Bad Medicine

by Aimée

  “But the accident didn’t kill her, did it? And I thought mescaline wasn’t fatal.”

  “Correct on both points. What killed her was a lethal quantity of hyoscyamine, hyoscine, and atropine, as well as belladonna. All those, plus ground-up, partially undigested plant leaves, indicate that Angelina had ingested a fatal dose of jimsonweed.”

  “Were the peyote and jimsonweed ingested at the same time?”

  Carolyn nodded. “I found traces of both plants in her stomach, and some of the jimsonweed was mixed in with a partial peyote button. I think the button had been hollowed out and filled with the jimsonweed. For the symptoms to appear, she must have taken the drugs forty to forty-five minutes prior to when you saw her. Her digestive juices were just starting to work on that plant matter.”

  “She could, I suppose, have been trying to commit suicide, but that seems highly unlikely. My guess is that she thought she was taking peyote only,” Ella said thoughtfully. “Nobody would conceal a deadly herb like jimsonweed in peyote like that by accident, though, and that brings up an interesting question. If it was murder why would anyone want to kill her? Does this have something to do with the senator, or just with her?” Ella paused for a long moment. “It also seems too coincidental to have two deaths on the same day with peyote in the bodies of both victims. Those deaths are related somehow.”

  “You might look into the drug connection.”

  “Any idea where the drugs came from?”

  “All I can tell you is that both jimsonweed and peyote can be obtained locally, more or less. Peyote is found in southern New Mexico and Texas and, as you know, the Native American Church uses it in their ceremonies. Jimsonweed grows wild here in New Mexico.”

  “That doesn’t narrow the list of suppliers down very much, unfortunately. And I can’t imagine Senator Yellowhair is going to take this news very well. I doubt he’ll be helpful in tracking down the source of Angelina’s drug connection, since that would mean admitting she had one.”

  “You can count on one thing,” Carolyn said. “He’s not going to thank you for what we’ve discovered. If anything, he’ll fight our findings and deny everything. He’s very protective of his image. If Angelina was in anything like the Native American Church, I doubt he knew about it.”

  “You sound as if you know him pretty well.”

  Carolyn shrugged. “He’s a politician. What more is there to say?”

  Ella watched her friend as she returned to work. There was more to it, she could tell that from Carolyn’s voice. But she also knew the futility of pressing Carolyn for an answer she didn’t want to give. “I better get back to the office. I’ll see you later.”

  As Ella came out of the elevator on the first floor, she saw Justine in the lobby. “Did you find out anything useful?” Ella asked her assistant.

  “I now know a little more about Angelina and her circle of friends. But my meeting had a down side. While my sister-in-law and I were talking about Angelina, Nelson Yellowhair came up. Do you know him?”

  Ella shook her head.

  “He’s the senator’s brother; he works here as an orderly. He started accusing you and me of turning his niece’s accident into something ugly to smear his brother’s name. Everyone was staring, but he never let up until I walked away. I’ve got to tell you, I was tempted to haul him in for being a public nuisance.”

  Ella laughed. “We would have had difficulty making that charge stick.”

  “Yeah, but it would have brought him down a peg or two.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be doing that soon enough. Seems my instincts were right. Carolyn’s findings have confirmed that Angelina’s death was caused by poisoning. Regardless of the senator’s wishes, this is now a felony murder investigation.”

  FIVE

  Ella sat in her office staring at the stacks of report folders on her desk. Somewhere at the bottom, she knew, was the IN basket.

  Desk work was the bane of any cop’s existence. Justine helped, but there was still no way to escape the massive amounts of paperwork that were often required to cut through bureaucratic red tape, particularly in high-profile or cross-jurisdictional cases.

  When the phone rang, Ella picked up the receiver, eager for an excuse to put off the inevitable paper shuffling a little longer.

  “It’s Billy,” her caller said simply.

  An ingrained caution made her tense up. “I can barely hear you.”

  “Can’t be helped,” he clipped, his voice still soft. “Do you recognize my voice, or do you want confirmation?”

  She concentrated, trying to make out his words. “Considering recent events, confirmation would be nice.”

  “Remember our conversation at the mine? Like I said then, it’s one thing to argue and another to kill, L.A. Woman.”

  Ella remembered his comment and although it was possible someone had overheard them it didn’t seem likely. “Okay. What’s up?”

  “I may be able to help you.”

  “Why are you suddenly so cooperative?”

  “I heard what happened to you. I don’t like having my name used as bait, even if no one was hurt. I figure that this will even out the score.”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant the score against his buddies, or if he was making up for what had happened to her. It didn’t seem to matter at the moment. She needed a lead and it was worth a little risk to get one. “What have you got?”

  “Talk to Colin Anderson. He lives in Kirtland.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s an Anglo who used to work for the mine.”

  “Do you think he had something to do with the murder?”

  “That, I can’t say, but I will tell you that there was bad blood between him and Bitah, and with reason.”

  She wanted to ask more but before she could, she heard the dial tone. She considered going to Billy and trying to squeeze more out of him, but that was bound to do more harm than good. Billy Pete had just become the closest thing to an informant she had on this case.

  Ella buzzed Justine in the lab, then did a quick check on her computer, searching for Anderson’s name. He had no criminal record. A moment later she located his DMV records, and had his address and photo.

  Justine appeared at her door. “What’s up?”

  “Have you got that employee list from the mine?” Ella asked.

  “I requested it, but they haven’t gotten one to us yet,” Justine answered.

  “Keep on it. There’s always been tension between the mine and the tribe, but if we don’t break this case soon its likely to set things off in a way nobody’s going to be able to control. And keep trying to find out where the drugs came from.”

  The tiny lines around Justine’s eyes tightened and she nodded. “This isn’t going to be an easy case to close.”

  “I’ve got one lead I’m going to follow up now,” Ella said, then explained what she’d learned about Anderson, though she kept Billy Pete’s name out of it. “In the meantime, get that employee list. See if there’s anyone there who might talk to you candidly.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Ella watched her assistant leave. Justine would get results because she would never back off until she got what she was after. That was a trait they shared.

  Ella phoned Blalock and, after filling him in on the autopsy results and the drug link, arranged to meet him in Kirtland to pay Anderson a visit.

  “Is he another white supremacist?”

  “I don’t know, but I have a feeling we’re going to need to do this by the book. If he’s involved in this, he’ll eventually have an attorney who’ll be looking for a reason to throw any case we make on him right out the window.”

  “I can meet you there in half an hour, give or take a few minutes. That suit you?”

  “It’ll do,” she answered, then hung up the phone and strode out of the building.

  * * *

  Ella drove into Kirtland twenty minutes later. The town, a little closer to Farmington than Shiprock, w
as small and had its roots in agriculture, though oil and gas workers were plentiful. It didn’t take long for her to find the small housing area where Anderson lived. Two rows of nearly identical frame houses lined narrow streets. Some of the dwellings had carefully groomed patches of lawn and tiny trees, others were bracketed with tumbleweeds that were waist high. She immediately had the feeling of déjà vu, recalling her attempted interview with Truman. This time, Ella made up her mind, things would be different. No trouble, just a worthwhile interview in her investigation.

  As she drove up the street, named River’s Edge, she saw a man fitting Anderson’s description walk out of a pitched roof, stucco- and brick-facade house and go directly to his pickup. She slowed her Jeep and drove past, watching him for a moment, then decided to circle the block and follow him, hanging back.

  Ella picked up her cellular phone and dialed Blalock, who she figured was en route, and updated him.

  “Where are you now?” Blalock asked.

  “We’re heading west on the old highway, toward Fruitland. We just passed Kirtland High School. I think he has a precise location in mind, but he’s not exactly breaking land speed records to get there.”

  “Has he made you?”

  “No, no chance. I’m hanging way back.”

  “Okay. I’m going to head in your direction on sixty-four, then take the turnoff west of Flare Hill and try to intercept him.”

  As Ella hung up, she saw Anderson reach into the back of the cab of the truck and take a shotgun off the gun rack.

  Toddlers were playing in one yard while a young woman was pulling weeds in a flower garden. Ella’s blood turned to ice and her brain screamed a warning. She gunned the accelerator, knowing she had no authority to pull him over and that all hell was going to break loose when she did. But she couldn’t let him drive on. There was no reason for him to reach for a shotgun, unless he planned to use it. She had just leaned forward slightly to switch on the siren, her intuition working overtime, when it happened.

  Anderson suddenly pushed the barrel of the shotgun out the passenger’s window and fired. The blast shattered the living-room window of the house next door to where the children were playing.

  She heard the kids screaming with terror, frightened by the terrible noise, but they appeared unhurt. The woman ran over to her children as Ella called in for backup. Someone else would have to check the house for gunshot victims. She had to catch the lunatic behind the wheel before any more shots were fired.

  Anderson spotted her as soon as she activated the emergency light and siren. He whipped his truck into a turn, holding it tight, and hurtled down a graveled side road, tires spewing dust and rocks in his wake.

  Ella followed close behind, taking the corner at a terrifying speed and slant. When the Jeep didn’t roll, she breathed again. She kept her eyes on the vehicle ahead, searching for a way to cut off his escape.

  She knew that her souped-up engine would win a speed contest on an open road, but this was not an isolated highway on the Rez. Her quarry was maneuvering expertly down a well-traveled residential road, completely ignoring the twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit. She, on the other hand, was hampered by her concern for foot traffic and children on bicycles.

  The road curved back toward the main highway and Ella spotted the roadblock ahead. Two police cruisers had parked back to front, blocking the pickup’s access to the pavement. She had him now. Anderson suddenly slammed on the brakes, slid into a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, then, throwing more gravel with his tires, surged forward, heading directly at her.

  Ella braked expertly, crossing into the left lane and swinging her own vehicle to block the road. A shotgun blast shattered the rear window on the passenger side of her Jeep. Safety glass sprayed everywhere, some of it stinging her neck.

  Anderson turned sharply to the right, going off the road and across an alfalfa field she could see led back toward the highway a little farther to the west.

  Anderson was bouncing over the uneven ground as if he’d done this a million times before. Well, maybe he had, but so had she. Being raised on the Rez had a few advantages.

  Then, unexpectedly, Anderson slowed down and drove off the field, disappearing behind a small apple orchard. She caught sight of him again as he eased his vehicle down into a tumbleweed-lined arroyo closer to the river.

  Ella followed Anderson into the sandy wash, then pushed her Jeep for more speed. When Anderson saw she had discovered his hiding place, he slid to a stop and jumped out of his pickup with the shotgun, and ran down a smaller tributary too narrow for the Jeep.

  Ella called in her position and raced after him. She saw him climb quickly out of the arroyo, scramble down into another even narrower channel, and disappear again from view.

  She didn’t relish the thought of following him there. It was cool enough for rattlers to be out. The reptiles gathered along the warm sand lining the arroyos at this time of year. Anderson presented a more lethal danger, however, if he intended to ambush her.

  Dry brush scraped against her slacks as she wound her way through the twisting, claustrophobic wash, listening for her adversary. Only the cool breeze whistling mournfully through the ten-foot-deep maze answered her silent questions.

  She stopped at a wide point and checked ahead. Narrower channels like the one she’d just been in branched off the main arroyo but led to nothing except abrupt dead ends full of caved-in sand and tumbleweeds. Despite the wind smoothing out the sand, she managed to track him until the trail ended abruptly as she rounded a bend and encountered a wall of tumbleweeds.

  Instinctively, Ella flattened against the nearly vertical wall of the arroyo. “Give it up. I’m Investigator Clah with the Navajo Tribal Police, and I’m taking you into custody.”

  He didn’t answer, but when she heard a minor avalanche of dirt and sand, she knew he was trying to scramble up the side of the arroyo to make his escape. Ella climbed up, too, using a narrow crack in the side like a chimney, pressing against both sides to gain a hold. She had done the same thing a hundred times as a child.

  She reached the top and eased cautiously onto the ground. Staying low, she looked around and saw a pair of hands gripping the edge a little farther down. The rim kept crumbling, preventing him from getting a firm hold. Ella crouched behind a thick clump of sagebrush and remained silent, waiting. Several seconds later, her quarry threw one leg over and rolled onto the top.

  Ella came out of cover, gun in hand. “Don’t even think of moving,” she said in a low, threatening voice. “Lock your hands behind your head.”

  “What’s going on?” he asked, looking up from the ground as if bewildered. “You want my wallet? Is this a robbery?”

  Ella smiled grimly. “Don’t play stupid. It could get you killed. Where’s the shotgun?”

  “What? I’m not hunting. I just stopped to take a whiz. I really had to go.”

  “Weak excuse. I’ve been tailing you since you left your house, Anderson. I was a witness when you sent a shotgun blast through a home’s front window less than fifteen minutes ago.”

  “It couldn’t have been me. I’m not armed,” he said.

  “Yeah, so you ditched the gun. Don’t worry. We’ll find it,” she snapped, handcuffing him. She noticed fresh scratches on his wrists.

  “I don’t even own a shotgun, Officer. You must have me mixed up with someone else.”

  Ella read Anderson his rights and helped him to his feet just as the sound of police sirens approached. “You can explain it to them,” she said, turning to face the approaching cruisers.

  Blalock was the first to reach her. “Good job.”

  “Threatening an unarmed man is a ‘good job’? I bet this is the way you get your promotions, huh?” Anderson baited.

  Blalock gave him a cold, hard stare. “Save it. You’re lucky no one in that house was hit.” His gaze traveled over Ella. “You okay?”

  “Just scratches from flying glass and the tumbleweeds. No big deal.”

  A
s she turned Anderson over to the County Sheriff’s Department deputy, Blalock glanced around. “Where’s his weapon?”

  “He ditched the shotgun, but it’s got to be around here somewhere. His wrists were all scratched up. He must have jammed it into the brush.”

  As they started to look around for the weapon, Ella saw a familiar looking car on the dirt road not far away. She only caught a quick glimpse of the driver, but she didn’t need more than that to know Justine had heard of her call for backup and had responded. News of an officer in trouble always traveled at warp speed.

  “I have a feeling the shotgun is back in the arroyo,” Ella said. “Let’s go back and check it out after we get the people here organized.”

  Justine joined them as they walked back to Anderson’s truck. “How can I help?” she asked, looking carefully at Ella to assure herself her boss was okay.

  “Go with one of the sheriff’s deputies and start searching around for a shotgun. Anderson ditched his weapon somewhere.”

  “Who did he assault besides you?” Justine asked, looking toward the broken window on Ella’s Jeep.

  Ella glanced at Blalock as she reached into her vehicle for a pair of leather gloves. “Did you hear whose house that was? You said earlier that no one was hurt.”

  Blalock nodded. “Yes to the first question and no, nobody was hit, except for a lamp, apparently. You’re going to love this part, though. Turns out the house is occupied by one of the Navajo supervisors at the mine, Jesse Woody. Do you know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him, but I don’t know him personally.”

  “I do,” Justine said. “He’s a friend of my brother’s.”

  “Leave the search to us, then, Justine. Go talk to Woody. He’s either at home or at the county lockup in Farmington by now, giving a statement. See if he’ll talk to you.”

  They watched Ella’s assistant drive away, then Blalock turned back to Ella. “Justine might be able to get more than the sheriff’s deputy did. From what he said over the radio, Woody’s a tight-lipped son-of-a-gun.”