by Aimée
“In the spirit of cooperation, I’d be happy to,” O’Donnell said. “I picked up some nice Native American pieces from a roadside vendor near the Rez. Just to be sure, I had a friend in the sheriff’s department check the hot sheets, and they weren’t stolen. I went back as soon as I could, hoping to buy more items, but by then the vendor wasn’t around anymore.”
“Can you give us a name, a description, anything?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t get a name, and it was strictly a cash transaction. The man was elderly, maybe in his eighties, and said they were pieces he was given when he got married, decades ago.”
“Was he Navajo?” Ella asked.
“Yeah. Well, Indian. I guess he could have been Ute or Apache. I didn’t ask.”
“You really expect us to believe that story?” Blalock said.
“It’s true,” O’Donnell said.
“Unauthorized digs are illegal. You know that, right?” Ella said.
“So who’s digging?”
“We can charge you with illegal possession of Native American antiquities,” Ella said. “To comply with the law, you’ll have to prove ownership and document the purchase.”
“I didn’t dig them up or steal them,” he said flatly. “You can’t prove I did, either.”
“We don’t have to prove anything other than the fact that you have them. We can arrest you for possession alone,” Ella said.
“You need permits to have those items in your possession unless you can prove you’ve got Native American blood, or that they weren’t obtained illegally,” Blalock said.
Ella saw O’Donnell squirm and decided to press him harder. “Where were you on Tuesday between, say, twelve and five?”
“Here, mostly, though I did take off for lunch at one.”
“Was it anyplace where people would remember you?” Ella asked.
“No. I usually have lunch at home and come back at around two. It’s my routine. You can ask Cassie, she’s at the front register. She takes lunch from twelve to one.”
“I’m going to take a closer look at those pottery pieces,” Justine said.
“Go right ahead,” he said, though it hadn’t been a question.
“We’ll need you to come to the sheriff’s department and make a statement,” Blalock said.
“I want my lawyer there with me.”
“Make the call. I’ll wait.”
Leaving Blalock with O’Donnell, Justine and Ella walked back into the room where she’d seen the pottery. “What do you make of this, partner?” Ella asked.
Justine took close-up photos of the clay pot at the center of the table, then walked over to look at other Native American artifacts on a shelf at the far end of the room.
“These stone corn grinders and ceremonial objects look genuine, Ella. I remember seeing similar pieces at the tribal museum in Window Rock. Look how these have been worn down and weathered. I’m betting they’re older than the ones on display at the museum.” Justine studied the corn grinder. “I’m no expert, but I’d say most of these are Pueblo or Anasazi in origin. If O’Donnell can’t show proper documentation, or prove that he dug them up on private land prior to 1979, when the Archeological Resources Protection Act kicked in, we can arrest him. Dealers aren’t immune from prosecution.”
“We need to authenticate them first and also verify they’re not on a hot sheet,” Ella said. “As for O’Donnell, he was about two years old in 1979. So unless he found these artifacts in his sandbox—”
“Or inherited them—which he didn’t even suggest—we’ll treat them as stolen goods,” Justine said. “Let me call in Victoria Bitsillie from our robbery and burglary division. She’s got a degree in cultural anthropology and may be able to authenticate these.”
“I’ve only met her in the halls, coming and going, but from what I heard, she’s got Gerald Bidtah’s backing,” Ella said. “He calls her the best of a new generation of tribal officers. Maybe she is, maybe she’s not. I don’t trust Bidtah’s judgment all that much.”
“In this case, Bidtah’s on target. She’s very good at what she does,” Justine said. “Big Ed speaks highly of her, too. She gets results and doesn’t let her ego get in the way. According to her, it’s all about restoring the balance.”
“That’s a plus. She sounds like a Traditionalist.”
“New Traditionalist,” Justine said, referring to those who still held to many of the old ways, but not at the exclusion of the new.
“Give her a call, and let me know what she says after she sees the pottery.”
After speaking with Ella, Blalock turned O’Donnell over to the county sheriff’s deputy who’d responded to his call. “You have no documentation for those artifacts, Billy, so I’m placing you under arrest for possession and trafficking in Native American antiquities.”
“I’ll be released before you get to the station.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Blalock said. “I’ve got a feeling that there’s more to find around here.”
“Good luck with that,” O’Donnell said, shaking his head.
Blalock went to speak to the woman behind the cash register, and Ella followed.
The sturdy young Hispanic woman wearing a turquoise polo shirt with a CASSIE name tag and the Emporium logo appeared to be barely out of her twenties. As she stared at the gold badge in Blalock’s hand, she turned a shade paler.
“What do you know about the artifacts in there?” Blalock said, pointing to the room where they’d been kept.
“Not much. I just work the cash register and keep things in order out here, dusting, straightening, like that. Every once in a while, Mr. O’Donnell brings in a Native American item, takes photos, and shelves it in the back room. Eventually, he packs and ships them off. I guess he finds the buyers himself, because he never puts them on display out here.”
“Are there other pieces around the store in addition to what we found in that room?” Ella said.
“There’s another pottery jar in the stockroom over there,” she said, and pointed to the north wall. “I think he was planning to take photos of it next. I don’t know for sure, but I figure that’s part of the inventory he sells online.”
While Blalock remained with Cassie, Justine and Ella went to check it out. This room wasn’t much larger than a walk-in closet, and the artifact was inside a clear acrylic case.
“It looks like the real thing, Ella. I mean, just look at the corrugated pattern on that jar. That’s hard to fake.”
They went back to talk to Cassie. “Does Mr. O’Donnell do a lot of online selling?” Ella asked.
“I think so. I’ve heard him talking about it from time to time.”
“Do you know which sites he uses?” Ella asked.
Cassie shook her head. “Sorry, no. I give him plenty of space when he’s working at the computer. He doesn’t like anyone looking over his shoulder.”
Justine, who’d moved away to answer a call, came back. “I just heard from Victoria. She’s on her way and should be here within a half hour.”
“Good. Let me know when she arrives,” Ella said.
Blalock took Ella aside. “We know O’Donnell’s fencing stuff, but we’re after a killer, not just a high-end thief. The real question here is whether can we tie O’Donnell to Ute’s murder. Are those artifacts really pricey enough to kill for? How does Ute play into that?”
“I have no idea, but maybe the answers will come to us once we narrow our focus. Let’s concentrate on finding evidence that’ll link O’Donnell to the case Harry was investigating—the theft of county property.”
“Agreed,” Blalock said.
Using her smartphone, Ella pulled up the list Harry had prepared of missing county property and sent a copy of it to Blalock’s BlackBerry. “Let’s see if any of these things are here.”
As they searched the Emporium’s merchandise, they managed to find several computers with altered serial numbers as well as other office equipment, including copiers and high-speed
backup systems. Once the original serial numbers were restored, they’d be able to see if they matched any on Harry’s list of missing inventory.
Victoria Bitsillie arrived a short time later. Ella spotted the stately Navajo sergeant through the store window as she drove up in a tribal SUV.
Ella pointed her out to Blalock, and together, they went to greet her. “We understand that you can authenticate the items for us,” Ella said as they walked back into the store.
“My uncle is a curator at the UNM Museum of Anthropology in Albuquerque, and he taught me ways of sorting the real from the fake,” Victoria said.
Ella led her to the storage room and stood back, watching Victoria work. The sergeant was tall for a Navajo woman, only a few inches shorter than Ella’s five foot ten. Victoria had broad, high cheekbones and intelligent brown eyes. In her mid-twenties, she wore her hair in a tight bun, but judging by its diameter, Ella had a feeling it fell down to her waist when loose. Overall, Victoria was a striking woman.
Victoria silently studied the pieces on the table. After a while, she removed a pair of latex gloves from her purse, put them on, and very carefully examined the surface on each of the pots.
“Visually, these appear to be genuine and in incredibly good condition for their age. From traces left in the cracks, I think they’ve probably been buried in dry, sandy soil for centuries. If I had to guess, I’d say these came from an illegal dig, since they appear to be Anasazi in origin. The markings and wear are consistent with artifacts dating back two to three hundred years, but to be absolutely certain, I’d have to run some tests.”
“I’ll see if we can get permission to take custody of the pieces,” Ella said.
Blalock nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll do the paperwork for you.”
A petite auburn-haired woman in jeans and a sleeveless blouse knocked on the open door. Seeing Blalock’s gold badge, she smiled.
“Agent Blalock, you called for a forensic computer analyst? I’m Mandy Stillwell and I work for the SJCSD out of the Kirtland station.” She handed Blalock a file folder. “And here’s the warrant you need.”
Blalock shook her hand. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”
“No prob. My job’s to recover and analyze computer data on behalf of the sheriff’s department. When it deals with encryptions, deleted files, and backtracking intrusions, I’m your man.”
Ella nearly laughed out loud. Although the tech was much too cocky and looked no older that a high school senior, Ella liked her at first glance.
Blalock stepped out into the hall with Mandy, then waved her toward O’Donnell’s office. “We have reason to believe that the suspect is selling stolen merchandise online. We want a full list of anything he’s uploaded and sold on the Internet. His computer’s on the desk.”
“I’ll get on it,” Mandy said.
As his phone rang, Blalock answered it and moved away. Ella glanced at Justine. “Call Teeny as a courtesy. Tell him where we are and what’s going on.”
“Sure, boss.”
Blalock returned and joined Ella. “I’m assuming you’ll want to be in the room when we question O’Donnell?”
“You bet.”
“We know Ute was working a case involving stolen county property and some of the items we’ve found here with altered serial numbers match the descriptions and may match the serial numbers, too,” Blalock said. “We also know that O’Donnell was on Ute’s radar. Of course, that doesn’t prove O’Donnell was involved in his murder, but since O’Donnell’s alibi’s shaky, I want to continue to push him. Let’s see what we get after we squeeze him a bit.”
Before Ella could reply, Mandy came out to find them. “I’ve got something. It looks like O’Donnell has been dealing everything from computers to cell phones on RogersList.”
“You broke his password already?” Blalock said, surprised.
“Didn’t have to, he’d taped it beneath a drawer. It’s the first place I look.”
“Good job,” Blalock said.
“I’ll go back and search for anything specific to Indian artifacts,” she said, then returned to O’Donnell’s office.
Ella walked across the customer area to Cassie, the clerk, who sat on a tall stool behind the register. Though they’d just closed the store and locked up for the day, she remained there, matching cash, checks, and credit receipts with the computer data.
“Cassie, it appears that your boss was involved in some shady business,” Ella said.
“I know. I’ve been listening to you all talking,” she said, “but I had nothing to do with any of that. I’ve only been working here for about three months, and all I do is handle the cash register, do light bookkeeping, and maintain the displays. Sometimes I work late and lock up.”
“Where does your boss spend most of his time—out here on the floor or in the back?”
“Definitely the back—the storeroom, in particular. Personally, I hate going in there. That place is just plain spooky.”
“What do you mean?” Ella asked.
Cassie gave her a wry smile. “He carries boxes and boxes of stuff into that place, but it never fills up. I kid him, saying that it’s not a storage closet, it’s a transporter, like in Star Trek.”
“Maybe we should take a closer look,” Blalock, who’d been listening, said.
Ella nodded. “Sounds good.”
The storeroom was paneled with cheap, laminated wallboard and crammed full of office and janitorial supplies.
“Claustrophobic place,” Ella said.
“If you wanted to hide something in here, where would you put it?” Blalock asked, looking around.
“I’d pick a place I could access easily but one that’s not highly visible … like maybe behind those file cabinets against the far wall. Let’s see how easy those are to move.”
Blalock went over and began opening drawers. They all contained file folders and paper office supplies. When he pulled on one of the cabinets, it started to tip, but it didn’t slide. He pushed it back. “Not this one.” Blalock went down the line, but had no better luck with the rest.
Lost in thought, Ella stared at an enormous watercolor painting of Shiprock that was propped against the wall. “How about behind that? What’s the painting doing in here in the first place? Shouldn’t it be out in the display area, mounted on the wall?”
“Is there a space for it out there? Or maybe it’s been sold,” Blalock suggested. “Either way, let’s take a look behind it.”
They tipped the heavy painting forward, but there was nothing behind it except the wallboard panel and a few grandaddy longlegs spiders.
Ella continued to look around, mentally dividing the room into quadrants and carefully studying each, searching for anything that didn’t fit in with the rest.
“That metal shelf unit,” Ella said.
Blalock shook his head. “With all the crap on those shelves, one man would have the devil of a time pulling it away from the wall.”
“No, look closer. I think it has casters. It’s not flush with the floor.” Ella walked up to it, placed her hand on one end, and pulled carefully, not wanting it to topple over on her if she was wrong.
The five-foot-tall, four-foot-wide unit moved out easily. Seeing that nothing on the shelves wobbled even slightly, she reached over to pick up a bottle of bleach. It wouldn’t budge.
“It’s glued down,” she said. Reaching for another item, a box of paper towels, she found it was stuck as well. She lifted the box, using pressure, and it broke free. “There’s some kind of goo here, like clay.”
Blalock stepped over. “That’s museum putty. Put it at the base of a fragile figurine, and it won’t tip over even in an earthquake.”
“And you know this because…”
“Used it on my childhood train layouts. It kept the hobo by the train track from tipping over every time the train raced by.”
“Good to know,” she said. “Hey, Dwayne, look over here. See this? The corner panels aren’t quite flush. S
omething’s behind there,” she said.
Blalock went out of the room, trying to figure out what butted up against it, and returned in thirty seconds. “The break room’s on the other side, but things don’t line up right. There’s a section of unaccounted space there.”
They tapped the wall, listening for a hollow sound, but found none. “Something’s back here, inside this wall, but where the heck is it?” Blalock muttered.
“And how does he access it?” Ella ran her hand along the end of the wall panel where it met the corner. “Nothing here, but look at that scuff mark on the left by the baseboard,” Ella said, tapping it with the tip of her boot.
“Don’t just tap it. Give it a push,” Blalock said.
As she did, they heard a click, and the wall popped out a half inch. Blalock pushed it to the left, and the panel rolled aside easily, revealing shelves holding bullet-resistant vests printed with the letters SJCSD. There were also handguns and shoulder weapons of several different types—revolvers, pistols, shotguns—even rifles with scopes.
“Look at this hardware! How did he get his hands on all this without anyone noticing?” Ella asked.
“I’ve got an idea,” Blalock said, then stepped out into the hall. “Mandy,” he called out.
She came out of O’Donnell’s office. “Here.”
“Can you get me a list of evidence that was confiscated by county and scheduled for disposal by the department? Firearms, ammunition, explosives, tactical gear, things like that. Serial numbers in particular would be helpful.”
“Sure, Agent Blalock,” Mandy said, quickly glancing inside the room and seeing what they’d found. She pulled out an iPad, then after another second showed him what was on the screen. “Read off the serial numbers on the gear one at a time. I’ll type it in and see if I get a match.”
Seeing Blalock give her a nod, Ella went to a shelf containing several revolvers. Choosing the closest one, she read the serial number off a Smith & Wesson.
“Got it.” Mandy typed a few keystrokes, then looked up. “According to records, that gun was one in a batch of weapons destroyed by the bomb squad four months ago. It was part of the old inventory, before the department switched to Glocks.”
