Fatal Divide Page 10

  “I know you have, but hear me out. I’m supposed to research how to drive traffic to my blog and get a plan together for monetization,” she explained. “Then my journalism prof will give me extra credit. There’s no reason we can’t do the same with a newspaper site. Maybe even make it like a blog, with news in the middle and editorials on the side. If I can get advertisers for it, it’s a new stream of income, and maybe we wouldn’t need such a big print run. It would save us money.”

  Her dad was shaking his head. Once again, she’d failed to get through to him. She opened her mouth to give him a new argument when suddenly sirens opened up in the cop shop next door and what looked like the entire fleet headed south on Main street, toward Why.

  “What the hell?” her dad said.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” She grabbed her sandwich and drink and ran for the plant parking lot where she’d left her car. Moments later, the Sentra tore off in pursuit of the sheriff’s cars.

  Alex’s police scanner wasn’t as active as she’d expected, given the fact that five sheriff’s units were speeding down the highway a few minutes ahead of her. She pounded the steering wheel and yelled out loud. “Talk, damn it! Where are you going?”

  There weren’t many options on this road. A few dirt roads leading off into the desert went nowhere, or doubled back to the highway. If the destination was one of them, the dust plume would tell her where to turn.

  The only paved road that turned off before the park entrance twenty-five miles ahead was Highway 86 leading to Tucson through the O’odham reservation. She pressed harder on the gas pedal. If that was the turning point, she’d need to be within visual range of them when they turned, or she’d have to flip a coin for whether they were heading toward the rez or the park.

  Ahead, she caught a flash of sunlight off a red light-cover on top of a white SUV as it moved perpendicular to her direction. The sheriff’s units had turned off at Why, heading toward Tucson, or more likely, Sells. Alex slowed enough to make the turn, losing sight of the sheriff’s caravan again as the road curved away from their trajectory, and then poured on the speed, catching sight of the last SUV as it passed the casino.

  Her Sentra began to shimmy as she hit ninety, so she backed it off. There were no turns onto paved roads until Indian Route 15, an acute left they couldn’t make at speed. If they didn’t turn there, they were headed for either Sells or Tucson.

  The dash-mounted scanner crackled to life within a few minutes. “Nellis, drop off at 15 and wait for further instructions. Who’s in the last car before Nellis and Thompson?”

  “Anderson here.”

  “You drop off at the first road of any kind after 15. The rest of you do the same at the next two roads. I’ll get tribal police to cover east of Sells. We need to get to her before she disappears across the border.”

  Alex had to piece these directions together from the crackly nature of radio communications. What ‘her’ were they talking about? It must be very serious to chase someone into the reservation. Probably something to do with the cartel, since they were talking about the border. The most likely border crossing was behind them to the west and far south, at Lukeville, on the highway they’d left a few minutes before.

  Just then, one of the other cars broke in. “Kevin, are you sure about this? Mayor Lopez?”

  Alex alerted to Wanda’s name. They were looking for her? She had a bad feeling about this. Put together with what Wanda told her two nights before, it sounded as if Thurston had developed some evidence of wrongdoing on Wanda’s part. That meant Dylan could be in danger of Thurston chasing after him too.

  She was torn. Stick with the manhunt and be in on the story of Wanda’s arrest? Or drive to ORPI and warn Dylan? There was no sense in even picking up her phone to see if she had signal. It was highly unlikely she did, and possibly deadly at her speed.

  The few moments she spent in indecision were agonizing. In the end, her journalistic instinct won, and she continued to follow Kevin Thurston as one by one, the other four units dropped off to wait for their instructions.

  TWENTY-SIX

  When they reached Sells, Thurston was not pleased to see her pull up behind him as he exited the tribal government building. He’d requested assistance in locating Wanda if she was still somewhere within O’odham jurisdiction, along with permission for his men to aid in executing a warrant for her arrest.

  He hated that law enforcement in this huge part of his county was curtailed by O’odham sovereignty. The feds may get away with autonomous action here, but County couldn’t. The humbling did nothing for his mood as he strode over to Alex’s car and ordered her to move. She was blocking his exit.

  “Deputy Thurston, I need a statement,” she replied, apparently undaunted by his authority.

  “Alex, I don’t have time for this. Get out of my way.”

  “Why are you searching for Wanda Lopez? Why the show of force? Come on, Kevin, just give me a short answer and I’m out of your way.”

  “What if I arrest you for obstructing an active investigation?”

  “What investigation?” she returned, on the verge of making him lose his temper.

  “You work for a weekly. What’s your hurry? It will all be over by the time your dad’s little rag comes out.”

  “Just answer my question, Kevin. What’s the harm?”

  He considered it. Alex and her dad were tight with Lopez, but he didn’t have any reason to suspect that she knew where Lopez was, or would hide her if she did. In the interest of getting the little brat out of his way, he snapped.

  “Wanda wasn’t at home when we went to serve a search warrant. What we found gave us grounds to believe she’s here on the reservation and on the run. We have a warrant for her arrest. Conspiracy to commit murder. Now get the fuck out of my way.”

  Alex’s mouth opened and shut, reminding Kevin of a fish. But, to his relief, she put her car in gear and pulled forward, clearing his bumper. He got into the driver’s seat and backed out. There was nothing he could do to prevent her from hearing his directions over the scanner, nor could he prevent her from following him. She was going to get her story, but what harm could it do? He’d done everything by the book.

  “All units. Proceed outbound on your assigned routes. You are cleared to search door-to-door.”

  After directing his men to get started on the outlying roads, he proceeded back out of town in the direction he’d come. There were roads he hadn’t had the manpower to cover, so he would take one of them. He could only hope that he’d be in on the capture, but it was a crap shoot.

  The reservation comprised over 4000 square miles, with fewer than nine-thousand residents. Wanda could be with any of them in scattered villages or single-family homes. Or she could have made use of one of the tunnels that led across the border. Those were constantly changing locations, as Border Patrol found and disabled them. He was optimistic, but by no means confident, that it would be an easy task to locate her, even with the cooperation of tribal police.

  At the first place he came to, off what was barely more than a one-lane dirt road, Thurston found no one at home but a giggling teenage girl. She claimed not to know anyone named Wanda Lopez, and that her parents had gone to Sells to peddle her mother’s baskets. Thurston had no choice but to take her at her word. He drove on, wondering why the girl wasn’t in school. None of his business, though. She’d probably lie if he’d asked, and he couldn’t read these faces.

  Thurston was a relative newcomer to the area. The bulk of his law-enforcement experience was further north, in Navajo country, and before that he’d hailed from Phoenix. He learned quickly enough, while posted in Winslow, that if a Navajo or a Hopi didn’t want you to know what he was thinking, you’d never find out from his face. They seemed to be capable of hiding the strongest emotion behind an impassive, neutral countenance that was impossible to read. O’odham were the same.

  He was just waiting for one case where he could polish his image, and then he
was going to apply for the first suitable position in either Phoenix or Tucson. There’d still be Indians to deal with; they were everywhere. But at least there were more non-Indians in the bigger cities than anywhere else in the state. He’d even consider a neighboring state. Arizona was mostly Indian reservation or federal land. More National Parks, Monuments, and Forests here than anywhere else he knew of.

  The next few houses Thurston encountered bore no more fruit than the first. His progress was slow, with miles and miles of dirt road between houses. He lucked out at one stop, where five houses were clustered together in a tiny village. No one was particularly eager to talk to him, but everyone was polite. No one knew anything about Wanda. After that, he wondered if going further out on this particular road was a waste of time.

  Deciding to turn around and find a different thread to unravel, Thurston started to make his way back to the highway. At the last house he’d visited before the little village, a familiar-looking Sentra, covered with road dust, was parked to the side of the house. Alex. He wondered if she was getting any more than he was.

  Thurston glanced to his left to judge how much daylight was left. Not much. He couldn’t risk getting his men lost in the wilderness after dark, so he was going to have to call off the search before long. Giving Wanda another long night to make her escape was a bad choice, but it was the only one he had.

  He blew out a huff of exasperation. He should have brought her in on an obstruction charge before she had a chance to run. Now it looked like she’d slip through his fingers. Without her, he might not ever clear the Alvarez murder, either. Not good for his resume.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  At first, Alex stopped at each house on the road to ask what the deputy had said to the people he talked to. What he told her in Sells didn’t make sense. Wanda on the run? She believed that whatever Thurston found gave him the wrong impression. Wanda was probably looking for Jimmy, but what would happen if Thurston or his men found her before she found Jimmy?

  The giggling teenager at the first house frustrated her by simply repeating what she said to him, not what he asked her. Alex gave up on the girl and went to the next place, and then the next. At the fourth house, she changed tacks.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you again. I’m a friend of Wanda Lopez. The man who was just here, the sheriff, wants to arrest her. He asked if you’d seen her, yes?”

  She thought she detected interest in the woman’s eyes.

  “He wants to arrest Wanda? Wanda is a relative,” the woman said. “Why does he want to arrest her?”

  So. Kevin hadn’t revealed to these people why he was looking for her. Maybe they had remained silent because they didn’t trust him. She took a chance.

  “You know Herman Alvarez was killed on Monday?” She watched closely for the reaction. The woman’s face closed, a blank stare replaced the curiosity.

  “Yes. He was a good man.”

  “I know from Wanda that he was a good man. Her grandfather,” Alex said, careful to say only what she was sure of. “Wanda’s brother was with Herman a couple of weeks ago. Now the sheriff thinks he killed Alvarez and Wanda knew it.” She stopped. The next part was too ridiculous to utter, if you knew Wanda at all. She was betting that the woman in front of her did.

  “That isn’t what happened,” the woman said. Alex nodded slowly. These people knew more than they were saying. If they didn’t want to help bring Alvarez’ murderer to justice, it had to be because they were afraid. She waited.

  “Wanda was here, asking for Jimmy Chaves. Yesterday. I haven’t seen Jimmy. Wanda went on down the road. I didn’t tell the sheriff. Is Wanda in danger?”

  “I think so. Definitely from the sheriff, and maybe from Jimmy.”

  “I don’t think so. Jimmy is a good boy. He got mixed up with bad people,” she continued. “But, he gives money to people who need it. He’s helping Sophia with her baby. I don’t think he killed Herman.”

  “Sophia?”

  “I’ve said too much,” the woman said. “Ask someone else. Please don’t say I told you anything.”

  This was the first time Alex had encountered the remorse of a witness who got carried away wanting to be helpful and then realized that it could put them in danger. But she recognized it for what it was.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I don’t even know your name. I won’t say anything. Who should I talk to next?”

  The answer surprised her.

  “Anna Redhawk. The vice-chairwoman. Sophia is her granddaughter.”

  Alex sat in her car for a few minutes after talking with the woman inside. Something didn’t add up. According to Wanda, Jimmy was cartel. It didn’t fit what she just heard about him. Who was the real Jimmy? Maybe he was some kind of Robin Hood character, selling heroin to the rich to give to the poor? It didn’t make any more sense than anything else in this story.

  A shadow crept up her windshield as she mulled things over, until the encroaching darkness made her aware of the time. A quick check of her cell phone told her it was after four. Dylan would be home soon, and Alex had lost track of where Thurston may be. Furthermore, her dad would be frantic.

  She’d been out of cell phone range for hours, after chasing the screaming sirens. She didn’t want to be alone on a dirt road on the reservation after dark either. By now she’d gained the impression, from both Dylan and Wanda, that the rez was teeming with cartel members after dark.

  Alex put her car in gear and headed north, out from under the shadow of the peak that had been between her and the sun. Relieved to find some daylight left as she gained the main road, she turned west toward Why and home, pressing against the speed limit just enough to keep her from being stopped by law enforcement of any brand.

  It was nearing six when she pulled into the driveway at her dad’s house, noting that Dylan’s pickup was parked in front. She no sooner turned off the engine when both her dad and Dylan came tumbling out the front door, racing to get to her first. Alex considered slamming the locks home and waiting until they calmed down before she got out. But Dylan looked ready to bust the window to get to her, so she took a deep breath and got out.

  Before they could start yelling at her, she held up her hand and said, “Let’s talk in the house.”

  As soon as all three were inside and the door closed, Alex turned to face her dad and Dylan. “I’m fine. I’ve been working. Calm down and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  That successfully forestalled the “Where have you been?” she could see both men thinking. Her dad visibly relaxed. He turned to Dylan. “Let’s go eat. She’ll tell us over dinner.”

  To her surprise, dinner was on the table in five minutes. It didn’t surprise her at all that fish wasn’t on the menu. Dylan dished out what looked like a respectable imitation of homemade chili, while her dad pulled a pan of cornbread out of the oven where he’d been keeping it warm.

  Seeing the food made her stomach growl. Alex caught Dylan trying to hide a grin. It was going to be okay. Then she sobered. No, it wasn’t. Not until they knew what happened to Wanda.

  Blowing on a spoonful of chili between words, waiting for it to cool, she recited the events of her afternoon, especially what Thurston said to her in Sells. She could tell from her dad’s expression that he had questions, but she didn’t have any answers that didn’t give away Dylan’s commitment to Wanda. Dylan had a pained look that told her he was worried she would do just that.

  It had been a mistake to talk to them together, and she resented being in the middle. She had knowledge she should be giving both the sheriff’s department and her dad, but was unable to do so because of her boyfriend.

  At last, she ended her story, deciding not to say anything about the woman in the fourth house. She stopped talking and concentrated on eating. The chili was delicious. She didn’t know which of her men to credit for it. Frankly, neither seemed like a good candidate.

  Her dad was the first to recover his speech. The questions were exactly what Alex would have expected.<
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  “Why Wanda? What does the sheriff know that the rest of us don’t? Or is this just one of his cockamamie schemes to discredit her? They don’t get along, you know,” he said, addressing the last statement to Dylan. Maybe he thought that Dylan wasn’t aware of the political currents in town, since he only recently returned. If so, he’d forgotten that Dylan was the instigator of the last run-in between Wanda and Thurston.

  No one at the table would have put it past Thurston to make all this up. But two of them knew he hadn’t. There was probably a misunderstanding, but Alex knew that Wanda was skating on thin legal ice. And she knew that Dylan was even more aware of it than she was. She still wasn’t sure that he and Wanda had told her everything.

  Without answering any of her dad’s questions, Alex got up from the table. “Dad, Dylan and I need to talk. Privately. We’re going for a drive.” She sent Dylan a significant look and turned to go, expecting Dylan to follow, leaving her father with his mouth open and a stunned expression. She could only hope that she’d be able to undo the damage she’d just done to their relationship, sooner rather than later.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Dylan followed Alex automatically, and with more than a little apprehension. She caught him unprepared when she dismissed her dad’s questions and announced that they needed to talk. Granted, she hadn’t said anything about the fact that Wanda had taken them into her confidence, or about Wanda’s search for Jimmy. That was the good news.

  The bad news was, if her expression were any clue, she was about to bite his head off for dessert. His chili wasn’t sitting well in the silence that prevailed, as she walked to his pickup and stood at the passenger side expectantly. Dylan pressed the remote to unlock the doors and opened the door for her, helping her up over the running board, as usual. He thought as fast as he could, as he walked around the back and silently took his place in the driver’s seat. “Where to?”