White Thunder Page 8

  “I’m helping track down a missing Anglo, Jaime, but I was told he was a tourist interested in tribal ceremonies,” Ella said, giving Jaime a quick cover story. Simmons had requested discretion and, under the circumstances, she agreed with him. There was another way to play this and still get what she needed. “I’m following a lead right now, which is why I’m here. I can’t go into the particulars yet, but I’m looking for an employee of the paper, a delivery man, Melvin Rainwater.”

  “Never heard of him, but then our paths wouldn’t necessarily cross. Come back to my office and I’ll have my assistant look him up.” Jaime nodded to the photographer, who left without comment.

  Jaime, the editor in chief of the tribal newspaper, led the way inside to the large, sparsely furnished office, one of two actually walled in completely to the ceiling. The decor was spartan and clutter abounded. There was one desk containing a new-looking computer, two worn chairs stacked with files, and several large metal cabinets, but judging by the amount of paperwork scattered about, filing was only done here as a last resort.

  Jaime pressed the intercom buzzer and spoke hurriedly to someone, then focused back on Ella. “Delbert will get the information you want in a few minutes.”

  “Great.”

  “While we’re waiting, why don’t you tell me more about this tourist—what he’s like and so on.”

  “All I really know is that he’s a six-foot-tall redhead with blue eyes. He should really stick out among us.”

  “Yeah, give him a cowboy outfit and you’ve got Howdy Doody. What’s his name?”

  “We’ve agreed to keep it confidential until his family can be notified. Can you make sure the important details get in your paper?”

  “Sure, but I could use a photo.”

  “We’re still trying to get one ourselves. But tall and redheaded should be enough of a description, don’t you think?”

  “I’ll make sure we get a notice somewhere in the first two pages and include a phone number to call. Maybe it’ll ring a bell with someone who saw him wandering around.” Jaime poured herself a cup of coffee. “Want one?”

  “Thanks,” Ella said accepting the steaming cup Jaime offered. She wasn’t going anywhere until Jaime’s assistant got back to them anyway.

  Jaime took a sip of her own brew, then spoke. “If you decide you and the department need an extra hand with this missing-persons case, you might consider Bruce Little. I know he’s done computer network jobs for the tribe since he left your department, but I can tell you from personal experience that he excels at finding people—even the ones who don’t want to be found. I can’t go into what he’s done for the paper, but you might give him a call. He’s expensive, but worth every penny. Come to think of it, all you’d have to do is give him a big smile and he’d probably work for you for free,” Jaime said, and made a face at her.

  Ella laughed. “Teeny’s always been nice to me, that’s true.”

  Jaime smiled. “He’s very good at the things he does, Ella. And intimidating when he wants to be. Hey, even when he doesn’t want to be,” she added.

  “He’s a good man. People are just too quick to judge him on appearances,” Ella said.

  “Nah, don’t bother telling me he’s all gentleness and sweetness in a rough package. I know better. Remember what he did to coach’s desk?”

  Ella chuckled, vividly recalling the incident. Her senior year in high school one of the coaches had been on her case, constantly accusing her of not pushing herself hard enough on the basketball court. Things hit an all-time low when, after barely squeaking to a win against their number-one rivals, he’d ragged her miserably in front of the entire boys’ and girls’ teams. Teeny, working as a trainer for the boys’ team, had been one of those present.

  The following Monday after school, when they’d all gone into the gym to practice, coach had discovered that his enormous oak desk was missing. He’d eventually found it outside, sticking out of a trash bin. The desk had been the coach’s pride and joy and took six of the school’s football players to carry back up to his second-story office in the athletic building.

  Although kids normally talked and gossiped, there’d been no rumors at all to point to the person responsible. Coach had never been able to pin it on Teeny though everyone had known that he was the only one who could have pulled it off.

  Before Ella could comment, Jaime’s assistant came in and handed her a note. Jaime looked at it, then back up at Ella. “I’ve got an address, but I want an exclusive when you finally release the story. You’re holding out on me, Ella, and you probably have your reasons, but I’m going to need some payback later.”

  “I agree to an exclusive, though don’t get your hopes up on anything worth front-page headlines.” Ella reached for the address before Jaime could add any more conditions. “Thanks.”

  As Ella drove away from the newspaper building, she noticed immediately how dark it was already. The moonless night chilled her spirit. Without streetlights, the dark was a yawning void that only gave way grudgingly to the narrow beams from her vehicle before it closed in behind the unit, quickly swallowing the faint red glow of her taillights.

  Ella pushed her unit for speed once she was back on the main highway, but when the vehicle began to vibrate, she remembered the problem with the tires. She’d have to go back to the station and get a matching tire or risk an accident or loss of control. She could also use a spare, and so could Clifford.

  Once there, she’d find Justine, and, with luck, her partner would be finished with her lab work and they could ride together. Going to interview Rainwater wasn’t something she wanted to do without some kind of backup, not so much because of the potential danger but because it would be harder to prevent his escape if he tried to make a run for it

  Ella made a call to the man on duty in Maintenance, told him what the problem was, and arranged to leave her unit and the two flat tires at the garage. By the time their conversation ended, she was there. After signing the garage paperwork, Ella walked the short distance from the garage to Justine’s lab inside the station and found her partner working on a report.

  “I’m going to need your help,” Ella said, filling her in on the latest. “I’ve got a new address for Melvin and I want to follow that up tonight. But we’ll have to use your vehicle.”

  “Let’s go. Anything to get out of the lab for a while. I’ve done all I can here now.” Justine brought out a photo of Rainwater. “I got this from the Motor Vehicle Department’s records, but the address listed is the same one you already checked out in Farmington.”

  A few minutes later, they were rolling again, but Ella’s tension continued to grow and she stared straight ahead out the windshield, staring at nothing.

  “It’s getting to you,” Justine said quietly, gesturing to Ella’s hand, which was on her lap clenched into a fist.

  “Yeah, it is,” she admitted grudgingly. “Thomas’s chances of making it out of this alive decrease with every passing hour. I can feel time slipping through my fingers like sand, and yet I can’t seem to make any real progress!”

  “Let’s try to shake Rainwater up. But just to play devil’s advocate for a moment, Ella, what’s next if Rainwater doesn’t have the answers we need?”

  “He’ll at least know the names of everyone who attended the Sing. We’ll interview all of them if we have to. The trail begins at that ceremony.”

  SEVEN

  The address they now had for Melvin Rainwater was just south of the river near the small farming community of Waterflow. There were a few scattered houses in this area, even though most of the good farming land was across the river, outside the Rez. Still, with the big power plant just a few miles away, Rainwater, at least, had modern conveniences—electricity, a well, and a paved road. Stores farther east in Kirtland and Farmington offered cheaper prices than those in Shiprock, too.

  Ella and Justine approached the house, a small wood-framed, flat-roofed stucco building with no garage or landscaping. A twent
y-foot tall globe willow stood in front, offering some daytime shade for the front porch, a simple concrete slab. No car was visible anywhere, and there were no lights inside the house. The house and tree, standing alone on a flat, dry mesa, made the entire setting stark and lonely in the narrow beams of the headlights.

  “It’s too early for him to be in bed. Looks like no one’s home,” Justine asked softly.

  Ella didn’t answer. Instead, she knocked hard on the door and identified herself. Silence was her only response. Ella borrowed Justine’s flashlight and walked around to the side of the house. Spotting a parted curtain, she aimed the light beam inside. An inexpensive desk against the wall beneath the window held a cardboard shoe box containing letters and papers. A coffee can beside the box contained dozens of pens of differing sizes and colors. They had logos and names from dozens of businesses and institutions. There was even one from the newspaper and the tribal council. “He collects—or steals—pens,” Ella said.

  At the back of the house, they found a galvanized metal trash can overflowing with garbage. Resting below the metal lid were four empty pizza cartons.

  “All from the same restaurant—Perfect Pizza—in Kirtland,” Ella commented. “I saw one of their pens on Rainwater’s desk.”

  “They’ve got the best pepperoni pizza around but they only deliver outside the reservation. That means he had to have gone to pick them up.”

  “So either Melvin has had company very recently or he’s a very dedicated customer with a healthy appetite.” Ella put on a pair of disposable latex gloves, then pulled out an envelope from the trash. It was for Melvin C. Rainwater from a bank in Connecticut asking Mr. Rainwater to apply for a credit card.

  “At least we know he’s been living here recently.” Ella lifted up the bottom pizza box slightly, aiming the light again so she could look farther down into the garbage. “Ugh. Several more pizza boxes from Perfect.”

  “He must have stock in that company,” Justine said. “Or maybe he gets the leftovers or rejects.”

  “Reject pizzas? Oh, like ‘I didn’t order anchovies, but this has got anchovies’ type of rejects?” Ella stepped back and took off her gloves, dropping them down into the trash where they wouldn’t be seen unless someone else decided to dig through Rainwater’s garbage.

  Ella handed Justine back her flashlight. “I have a feeling that Melvin either works there or has a friend who does. Let’s go check out the pizza place and see what we can find out.” Ella gestured toward the vehicle. “But we’ll want to have an officer watch this place in case Rainwater returns.”

  Once in the unit, Ella used her cell phone and made arrangements for the officer who normally patrolled that area to pass by the house and make spot checks. They didn’t have enough officers on the evening shift to put anyone there full-time but her theory was that if Rainwater did return, he’d probably remain home the rest of the night. When the officer made his swing by, he could notify her or Justine if he saw Rainwater and they’d take it from there.

  As they hurried toward Kirtland, farther to the east, Ella worked out the details of her plan. “I’m not going to call the sheriff and make this official, Justine. It’s late, so we’ll just go in and ask for Melvin. If we keep things casual, we’ll be all right.”

  “Okay Shouldn’t we check and see how late Perfect Pizza stays open?”

  “You drive,” Ella said. “I’ll make the call.”

  It was nearly 10:45 by the time they reached the pizza parlor, a small eatery beside the main highway. The establishment closed at eleven, so the staff was getting ready to lock up. They’d barely stepped through the door when a tall, balding man in his late forties, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt intercepted them.

  “I’m sorry, ladies, but unless you’re picking up, it’s too late to serve you anything but a soft drink. The ovens are shut down and we’re getting ready to close.”

  Ella noted that he wore a blue-and-white name tag that read Mike Smith. Above his name was the word Manager.

  Ella flashed her badge, but didn’t bother to point out that they weren’t within their jurisdiction. “I’m looking for a Navajo man by the name of Melvin Rainwater. Do you happen to know him?”

  “Sure. He’s one of our part-time delivery men. Is he in some kind of trouble? Speeding, reckless driving?”

  “No, we just needed to talk to him.”

  “Sorry, but he isn’t here right now. Melvin asked for a few days off. He was taking part in some kind of religious ceremony over on the reservation. I’ve got his home address and telephone number, if that’ll help you.”

  Ella nodded as she wrote down the number. Unfortunately, the address she was given corresponded to the house they’d just visited.

  “He still drive the blue Chevy Blazer?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied. He lowered his voice. “If you have any problem finding Melvin, you might try his other employer. During the day, he drives a van for a Farmington mortuary. Actually he picks up the—you know—deceased.”

  Ella’s jaw must have dropped. Offhand she couldn’t think of a less likely job for a Navajo.

  “Are you sure? We’re talking about Melvin Rainwater, a Navajo, right?” Justine asked, voicing what Ella was thinking.

  “Yeah, that’s the right Melvin,” he answered in a soft voice. “I won’t let him even mention his other job around here. We have a lot of customers from Shiprock, and it might creep them out.”

  Ella and Justine got the name of the mortuary, then drove on to Farmington. While on the way, Ella called Teeny, but reached his answering service. He was either out of cell phone reach or had it turned off. She left a message giving him Rainwater’s new address, mentioned that he wasn’t home, then asked Teeny to call her in the morning.

  Fifteen minutes later Justine drove the unit into the mortuary driveway, which circled a central fountain and bed of flowers. The outside lighting was subdued, but the building appeared dark inside and was locked up for the night. The only vehicles present were two hearses, one white and one black, under a carport. A garage was adjacent to the vehicles, but was also darkened inside. An empty parking lot was across the street.

  Ella got the business number from off the sign on the glass door and called, but there was no answer, just a tasteful recording by a woman who managed to use the terms “bereavement,” “dignity,” and “low cost” all in one sentence. Ella hung up without leaving a message.

  “What now?” Justine asked.

  “Do you know who’s directing the search around the area of the Sing right now?” Ella asked.

  “Big Ed is—he wouldn’t delegate it.”

  Ella called him directly on the cell phone and Big Ed answered before it could ring a second time. She gave him a progress report, then added, “So far, Rainwater’s my only lead.”

  “I’ve had Neskahi questioning attendants at gasoline stations in the area, day and night shifts, and we spoke to a few patrons who live in the area. But we have nothing. We tried the bloodhounds, but they couldn’t get a scent once we got away from the car, and there were no hits at the medicine hogan, which means that Thomas didn’t go inside. I’m now trying to find out if there are any wells nearby or houses with basements in the area. It’s a problem because most people don’t bother with building permits—they just build what they need,” he said. “The long and short of it is that no one’s going to get any sleep tonight. Where you headed next, Shorty?”

  “I’m going to call the owner of the mortuary at home and wake him up. But we’ll need to track down that number from the county’s business listings database first. We’re on our way to the station now.”

  “Call the sheriff’s office and save yourself some time. One of these days, Shorty, we’ll get computers in our units like the big guys.”

  “I’m not holding my breath, boss,” Ella replied, then ended the call.

  It was one in the morning when Ella and Justine finally tracked down Jack Krause, the owner of Mesa Vista Mor
tuary. His soon-to-be ex-wife had gladly given them his new telephone number and address.

  Ella let the phone ring ten times before the groggy mortician picked up the telephone and identified himself.

  Ella came quickly to the point. “We need to track down one of your employees, Melvin Rainwater.”

  “I have his address at the office, not here.”

  “We have his address, Mr. Krause, and his phone number, but he’s not at his residence. I was hoping you might know where he goes after hours, or be able to give me the name of anyone he hangs out with.”

  “I don’t keep up with the social lives of my employees,” came the cold reply.

  “This is a matter of vital importance, Mr. Krause. Think. Does Mr. Rainwater have any friends at work that he might associate with after hours?”

  There was a pause. “There’s another driver, Dan Bailey.”

  “Give me his number,” Ella asked.

  “He’s in the phone book. All I remember is that he lives on Elm Street.”

  “All right. Thank you very much. Sorry to disturb you so late.”

  Ella placed the phone down, looked up the address, jotted it down, then glanced at Justine. “Let’s roll.”

  They arrived at Dan’s home, a southeast Farmington apartment complex, in less than thirty minutes. No lights were on inside the apartment. “We’ll have to wake him up,” Ella said.

  Justine stood just behind her as Ella rang the doorbell. Moments later they heard the sound of a baby crying, and footsteps. A lamp went on somewhere in the front room, then the porch light.

  A man’s voice called out from behind the door. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, ostensibly having looked through the peephole.

  Ella held her badge and photo ID. “Are you Dan Bailey?”

  The door opened, though a security chain was still in place. The young man standing there was wearing jeans and no shirt.

  “Mr. Bailey?” Seeing him nod, she continued. “We’re looking for Melvin Rainwater,” Ella pressed.