Ella went up to the door, Justine beside her, and knocked. Moments later, a young Navajo woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt answered the door. Ella immediately noticed that she stayed well back, in shadow.
Though Ella had her badge in plain view, it was Justine who first caught Kim’s attention. “You’re Jayne’s sister,” Kim said, not making it a question. “You look a lot like her.” Glancing back at Ella, she added, “Jayne told me you two would be by. You’re sure you weren’t followed?”
“Absolutely certain,” Ella answered.
Kim invited them into the tiny living room and waved them to the sofa. “Make yourselves comfortable,” she said, taking a quick look out the window.
Declining coffee, Ella got down to business. “We have to find your husband because we believe he has information about a crime we’re investigating.”
“Have you tried his aunt’s house in the mountains? He’s happier there than anywhere else.”
“We looked. He’s not there,” Ella said, not wanting to give any details of their previous encounter with Henry.
Kim thought about it for a few minutes. “There’s one other place I know he likes to go. His father built a hogan close to the river, north of the Hogback oil field. His dad’s gone now, but Henry goes there when he wants to be alone, which is most of the time these days. Thank goodness for that.”
“Thanks. We’ll check there,” Ella said, standing up.
“Be careful,” Kim said softly, seeing them to the door. “Henry was really poor growing up and it’s made him really bitter. That’s what led to his awful temper.”
Ella had to bite her tongue, but managed not to reply. By the time they were back in the car, she noticed that Justine was grinding her teeth.
“Lots of Navajos were poor growing up,” Ella said, shaking her head. “That’s no excuse for cruelty and abuse.”
“The guy’s walking garbage. I’m surprised anyone would have stayed with him as long as she did.”
Ella took a steadying breath and forced the thought out of her head for now. “Let’s drive over to the hogan, but take Highway 64 and cross the river at Fruitland instead of at Hogback. If he’s in the area, he might be watching bridge traffic.”
“Should we get backup?”
Ella considered it, then nodded. “See if Joe can meet us there, but have him hang back and be ready to block the Hogback escape route with his vehicle. Call Phillip Cloud, too. That’s part of the area he patrols, I think, and he can come in behind us and cover the road east with his unit.”
Justine made the calls and as soon as she was done, Ella continued.
“We’ll park a ways off from the hogan itself, and check it out for signs that’ll confirm he’s there. We should also go on the assumption he’s heavily armed.”
“Yeah. He could have another stash,” Justine agreed.
The road from Fruitland ran along the bluff south of the river and they stopped beside the road, at a point just east of the hogan, putting the morning sun at their backs. Walking away from the vehicle, they approached the edge of the bluff and looked down. They could see a pickup not far from the hogan.
“A true New Mexico son, he’s got the standard-issue gun rack in the cab and I see a rifle or shotgun there, along with a fishing rod,” Ella said. She focused her binoculars on the hogan next. It was constructed close enough to the base of the cliff to be protected from a westerly wind, but far enough away not to be caught in runoff from the high ground. A metal chimney poking through the roof indicated the owner had a wood stove.
“Should we look for a way down there?” Justine asked.
“No, not yet. He just came out of the hogan and he’s walking around, weaving slightly, so I’m guessing he’s been drinking,” she said. “Yup, I was right. He just dropped a bottle onto a pile of empties on the ground. He has a pistol on his hip, too—an autoloader. Let’s sit tight and wait for Joe and Phillip. Once they have our backs, we can move in.”
“If he’s drunk, that’ll make him meaner,” Justine said in a taut voice. “And even without binoculars, I can see he’s as big as a sumo wrestler. I bet he’d give even Tee—Bruce—a good fight.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in the same room if that ever went down,” Ella said somberly. “The good news is that his drinking should slow his reaction time and destroy his aim.”
“Why do you think he’s wearing a pistol? Do you think he’s expecting trouble?” Justine asked.
“He knows he’s a fugitive and my guess is that he’s hoping for some action. There’s not much out here to keep him occupied besides a bottle—and maybe a little fishing,” Ella added. “He’s going back into the hogan now.”
“What strategy do we use to get him out of the hogan once we’re ready to move in?” Justine asked.
“We’ll approach on foot from his blind side and pretend we’re breaking into his truck.”
“As long as he doesn’t see us coming through a gap in the logs, that should get him out,” Justine agreed.
Ella examined the log structure with her binoculars. “The gaps between the logs look completely filled with mud. It’s also got a wooden door instead of a blanket, so my guess is this place is used year ‘round. From what I can see, it has been well maintained.”
“Let’s hope this is over quickly,” Justine said.
“Just be careful, and we’ll have him under arrest before he knows what hit him,” Ella continued, reaching for her cell phone. “Now, let’s find the best way down and get our backup on scene.”
Joe and Phillip arrived on foot, having met and joined forces. Ella gave them a quick rundown before they all moved into position. The men came off the bluff farther west, blocking any escape routes north into the river, and points west. Ella and Justine walked down the access road, using Henry’s pickup to screen them from view from the hogan entrance.
As they got closer, Ella could hear country music coming from inside the hogan, which meant their approach had been masked. She looked over at Neskahi and Cloud, who were nearly at the rear of the hogan. The hogan had no windows so their arrival, too, had apparently gone unseen.
“We’re going to have to step up the noise a little, partner,” she said, kicking the door of the pickup with her steel-toed boot.
Justine picked up a rock and used it as a hammer, pounding the back bumper, then ducking down. Using the truck for cover, she brought out her pistol.
“What the—?” Henry Mike yelled, slurring his words as he rushed out, pistol in hand. As he cleared the door, he wove for a moment, almost falling down.
“Tribal Police. Put your weapon down,” Joe called out firmly, coming around the hogan from the south side.
“Do it,” Phillip added, moving in from the river side, shotgun aimed at Henry’s chest.
Henry Mike swayed but never let go of his pistol. “I’m not going in—not while I’ve got breath in my body. If you want me, you’re going to have to shoot me.”
Ella glanced over the hood at Justine, who’d moved up on the opposite side of the truck and was now standing by the passenger door. “Suicide by cop. That’s what he’s after,” Ella said, recalling a similar situation years ago. She still had nightmares, but maybe today would be different and she could do and say just the right thing.
“No matter how much training we’ve had, real life always throws you a curve ball. I doubt a Taser would work on somebody that big—if we had one. So now what?” Justine muttered.
“Drop your weapon, Henry,” Ella called out, hoping to get a dialogue started. “It doesn’t have to go down this way. You’ll spend some time in jail, but, hey, this is New Mexico. You’ll probably be out for good behavior in six months.”
“Serve time for what? I know what you’re thinking, that I had something to do with that bomb. Right? It wasn’t me. Hell, I’d have taken a .45 to that weasel preacher if I wanted him dead—up close and personal, right between the eyes.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Instinct told Ella to
keep her eyes on Henry. His expression would reveal what she needed to know to stay alive.
“You’re lying. You need a fall guy to keep the tribe happy. But I had nothing to do with that bombing and I can prove it. I was at the Nakai’s wedding in Fruitland the day the bomb went off. There’s a photo inside that shows me there with my buddies.”
“Then it’s settled. Now lay down your weapon so we can talk,” Ella said, feeling the badger fetish at her throat grow hot. “Don’t throw your life away.”
“There’s nothing for me back in Shiprock. This is the end of the road.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Let’s talk about this once you have a chance to calm down,” Ella said, keeping her voice steady.
“You’re not hearing me. The only way I’m going back is in a body bag.” He took a step back, inching toward the hogan entrance.
The fetish at her throat felt like it was on fire now. There had to be a way to stop this. “We’re not going to kill you. We’ll wait until you’re ready to come with us peacefully. Just stay where you are.”
There was no answer for several very long minutes. Finally, he called out to them. “Okay, I’m putting my weapon down. Tell Kim I love her.”
Henry crouched and set the pistol on the ground, but as he stood, he made a sudden grab for something underneath his jacket.
“Gun!” Phillip shouted.
Henry whipped out a second pistol, bringing the barrel up as he went into a crouch. Four simultaneous blasts shook the river canyon. Henry’s body shuddered and he collapsed, face down.
None of the officers could move. “Good eyes, Phillip,” Ella finally said. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Officer Cloud muttered, visibly shaken.
Ella stepped over to where Henry Mike lay, automatically kicked the pistol away, then confirmed he was dead. “I should have seen this coming from his last words,” she said quietly.
“There’s one good thing—he’ll never threaten her again,” Justine answered in a whisper-thin voice.
Ella turned away, staring with unfocused eyes toward Shiprock Peak to the west. Henry Mike had taken four hits to his torso, one of them from a shotgun at close range. Though it had been a righteous shooting, she wasn’t the only one who looked ready to vomit. Things like this never got easier. Like a highly corrosive acid, police work ate away at your humanity. But if you ever stopped feeling the pain, you’d know it was time to turn in your badge.
Ella remembered the D.C. offer Kevin had mentioned. Maybe it was time to turn in her badge. Yet even as the thought formed, her stomach tightened. Leaving would be the toughest decision in her life right now. The tribe needed her, and her career—her mission in life—wasn’t about pocketing the biggest paycheck.
“Officers,” she said to the others, “bring your vehicles down and park them over there.” She gestured to a spot against the cliff side. “I’ll begin a preliminary search of the hogan. Justine will take over Tache’s normal duties. I’ll call the ME and also get the Crime Scene vehicle delivered to us as soon as possible. We’ll split up the rest of the duties when you return.”
The three officers moved up the dirt road, preferring the longer route rather than a climb up the bluff.
Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Ella went inside the hogan. On a small wooden table were five twenty-round clips of ammo and a HK semi-auto assault rifle in .308 Winchester caliber. It was a deadly weapon with plenty of power, capable of penetrating most police-issue vests. There were also several boxes of ammo, probably for the second rifle in the truck, and two pistol magazines. Dangling from a nail was a military-surplus gas mask, and on a shelf were flares and smoke grenades.
Ella checked a large cooler next and, not surprisingly, found several beer bottles floating in a mix of ice and water. As she continued her search, checking around the other hogan contents and the bedding, Ella heard a vehicle pull up. It was Justine, who’d had the shortest distance to go.
Ella motioned for her partner, who had a camera, to join her. “He’s got an armory in here but I still haven’t found any explosives or detonators. Looks like he planned all along to make his last stand here. Suicide by cop—and we obliged.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” Justine said, stepping into the small hexagonal space. “If we’d have held off just another second, you or I might be lying on the ground instead of him. That hidden weapon came as a surprise to all of us, and if he’d managed to get back inside . . .”
While Justine took photos of the interior, Ella continued to look around. That’s when she noticed a collection of photos taped to a wooden cabinet. One showed Henry Mike at a wedding with the groom.
She was looking at the images when Phillip Cloud came up behind her carrying an electric lantern, which provided much-needed light to the interior.
“That’s John Nakai next to the deceased,” Phillip Cloud said. “I was invited, too, but had to work that day. The wedding was the same day the bomb went off at the college.”
“He could have made a quick trip to the college to drop off the package,” Ella said. “We need to find out if the deceased spent the entire day there or not.”
“I’ll check into that,” Justine said, “but with his obvious taste for alcohol, I can’t see him skipping the reception.”
“Let me know as soon as possible what you find out,” Ella said, looking through the photos.
Dr. Carolyn Roanhorse, the medical examiner, arrived a few minutes later, and Ella gave her friend a nod as she exited the van. With no need to discuss the cause of death, Ella kept to her own tasks, and got busy checking out the pickup.
Dr. Roanhorse went to work, immediately enlisting Sergeant Neskahi as her helper.
Despite an exhaustive search, Ella found no trace of explosives, anything resembling codes, or correspondence with a terrorist cell or anyone else. She was walking back to the SUV when Blalock contacted her on the radio.
“I couldn’t reach you on your cell phone, so I’m using the tribal tactical channel. Your hunch paid off,” he said quickly. “Nafus didn’t know Haske was in custody and left a message asking Haske to call him back. The number belongs to one of those throwaway cells, so we can’t trace it. Haske set up a meeting. Nafus wants to buy more explosives.”
“Where’s the meet?” Ella asked quickly.
“A place they’ve used in the past, off Highway 64 just south of the Nenahnezad Chapter House.”
“On the Rez. I’m surprised that a big Anglo would think he wouldn’t be noticed here,” Ella said. “Where’s Haske now?”
“At home,” he said, giving her directions to the house, which lay not far from the river, in the bosque a few miles northwest of Shiprock. “He’ll have to leave in another twenty minutes.”
“Tell him to stay put until I arrive. My ETA should be inside that time frame if I leave right now. I’ll follow him from his home to the meet. Meanwhile, call for tribal backup and set up surveillance at the site of the meet.”
“Copy that.”
Ella signaled Justine and gave her a quick update.
“I should go with you,” Justine said. “You’ll need backup.”
“Not until Haske meets with Nafus. Contact Blalock and coordinate with him on the takedown. He’ll fill you in on tactics. But stay in touch with me.”
Ella was on the road less than a minute later, heading west toward Shiprock, about ten miles away. Lights flashing, she made her way in record time. Haske actually lived out of town, where houses were surrounded by cultivated fields or barren desert rather than developments.
As she reached the general area, she followed Blalock’s directions past the farmhouse. Ella stopped just beyond the dirt lane which led from the main gravel road to Haske’s house. The residence, about two hundred yards downhill, was almost hidden by the tall brush along the bosque.
Ella called Haske on his cell. “I’m uphill from you. I can see your front door from here but don’t look for me,” she instructed. “Just go about you
r business. I’ll follow at a discreet distance.”
“I’ll leave now, then,” he said.
Ella saw Haske come out the front door, then turn to lock up. Suddenly there was a burst of gunfire. Haske fell to the ground.
As the shots continued Ella pressed down on the accelerator. She spun and fishtailed all the way to the house, hoping to raise the biggest cloud of dust possible. Driving up as close as she could, she slammed on the brakes, sliding sideways to a stop and shielding Haske’s body as much as possible.
Diving out the passenger’s side, she crouched behind her tribal unit and called for backup on her hand-held radio. The shooter continued firing, bullets passing just over the hood of the car and slamming into Haske’s home. One struck the top of the car, then the wall. That gave her a general fix on his position. Rolling to the right, she fired two quick rounds into the bosque.
A shot came in reply, striking the front bumper with a thud, not a foot from her head. Instinctively, she hugged the ground behind the front tire. He wasn’t backing off—and now she was a target, too.
Knowing the shooter had fired at least five rounds and might need to reload, she rolled in the opposite direction and squeezed off three rounds at the best hiding place she could pick.
“Crawl closer to the car,” she called out to Haske as she reached into her left pocket, feeling for the reassurance only a spare magazine could give her.
Haske didn’t respond.
Turning her head, she risked a look at the victim, who was face down, half on and half off the concrete pad that comprised the porch. There were two holes in his back: one in the spine, and the other on the left, where his heart was located. The third round had struck the left side of his neck.
Any of those hits were potentially fatal, but having sustained all three of them, Haske was either dead or beyond help, Ella knew. Faced with another senseless death, anger filled her.
She took a deep breath, trying to focus solely on the shooter now. Firing back twice, she rolled to her right again. The sniper’s bullet struck where she’d been just two seconds earlier, its impact stinging the side of her face with sand. But now she had a better lock on his location.
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