Earthway

by Thurlo, Aimée

  TWO

  The table slammed into Ella like a wooden fist, hurling her backwards, and her head hit the wall with a crack. Alternating waves of darkness and light swept over her, but she fought to stay conscious.

  As her vision came back into focus, she pushed away the table, which was blocked by chairs and pieces of other tables that had been thrown against it by the blast. It took all her strength just to clear enough space to stand in the gray pallor that now encompassed the room.

  The air was filled with smoke and the overwhelming smell of gunpowder. With the fluorescent lights shattered, it was difficult to see through the thick haze. Leaning against the wall for support, she edged forward on rubbery legs. “Ralph? Come on, buddy. Talk to me,” she said, coughing.

  Ella called out his name several more times, but there was no answer.

  Slowly, she worked her way through the wreckage of table and chairs, orienting herself with the help of the light coming through the open door. With every step, her boots crunched on broken glass and plastic from the light fixtures. There was something sticky and slippery on the floor, too, and it made walking difficult. Although she couldn’t see clearly, the coppery scent told her it was blood.

  “Ralph!” she called out again.

  Hearing a gurgling sound ahead, she moved forward, finding footing difficult on the shredded metal and chunks of wood that covered the floor.

  As the haze began to clear, she was able to make out a dark shape against the wall below the chalkboard. Ralph had been blown backwards away from the bomb, and was sitting with his back to the wall.

  When she got up close, Ella saw that a nail had imbedded itself in the clear face plate, but thank goodness it hadn’t gone all the way through. Nails were also stuck in the fabric of his protective suit, which was blackened and shredded in places.

  “I’m here,” she said, reaching his side. “The EMTs are probably on their way, too, so hang on.”

  “Something caught me in the side. Must have ricocheted off the wall and penetrated between the armor plates. . . .”

  He began coughing, and in the dim light, Ella saw blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Don’t talk,” she said softly, sitting next to him. “You’ll be okay.”

  An officer appeared in the doorway a second later. “Get the EMTs in here,” Ella snapped. “We’ve got a man down.”

  As the seconds passed, Ella held Ralph’s hand, encouraging him, though he appeared to have lost consciousness.

  Finally, rescue personnel came in and Ella moved out of the way to give them room to work. She stood beside the chalk board, which had been cracked by a jagged piece of pipe the size of her fist. At least the portable electric lantern they’d brought in provided much-needed illumination.

  As the dust settled, one EMT checked Ralph’s vital signs while his partner did a visual inspection and found the source of the bleeding. “The ballistic cloth was punctured by some really nasty stuff,” he said, dialing the hospital, and getting instructions directly from the emergency-room doctor on call.

  As the rescue team worked to stabilize Ralph, Ella felt someone touch her arm. She looked over and saw it was her partner and second cousin, Justine Goodluck.

  “It’s bad, real bad,” Ella whispered.

  “I know, but Ralph’s getting the help he needs now. You and I should step outside and let the EMTs work,” Justine answered.

  Ella knew her partner was right, but she couldn’t make herself leave. She still wasn’t even sure what had happened. In the blink of an eye, the situation had gone from under control to total chaos.

  After removing his heavy armored suit, two EMTs placed Ralph on a gurney and hurried past Ella and Justine. The third member of the team was picking up their gear when Ella went up to him.

  “Is my officer going to make it?” she asked quickly.

  “It’s hard to say. He took a piece of shrapnel through his side, maybe a nail, judging from the wound. The suit protected his front and his spine, but the sides . . . the armor’s not so thick there. A bullet or a blunt object wouldn’t have penetrated, but something slim and sharp, like a knife or nail, can slip through sometimes.”

  “How bad is it?” Seeing his reluctance to reply, she added, “Best guess.”

  “We can’t tell what kind of internal damage he’s suffered, but from the loss of blood, I’d say it’s going to be touch-and-go for a while.”

  Along with Justine, they picked their way through the debris and walked toward the exit. As soon as they were outside, Ella breathed in her first lungful of clean air. She took a quick survey to assure herself that nobody else had been hurt by the blast. Nobody was down anywhere, so she assumed the building had contained the explosive force of the bomb. Ford was at the forefront of the gathered crowd of students, standing taller than most of them, craning his neck to see. She managed a wave in his direction, and saw him wave back.

  “You look like crap, Ella,” Justine said, her voice gentler than her words denoted. “You’d better have those cuts and bruises checked out.”

  “Later. Right now let’s cordon off the crime scene and get to work. One of ours is down, and the sleazeball who did this to him is going to pay,” Ella said, her anger coming through loud and clear.

  While Justine returned to her unit and opened the trunk to get her gear, the ambulance raced away toward the hospital. The EMT who’d remained behind came up to Ella with a medical kit and insisted on examining her. After checking her vitals and disinfecting her many cuts, he released her, asking that she visit her doctor for a more thorough checkup as soon as possible.

  The EMT was packing away his gear when Ella spotted FBI Special Agent Dwayne Blalock stepping out of his Bureau vehicle. On the Rez he was known as FB-Eyes because of the unusual color of his eyes—one blue, the other brown. Blalock was in good physical condition for a man in his early fifties. He’d mellowed in temperament slightly over the years, but today his expression was grim.

  She watched him study the crowd of students, faculty, and onlookers standing across the commons. A good agent, Blalock was hoping to recognize a face or even an expression that might lead him to the perp. Sometimes they stayed around to survey their work.

  Ella heard a door slam, and turned around. Justine, Officer Marianna Talk, and Sergeant Joseph Neskahi were unloading essential gear from the crime-scene van and putting up the perimeter tape. Because of the nature of the incident, evidence would have scattered considerable distances, maybe across the sidewalk and onto the grounds. There were no windows in the lecture hall, but debris had blown out through the foyer and beyond. At least both doors had been open, so the blast hadn’t been completely contained. That had saved her, and hopefully, Ralph.

  Officers would be flagging every piece of debris—metal, plastic, and paper—to find the remnants of the bomb. Hopefully, they’d be able to reconstruct the device and find additional clues. From the looks of it, this wouldn’t be an easy job. They’d be here well into the evening.

  Blalock walked up and gave her a slow once-over. “You okay, Ella?”

  “Yeah, except my ears are still ringing.”

  “What’s the situation with Officer Tache?”

  “Not good,” she said. Swallowing to keep her voice from breaking, she added, “He was alive when they took him away, but he’s lost a lot of blood, and there’s internal damage.”

  “Ralph’s a tough old guy. If anyone can live through that, he will,” Blalock said. “You ready to get to work?” He gestured toward the crowd. “I called in all the officers I could find, county deputies included, to keep all the potential witnesses on site until they’re interviewed. We also have explosive ordinance teams from other communities checking the campus for bombs. They’re going to tag each building after it’s cleared.”

  “Good. Since that’s covered, let’s you and I start with the students who showed up for the lecture,” Ella said. “It wasn’t a suicide attack, so the perp probably didn’t remain
in the lecture hall after leaving the bomb. Maybe someone noticed a student or faculty member who left the building early.”

  “Did you get a good look at the device, Ella?”

  She described the bomb as well as she could remember. “It was in an ordinary-looking student backpack, nylon, probably. Red and black. I didn’t notice the brand.”

  “We’ll get that from the debris. Now let’s go round up some of our witnesses,” Blalock added, walking over to where the crowd had gathered behind the yellow-tape line. Three department officers and two deputies from the county sheriff’s office were keeping people from crossing into the crime scene.

  “Excuse me, officers?” a voice called out from behind them.

  Ella turned and saw a Navajo man, about thirty-five years old, clad in gray overalls and wearing a tool belt. He was waving to get their attention. Recognizing his uniform and the logo of the college on his shirt pocket, Ella walked over to meet him.

  “Are you with campus maintenance?” she asked, noting the electrical devices and rubber-handled tools at his waist.

  “Yes, officer. I’m Chester Tso, and my supervisor wants me to check out the wiring in Edmond Hall as soon as possible. Circuits were tripped in some of the other buildings, and we need to know if it’s safe to turn them back on. Computers are running on backup batteries right now and the staff’s worried about losing data, like grades and attendance records.”

  “I can’t let you roam around in Edmond Hall right now. The building is a crime scene,” Ella said.

  “I understand, Officer. But if you’ll let me make a quick inspection, I can also make sure there aren’t any electrical hazards for your people. I could cap any potential live wires and maybe restore some of the lighting and power to some outlets. I won’t touch anything without permission. You can even send one of your people in with me,” Tso said.

  Ella wrote a quick note, handed it to Tso, then pointed toward Joe Neskahi. “Give this to the sergeant. You’ve got ten minutes, but don’t touch anything without clearing it with him first. Got it?”

  The man nodded. “Thanks, Officer . . .”

  “Clah.” Ella said, already turning toward Ford, who was standing in the distance behind Blalock, a myriad of questions on his face. She went to him.

  He reached out as if to hug her, then, instead, touched her lightly on the arm. “I’m glad you’re okay, Ella. How can I help?”

  “You’ll have to make an official statement, but that can wait until later. Right now, could you gather everyone together who was there for the lecture? Each person will have to be interviewed.”

  With Ford’s help, Ella and Blalock quickly recorded the names of all present, then split the large group into two. Ella chose a small empty office to question the witnesses she’d be interviewing, while Blalock took the classroom across the hall.

  Leaning back against the desk, Ella waved the first student inside. “Your name?”

  “Gladys Joe,” the black-haired Navajo girl answered. She was short and stocky, and her face animated. Not waiting for Ella to ask questions, she started speaking immediately. “I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure out who could have done this. I’m taking police-science courses, so I think I know what you’re looking for,” she added. “The bomb was in that book bag you were holding when we left, right?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  Before Ella could say anything else, Gladys continued. “I don’t remember seeing that particular bag before, but then again, practically everyone carries a book bag these days—at least here at the college.”

  “Did you remember seeing anyone go up to the podium?” Ella asked.

  Gladys shook her head. “I came in just before you did, and was just sitting down when you picked up the bag. When Reverend Ford asked us all to go outside after that, I knew something was going on.”

  Gladys was a young wannabe police officer if she’d ever seen one. Ella envied her enthusiasm. Even at the beginning of her career, her past had made that kind of excitement and optimism impossible. She’d been led into law enforcement over twenty years ago by the death of her husband. By then, she’d had few illusions about the human spirit—except that it could survive, and endure almost anything.

  “The way I see it,” Gladys continued, “the target had to be Reverend Tome. There are some Traditionalists who resent Christian preachers trying to spread their religion here on our land. As Navajos, we have our own traditional beliefs.”

  Ella looked at her, and blinked. Somehow she couldn’t see Gladys, who was dressed in tight jeans and a sleeveless sweater vest, as a Traditionalist. The chocolate brown cell phone at her belt suggested that, if anything, she was a New Traditionalist. That group was growing in numbers on the Rez nowadays. New Traditionalists professed their belief in the old ways but, by and large, followed that lifestyle only as far as practical. “Designer hogans with cable,” her mother, Rose, often muttered with mild contempt.

  “Can you name some of Reverend Tome’s enemies?” Ella pressed.

  Gladys’ eyebrows knitted together as she considered the question. “Not really, but like paying a traffic ticket, evangelism on the Rez can get people ticked off. Of course that’s usually not enough to kill somebody over.” She paused, then continued. “Have you considered looking for someone who might be jealous of you and the Reverend—you know, personal stuff.”

  “That’s a thought. Thanks for your cooperation,” Ella said, wondering if there was anyone in the town of Shiprock who didn’t know she and Ford were dating. Curious to know Gladys’ future plans, she added, “Are you thinking of joining our department after you finish your education?”

  Gladys shook her head. “I want to get away from the Rez for a while,” she answered. “I’ve never been farther west than Flagstaff, and I’d like to see California and the ocean. I thought I’d finish school, then sign up for one of the federal law enforcement agencies.”

  Memories stirred at the back of Ella’s mind, and she nodded. She’d felt that urge to see the world once. And she had. But now she was glad to be home.

  The next three hours of interviews yielded nothing of substance. The position of the lectern had hidden the book bag from view, and nobody remembered anyone other than Reverend Ford and her going up to the front.

  A half hour later, Blalock came into the room. “I’m finished with my interviews, but I’ve got nothing solid. Some of the kids had interesting theories, though.”

  “What kind of theories?” she asked.

  “Some thought that Ford got targeted because he’s done some work for the tribal police, or because his church is always pushing to get new members. But then, why not bomb the church?”

  “A church is just a building. You have to take out the people—or at least their leaders—to shut them down. Or maybe I’m thinking too much about terrorism here,” Ella added with a shrug. “As one of the students I spoke to pointed out, evangelism alone isn’t a reason to blow someone up, at least not in this country. But I wonder if this may have something to do with Ford’s past.” Although she’d tried several times to find out what Ford had done prior to his arrival on the Rez, that part of his life remained a mystery to her.

  Blalock nodded slowly. “I know where you’re going with that. We both know he worked for some federal agency, and that he’s a trained cryptographer. I tried to dig up his record a few times myself, mostly out of curiosity, but then orders came down from D.C. to back off.”

  “We may have more luck checking his background now that it appears he’s a target for assassination.” She paused, then reached for her cell phone. “Give me a second to make a call and see if there’s any news about Ralph.”

  “I checked a few minutes ago. He’s still in surgery.”

  Ella nodded, silently replaying the scene in her mind and wondering if she could have done something—anything—to prevent what had happened.

  With effort, she pushed the thought aside. Those questions would be answered later. At the mome
nt, there was other work that needed to be done.

  “I wish this campus had security videos inside the classrooms,” Blalock mused.

  “There’s never been a reason for anything like that. Except for an occasional student protest, nothing much ever happened here—until now.”

  THREE

  After gathering all the statements taken by other officers, Ella joined her team. With one of their own close to death, everyone was determined to find the bomber. No clue would be overlooked.

  “We need to talk,” Blalock said, coming up to Ella, who was looking for deposits of bomb debris on a scorched wall inside Edmond Hall.

  “What’s up?”

  “If Ford was the target, not the school, the bomber will know soon enough that his attempt failed—meaning, Ford’s still a target.”

  “And if the perp hung around afterwards like some do, he might already have another hit planned,” Ella added, looking outside through the opened door. Ford was talking to students from one of the benches on the commons. “I’ll follow him home when he leaves. If anyone shows an interest in him, I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll keep working here with the team until we wrap up, but you might want to interview Ford now, while everything’s still fresh in his mind. I left him for you. I figured you’d want to talk to him yourself,” Blalock said.

  “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s question him together,” Ella said. “I may be too close to this.”

  A few minutes later, they joined Ford, who’d said goodbye to the last of his students. He was now sitting alone on a bench, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. To Ella, it looked like he’d aged ten years in the past few hours.

  “Are you up to some hard questions?” she asked, leading him away from the benches and back in the general direction of the crime scene.

  “How can I help?” he asked, falling into step beside her and Blalock.