“I heard they’re running tests,” added Sutter.
“I don’t know how you found this thing, but nice work,” said Spencer.
Books glanced over his shoulder at the Explorer. “Luck, mostly. I engaged in a little guesswork and followed my nose.”
“Glad you did,” said Spencer. “The vehicle’s a steal out of Big Water. The owner reported it missing yesterday afternoon.”
Books nodded.
“I thought the court slapped such an unusually high number on Benally that he’d never make bail,” said Sutter. “Twenty grand is a lot for somebody charged with possession of stolen property.”
“The bail was set high because the judge was aware of Benally’s possible connection to the disappearance of the Rogers,” said Books. “But you’re right, Charley, nobody thought for a minute that he’d make bail.”
“So how did he get out?” asked Spencer.
“Guy by the name of Earl Shumway walked into the court clerk’s office this morning and presented a money order for twenty grand,” said Books.
“Earl Shumway?” said Sutter.
Books said, “You know this Shumway?”
“Couldn’t be the same guy,” replied Sutter. “The Earl Shumway I’m thinking of was an infamous pot hunter from over Moab way. But hell, he’s been dead for years or at least he’s supposed to be dead.”
“What do you mean “supposed to be?” asked Spencer.
“Well, old Earl came from a family of grave robbers—always bragged the feds would never catch him. But they did. In fact, it was Randy Maldonado who finally got him. He went off to federal prison for a few years, got out, went back to Moab, and to hear people tell it, went right back to digging. After a while, he disappeared, and then reports surfaced that he’d gotten sick and died. But rumors have persisted for years that he didn’t really die and is still out there somewhere.”
“How old would he be if he was still alive?” asked Books.
Sutter paused. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. He’d probably have to be mid-to-late seventies by now.”
“I think we can assume this character isn’t the Earl Shumway you’re talking about. Wilma Harris described our guy as somewhere in his early thirties.”
“Maybe the perp was just trying to be funny,” said Sutter.
“Maybe,” said Books.
“Well, it’s not—funny, I mean,” added Spencer.
Books’ cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and realized that Beth Tanner was trying to reach him.
“Hey, Beth. What’s up?”
“I’m hearing scuttlebutt. What’s going on out there?”
Books filled her in.
When he finished, Tanner said, “What can I do to help?”
Books gave her the name and Utah driver’s license number used to post Benally’s bail.
“Get a hold of DMV and find out whatever you can about that driver’s license number. I’m guessing it’s a phony, but they ought to be able to tell us. Also, ask if anyone by the name of Earl Shumway holds a Utah driver’s license.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
Books turned his attention back to Sutter and Spencer. “Look, fellas, I need to get over to the hospital. Can you get somebody over here to handle the impound?”
“I’ll take care of it myself,” said Spencer.”
“Better get this rig indoors pronto,” said Books, glancing nervously at the darkening clouds rolling in from the southwest, “Supposed to rain today. Get the lab boys here as soon as possible. My gut tells me we’re going to get plenty of physical evidence off this Explorer.”
“Anything else?” said Spencer.
“Yeah, there is and it’s important. From the moment Benally comes out of surgery, assuming he survives, he’s got to have protection 24/7. That means nobody gets in to see him other than his immediate family, Becky Eddins, his lawyer, your investigating officer, and me.”
“You really think somebody might try to off him in the hospital?” said Spencer.
“Look, somebody was serious enough to shell out twenty grand to get him out of jail and then failed to kill him on the first attempt. Why wouldn’t they try again?”
“Put like that, it has a ring of desperation to it,” said Sutter.
“It’s tough for us,” replied Spencer. “I just don’t’ have the manpower, but we’ll figure something out.”
“I’ll help you with it, George” said Sutter. “Might have to authorize some overtime, but I’ll find somebody willing to pull some of the shifts.”
Books left the two men with the Explorer and headed over to the hospital. He wanted to talk to the witness who had called in the hit-and-run and see what he could find out about Benally’s medical condition.
When he entered the hospital lobby, Books observed a uniformed Kanab police officer seated on a couch taking information from Benally’s mother, who was dabbing tears from her eyes with a tissue. Becky Eddins was standing off to one side talking to someone on her cell phone. She gave him a slight nod and continued talking.
As soon as the patrol officer finished with Benally’s mother, he strode over to Books, extended his hand, and introduced himself. “Ranger Books, I’m Officer Ed Harris. Thanks for the help out there this morning.”
Books shook his hand. “Sure. How’s Benally doing?”
Harris shrugged, “Haven’t heard anything. As far as I know, he’s still in surgery.”
“The kid looked pretty banged up, that’s for sure. Did he happen to say anything to you?”
“Nah, not really. He was in and out of it—mumbled some gibberish that didn’t make any sense.”
“What about his clothes, do you have them?”
Harris looked embarrassed. “Damn, I forgot about the clothes. Let me run over to the emergency room. That’s where they brought him in. I’m sure they’ll have them.”
“When you go over,” said Books, “be sure you find out who removed his clothing. The clothes are evidence and we’ll need to maintain a proper chain of custody.”
Harris nodded.
Becky Eddins got off the phone and walked over to the two men. “Officer Harris mentioned that you found the SUV that struck Joey.”
“We think so. It was stolen yesterday afternoon from Big Water.”
“Do you think it was stolen for the express purpose of killing him?”
“Hard to say.” This was a discussion Books didn’t want to have with Eddins. They were on opposite sides of this one.
“Would you excuse us for a minute, Becky? I need a couple of more minutes with Officer Harris.”
“Certainly.” She stepped away.
Books turned back to Harris. “I heard you’ve got a witness.”
“Sure do, and a good one, I think.”
“What did he have to say?”
Harris looked at his crime scene notes. “Our witness had just returned a couple of library books and was leaving the parking lot when it happened. He got a good look at the suspect vehicle but couldn’t help us much with the driver.”
“Any chance he could identify the driver if he saw him again?”
Harris shook his head. “The only thing Mr. Simmons seemed sure of was that the suspect was a white male, wearing camouflage clothing including a round, wide-brimmed hat which made it impossible to get a look at his face.”
Books recalled the bank’s surveillance tape of the two ATM withdrawals. The suspect had been wearing camouflage clothing and a round, wide-brimmed hat.
“Anything else, Ed?”
“That’s about it. You want his name and contact information?”
“I do. Thanks.”
When they finished, Harris excused himself and headed off to the hospital emergency room to retrieve Benally’s
clothing.
Eddins was sitting on the couch in the hospital lobby with Benally’s mother, Ruby Grant, engaged in a hushed conversation. As Books approached, Eddins motioned him away.
Grant shot Books an angry look that suggested she believed he was responsible for the near fatal assault on her son. And maybe he was. Books moved away from the pair and stood by the sliding doors at the entrance to the hospital until Eddins approached.
“How is Mrs. Grant holding up?”
“About as well as can be expected under the circumstances. What happens now?”
“I’ve arranged with Chief Spencer and Sheriff Sutter for round-the-clock protection of your client once he gets out of surgery.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. I’ll pass it along to Ruby. It might make her feel a little better. Tell me something. If they really wanted him dead, why use a car? Why not just shoot him?”
“I don’t know. Criminals don’t always make smart decisions. Maybe they thought a car accident would look less suspicious than a shooting. Look, it’s imperative I talk with your client just as soon as he comes around.”
“That’s not going to happen, J.D. Nothing has changed as far as I’m concerned. “You can’t have access to my client until I’ve had time to present the DA’s plea offer to him. And I won’t do that until his doctors tell me he’s cogent enough to understand what we’re talking about. Until then, you’ll have to stay away.”
“Jesus, Becky. Don’t you understand? The sooner he talks to me, the better his chances are of staying alive. Once he talks, we’ll have a better chance of finding the perps before they try to kill him again.”
“Don’t patronize me, J.D. Of course, I understand. But I’ve got a job to do just like you do. And I will not jeopardize his legal case until he’s competent enough to understand what it means if he accepts the prosecutor’s offer. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” Books walked away.
Chapter Twenty-four
Back in the Tahoe, Books couldn’t help but notice the abrupt change in the weather. The wind coming out of the northwest had gained strength and turned colder. Thunderheads had formed over the mountains and black cumulus clouds blanketed the sky. A light rain had begun to fall. Like other locals, Books understood that the Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument could be a cruel mistress. He hoped the tourists hiking and four-wheeling in the monument were paying attention.
Recently, a pair of newlyweds from Delaware had been hiking a slot canyon, oblivious to the changing weather, when a sudden flash flood roared down the canyon and swept them away. The woman survived the ordeal. Her husband didn’t. From her hospital bed, she had cried that the flood occurred without warning, leaving them no time to escape to higher ground. Books didn’t have the heart to tell her the signs were all there, but they simply hadn’t paid attention.
He found a voice message from his sister, asking him to call. The news was good. Bernie was out of surgery, the doctors telling her that the cancer hadn’t spread to other organs. It was, however, necessary to remove more than a foot of his colon. Their father would remain hospitalized for several days, followed by several weeks of chemotherapy treatment.
Books was elated. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief that Bernie’s prospects appeared good, and guilt that he hadn’t been at his father’s bedside throughout the ordeal. He returned Maggie’s call and they spoke briefly. Bernie was in recovery and would remain there for a while longer. They agreed to talk again later that night.
***
Books knew that he had held back with Eddins. They now had a lead they hadn’t had prior to the fingerprint identification of James Earl Buck. If they could find him, the entire operation might fall apart and the cooperation of Joe Benally would be unnecessary. If that were the case, Books would urge District Attorney Virgil Bell to withdraw the plea offer. That would anger Eddins, and she would undoubtedly view the action as retribution for not quickly accepting the deal and making Benally available for interrogation.
From the onset, he had wondered whether the plea agreement was overly generous, particularly if it turned out Benally was up to his eyeballs in the disappearance of Abby and Rolly Rogers. From experience Books had learned that overly generous plea deals in high-visibility, violent crime cases had a way of coming back to bite the major players on their backside. Should that happen, public anger would be directed at Virgil Bell and Charley Sutter.
With the interrogation of Benally at least temporarily on hold, Books turned his attention to finding Buck. The trowel inadvertently left at the dig site had provided their only strong lead in the case. Apprehending him was now of paramount importance.
He had just parked the Tahoe at Escobars when he received a radio call asking him to return to the hospital to see Officer Harris. So much for lunch, he thought. He was starving. He hadn’t eaten anything all day except for the toast and coffee he’d had at Tanner’s apartment.
“What’s up, Ed?” said Books, as he approached Harris in the hospital lobby. The officer was busy placing individual items of Benally’s clothing in separate bags and attaching signed evidence tags to each.
“I think I found something here you’re going to want to see.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a note I found in Benally’s pants pocket.”
“Did you handle it?”
He cringed, “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking. As soon as I realized that it might be important, I grabbed a pair of latex gloves.”
A little late, thought Books. “What does the note say?”
“I’ll let you read it.” Using a pair of tweezers, Harris carefully removed the note from a small, plastic zip-lock baggie. The handwritten note read:
Joey,
We posted your bail as soon as we heard you got busted. Don’t worry about nothin. I got us a ride. Meet me at City Park as soon as you get out. We’ll get out of town, chill out a while, and maybe cook us up some meth.
Books studied the unsigned note. It had to have been written by someone trusted and known to Benally. But how was the note delivered? That was puzzling. One thing seemed clear. The note provided incontrovertible proof of a conspiracy to murder Joe Benally out of fear he might turn state’s evidence.
“Thanks for the call, Ed. I’m gonna take the note with me. I can arrange to have it examined for latent prints quicker than you can.”
“But what about my prints?”
“Not to worry—we’ll arrange to get a copy of your fingerprints from the city for elimination purposes.”
Books left the hospital and headed straight for the Kane County Public Works garage, where the stolen Explorer had been moved. He asked to have the note examined before techs began the laborious job of processing the Explorer. Maybe they’d get lucky and find latent prints belonging to someone other than Harris.
Books returned to Escobar’s for lunch. He was joined by Tanner, who had been busy looking into the background of Earl Shumway, the man who had posted Benally’s bail. She was also conducting background investigations of the four Native American cops who had arrested Bobby Case.
“How are you doing?” she asked, sliding into the booth.
“What a day.”
“I gotta say, Books, you attract trouble like flies to a cow pie.”
He laughed. “It’s not by design, I can tell you that. What have you been up to?”
“Just like you thought, J.D., the license is a fake. DMV has no driver’s license record for anyone named Earl Shumway—probably just somebody’s warped sense of humor.”
“No, Beth, it’s more than that. It’s also clever and arrogant—makes me think whoever did it is overconfident and toying with us. Let’s hope his inflated sense of self-confidence leads him to make mistakes. What about the tribal cops?”
“I’ll tell you this much. Tribal
police are not the easiest folks to get information from.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I started by calling Paiute tribal police headquarters. I was told that Sergeant Albert Tom is a patrol supervisor, been with the department for almost nine years, and is well respected internally. Eric Bow and Benjamin Youngbear are reserve officers; both are in good standing. Each hopes to secure a fulltime position whenever the opportunity presents itself.”
“Bow and Youngbear are going to have a lot less training and experience than Tom.”
“Yeah, but probably a lot more time for chasing diggers.”
“True. Who gave you this information?”
She looked at her notes. “A captain in charge of personnel and training.”
Books nodded.
“Things got a little fuzzier when I called the Navajo tribal police in Window Rock.”
“How so?”
“I got passed around several times before my call landed in the office of a sergeant by the name of Miriam Curley. Curley was at least willing to discuss the existence of this group, whereas others I spoke to seemed deliberately vague.”
“What does Sergeant Curley do for the department?”
“She runs an office that coordinates various tribal research projects and works to obtain federal grants to help fund the studies.”
“Go on.”
“Here it gets a little interesting. Curley told me that Ronald Yazzie, the fourth cop and the only Navajo, is no longer a member of the tribal police. He was terminated for cause almost a year ago.”
“Interesting. Did she say why?”
Tanner shook her head, “Nope, she cited privacy concerns.”
“That’s good information, Beth, but there are some other things I’d like to know.”
“For instance?”
“For instance, does this group have a name? How are they funded? Do they receive any kind of official recognition from the tribes? How are they organized and do they have a leader? How many members do they have?”
“I can answer some of those questions.” Tanner went back to her notebook. “Here it is. Curley told me that the group is called the Society for the Preservation of the Ancients, or SPA for short. Her impression is that the group is made up mostly of Navajo, although she wasn’t surprised when I told her about the Paiutes we encountered.
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