’t show up at home last night and she’s not at work. Mother’s real upset. Says something’s happened for sure. You got information?”

  Tommy said he thought he might and then explained. When he’d hung up, Tommy sat for a moment leaning forward, arms draped around the steering wheel.

  Finally, he said, “It might make the family feel better if they knew local law enforcement was on top of things. You up for going by the house?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Unless you think we should wait here … in case they find another—”

  “No. Let’s get going.”

  Ben didn’t know what to do to be helpful. Would they find another body in the wreckage? That was possible. Brenda had seen the crash and tried to help or …? Ben didn’t know what the “or” was, but maybe he should alert the salvage crew. But then didn’t they already know? Hadn’t the Air Force already been out here to look things over? Someone had probably already gone over Brenda’s truck. How much did they know that they weren’t saying?

  “Give me a minute.” Ben intended to find out.

  He quickly covered the ground between the Bronco and the thick knot of conferring brass.

  “I’m going to agree with you that the owner of the pickup may be involved with the crash somehow. The owner, a woman named Brenda Begay, is missing.” Ben had approached Colonel Anderson first and the two of them stood some twenty feet from the wreckage. As a precaution, everyone wore molded paper masks that cupped over nose and mouth. The colonel handed one to Ben.

  “Let’s talk over here. These damned things are a nuisance.” The colonel snapped his off and led Ben back toward the cars. Out of earshot, Ben noticed.

  “Listen son, I might have overreacted back there earlier. I’ve just been in charge of things like this more than one or ten-thousand times—what’d someone tell me you do for a living? Shrink, isn’t it? Well, I can’t expect you to think like an investigator, now can I?” The smile wasn’t exactly sincere, Ben thought. “We’ll watch for … anything unusual. Shame if this Begay woman was only trying to help and there was some kind of accident.”

  What was the man trying to say? That he knew that something had happened to Brenda?

  “What happened to Brenda Begay?” Ben hadn’t heard Tommy walk up behind him. Could the colonel hear the anger in Tommy’s voice? He seemed to study Tommy a moment before he responded.

  “I don’t know. Believe me. But if I did, that kind of information would be classified, at least for the time being.”

  “I don’t want to butt in, but I could use the help of one of you.” Colonel Bertrand approached. “We have a situation here that calls for a tribal decision.”

  “What is it?” Tommy stepped forward. “Maybe I can help.”

  “We need to take some samples of vegetation, say, up to a hundred feet of the plane—maybe, farther out. Who would be able to okay that?”

  “I would. I’ll assign a Navajo officer to work with you. If for any reason your guide cautions you against continuing in a particular direction though, you have to honor his request.”

  “I understand. You have my word, we’ll follow his recommendations.”

  It was good to hear Colonel Bertrand acknowledging some restrictions. Ben wished that Colonel Anderson showed as much deference.

  “Let me find someone to act as guide. Show me where you want to start.” Tommy turned to follow the colonel.

  Ben watched the two men return to the site. “What will they look for?”

  “A little bit of everything. We need to determine if the pilot dumped fuel. If he did it at altitude, we won’t find a thing. Stuff will have evaporated. But if he lost the JP-8 at a lower level, there’ll be traces on the brush—it’ll take a lab to tell us for certain. It might indicate there was a leak in fuel line or tanks. Hell, we’ve got to come up with some reason that we’re looking at a pile of rubble.”

  There was something in his voice—concern, frustration? For a moment, Ben almost felt sorry for the man. Maybe he was selling him short. He was obviously under pressure to come up with answers.

  “Colonel!”

  The yell startled both of them. An airman was waving for them to join him some one hundred and fifty feet to the east of the plane. Ben took off at a trot, the colonel on his heels.

  “This could be nothing or it could be something,” the airman apologized. “But to be on the safe side, I thought you ought to see, Sir.”

  Tommy and Colonel Bertrand were standing next to the airman. Tommy was tightlipped and Ben could see a muscle in his jaw involuntarily twitch.

  The airman pointed at a hair ribbon. At least that’s what Ben would call it, a piece of material, a plaid of sorts—pink and yellow streaked against turquoise, two feet long and one inch wide. But the remarkable thing was it was tied in a bow. Someone had taken the time to tie it on the end of a piñon branch about four feet off the ground and left it there to flutter in the breeze.

  “When was the last time we had rain?” Ben asked Tommy.

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  It probably hadn’t been necessary to ask. The ribbon’s crispness and unfaded color was proof that it hadn’t been there for long.

  “I can’t think that it would mean anything. But let’s get pictures.” Colonel Anderson didn’t seem interested.

  “I suggest that you have your lab analyze the fibers, any hair particles—it might be able to tell us a lot,” Tommy stammered and seemed ready to explode. “Who are you to say what’s important and what’s not? There could be lives at stake.”

  “I agree. We need to be treating everything as priority,” Colonel Bertrand chimed in, then patted Tommy on the back. “Officer Spottedhorse, I can’t tell you how sorry I am this has happened. It isn’t easy for anyone.”

  “At least someone is using his brain.” Tommy glared at Colonel Anderson. “You will have your men take samples and have them analyzed.”

  Ben didn’t trust the situation. Tommy was barely under control. He’d just insulted the colonel and now he was giving him orders. That wasn’t going to earn him any points. The look on Colonel Anderson’s face assured him of that. It was obvious that the disappearance of Brenda Begay was consuming Tommy but was of little importance to the colonel.

  “Over here. Colonel Bertrand, Colonel Anderson, this looks serious.”

  Another airman and an Indian officer were squatting on the ground next to a clump of piñon some thirty feet from where the ribbon had been found. The airman was pointing to something on the ground.

  “Blood. I’m sure of it. Used to do a little flunky work in hematology. This isn’t that old, either. Ten, twelve hours at the outside.”

  “And this just might be the cause.”

  The Indian officer slipped on transparent rubber gloves and moved to pick up a piece of granite about the size of a large paperweight; its serrated edge was covered with brown stains. Ben and Tommy bent forward to look.

  “Must have caused one hell of a head wound judging from the hair caught along these edges.” The airman indicated tufts of hair stuck to the rock.

  “Shit.” The colonel uttered the expletive under his breath, but Ben had heard.

  “Sir?” The airman looked up.

  “Nothing. Bag the evidence and give it priority.” Was the look of disgust meant for Tommy? Ben couldn’t tell.

  Ben watched the man carefully slip the rock in a plastic bag, seal it and make notations on a tag fastened along the top. The wad of h
air caught along the edge of the rock was thick and black. But the strands were short. From a man’s head? It would seem that way. Brenda had long hair. That ruled her out as the victim, but could she have been the assailant? He was tempted to run his idea by Tommy but thought better of it.

  “Looks like this could have belonged to whomever got clobbered.” Tommy held a rolled up blanket caught with twine around the middle. “Bedroll.”

  “See if there’s anything inside.” Colonel Bertrand stepped up to hold one end of the bundle.

  Tommy quickly undid the string and opened the blanket to reveal another tucked inside. The inner blanket was a Pendleton—old, much used, frayed around the edges but its pattern in golds and reds and blues was still bright. The outer blanket was cheap, a faded cotton, maybe acrylic, Ben guessed.

  “Doesn’t tell us much,” Colonel Bertrand said.

  “Only that there might have been another observer,” Tommy said. “That’s pretty important, I would think. Looks to me like someone was out here tending his flock and got clobbered. I’ll be checking for another missing person.”

  Colonel Anderson shook his head and without saying anything turned to walk back toward the cars. The three of them watched him go.

  “Look, I don’t want to make excuses for Hap’s behavior, but he’s not as callous as he comes off. He’s been a leader of men for thirty years.” Colonel Bertrand paused, “There was an incident, well, not exactly an incident that should have been blamed on Hap, but it was. He’ll be transitioning out first of the year. It’s hard on him—facing a new life. This investigation is important to him—important for him to have command of something. Try to help him out when you can and overlook his testiness.”

  Tommy didn’t say anything, just offered a noncommittal shrug.

  “Thanks for sharing the insight. We’ll try not to be judgmental.” Ben looked at Tommy but there were no reassurances, so he added, “I’m going to speak with Colonel Anderson. Meet you at the Bronco in five minutes.”

  Hap had almost reached the Buick when Ben caught up with him.

  “Colonel, I—”

  “Let me tell you a little something.” The colonel turned to face him. “Last thing we need is a bunch of crybabies who think their lungs got scorched. I hope for all our sakes there weren’t any observers. If there were, we’ll do right by them, but that’s what’s wrong with our government today. A handout here, a handout there—I don’t need to know your politics, but I’d like to think you agree with me.”

  Ben stiffened, “That’s tough to do when the Navajo haven’t sanctioned aerial maneuvers over the reservation. Any injuries happened to innocent people who shouldn’t have been put in danger.”

  The colonel stared at him. Choosing his words? Wondering how far he could go? Ben couldn’t tell. But the man could be a tyrant. It was tough to sympathize with him. Finally, the colonel turned away.

  “At least, you can make eye contact. Someone said you’re half Indian; you must have been raised on the white side.”

  Ben didn’t answer. It wouldn’t make any difference. The comment was meant to needle him, not gain information.

  “Tommy and I are going to run by Brenda’s house. I’ll be back for the meeting at one thirty.”

  The colonel nodded, opened the back door of the Buick and sank back heavily against the seats. Suddenly, the window whirred down.

  “One more thing, Dr. Pecos. You find any observers— anyone alive and able to talk—you call me first. Do you understand? The Air Force is in charge here. And I’m leading this show.”

  Ben didn’t even turn around, just kept on walking. If some poor unsuspecting herder had been injured—let alone Brenda—his first inclination wouldn’t be to ring up good ol’ Hap.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Tommy already had the Bronco’s motor running when Ben climbed in. “The investigation is in good hands. Colonel Bertrand seems reasonable and willing to check every lead.” There was no way that Ben was going to share his conversation with Colonel Anderson.

  “He seems to know how to run an investigation.”

  “Yeah, too bad he’s not in charge.”

  Ben left the window down. The “road” twisted and turned back on itself so that it seemed for every mile forward, they had gone two backward.

  “This would really be a long way to walk.”

  “Too long.” Tommy maneuvered the Bronco around a narrow turn in the riverbed. “That’s why I didn’t recognize old Elmo to start with. It just doesn’t make sense that she’d abandon that truck.”

  “You know the family well?”

  “Graduated Crownpoint High with Brenda’s older brother. Her mom’s pretty old now. It’s good she’s got help. Brenda’s dad died about five years ago. But it’s a long ways from nowhere to live with a baby. My sister’s kid gets ear infections once a month. Seems like they’re always in the emergency room.”

  Ben watched the bleak landscape roll past. Cholla cactus, chamisa, sage; not inhospitable, but you had to know how to make the land work for you. Brenda and her mother were isolated this far out. So many of the younger generation gravitated toward living in a community, shunned the isolation that had been an important part of their grandparent’s lives. IHS had released statistics on the number of elderly that no longer had help with chopping wood or carrying water or transportation to a clinic. Thirty-three thousand old folks fending for themselves when just a few years back, family would have taken care of them. What did it say about Brenda? Was living out here necessity or preference?

  “Start looking for a hogan over on your right. We’ve got to be close.”

  Tommy bounced the Bronco up the side of the arroyo and slowed once they were on level ground.

  “Yeah. I was right. Haven’t been here for years but there it is. Her mom’s place and Brenda’s trailer in back. I helped her brother put in the septic tank that summer.”

  As they neared, a Navajo man ran toward them.

  “Any news?”

  Tommy shook his head and slipped the Bronco alongside the hogan. The man looked so hopeful, Ben hated to see him disappointed.

  “There’s been no word,” Tommy said quickly before Ben could comment, then introduced Brenda’s brother, Sam. An elderly Indian woman stood in the doorway of the hogan with a toddler clinging to her long, blue velvet skirt. Sam turned and shook his head and the woman disappeared inside just as the toddler bolted on chubby unsteady legs toward her uncle.

  “Ma-ma. Ma-ma.” It was a gleeful cry and Sam quickly scooped her up, hugged her and smoothed the perfectly pressed pink dress with heart-shaped buttons.

  “No mama yet, Mariah. Can you say hello to our visitors?”

  Small, round, black eyes studied Ben thoughtfully. The child was beautiful. Dark bangs dusted her forehead and strayed to the corner of her eye. She swiped the strands away with a tiny-balled fist, then abruptly twisted around and buried her head in her uncle’s denim shirt.

  “She’s usually not this shy.”

  “There’s been a lot of excitement.”

  Ben was about to turn away when he found himself staring at the end of Mariah’s thick, shiny braid. The bow was plaid—the identical pink, yellow and turquoise material found tied to the piñon. If he’d wondered whether it had belonged to Brenda, now he had his answer.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “It’s a sign.”

  “How can you know that?”

  Tommy was pacing around the boxes stacked in the middle of Ben’s living room. He’d planned to finish unpacking this weekend. But it looked like it wouldn’t get done.

  “I guess because I’d do the same thing. I’d leave some kind of message that would tell the world that I was still alive. It was obviously left where it could be easily found.”

  “But it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s safe. How can you know that she didn’t put the ribbon there and then go to help the pilot?”

  “Because that makes no sense. It was found on the other side of the wreckag
e, quite a distance from her truck. Why would she go out of her way to tie a ribbon to the tree and then backtrack toward the plane? I’m willing to bet you that there’s only one body discovered.”

  “So, where’s Brenda?”

  Tommy shrugged. “Something very real happened to her out there. She’d never leave that baby for one minute that she didn’t have to.”

  “I agree. But there doesn’t seem to be any plausible explanation.”

  “What if the plane was shot down?”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “What’s so crazy about it? Think for a minute. Maybe she saw something she shouldn’t have. And she’s in hiding—or worse, what if she’s been taken captive?”

  “Come on, Tommy, we don’t have proof. Give me a ride to the Tribal Offices. I need to be back by one-twenty.”

  If Brenda was alive, she’d be happy that Tommy was looking for her, Ben mused. If, that is, she wanted to be found … what an odd thought. But one, Ben supposed, that had to be considered.

  + + +

  Ben hurried up the walk to the Tribal Offices. He’d parked next to a news van with a rotating satellite dish anchored to the roof. Must be a team out of Farmington. Maybe the same ones who shot the footage of the F-117A wreckage. He was a few minutes late, but it didn’t look like it was going to matter. Some twenty people milled about outside the closed door of Ernie’s office. Ben caught sight of Colonel Anderson and instantly gathered that the man was not a happy camper.

  “Lunacy,” the colonel hissed when Ben took a chair beside him in the hall. “The idiots are going on about a UFO sighting. Says they were eyewitnesses. Can you believe? They’re saying that the plane was sabotaged by aliens.”

  “Do you have better information?” Ben asked but realized quickly that the colonel wasn’t in a joking mood.

  “Did you see that crap in the truck outside?” Ben shook his head.

  “Go take a look, but hang onto your lunch.”

  That raised his curiosity a notch or two. Ben walked back outside. A crowd had gathered at the back of a pickup parked next to the TV news van. The bed was enclosed by stock bars and something was covered by a tarp just inside the tailgate. “I’m getting ready to charge a quarter for gawking.” The man sitting on the tailgate appeared to own the truck.