The WESTERN BLUEBIRD and the MASSASAUGA

[Story 2 of the "Gad Yassie, Navajo Policeman" series] 1

Prologue:2

The swampy ground around the pond and along the banks of the stream formed the ideal environment for the juvenile Massasauga. It had followed the banks upstream during the summer months, when there were fewer humans around. And now it was firmly ensconsed among the reeds and tall grass that the environmentally correct college maintained in a ‘natural’ state. Frogs, mice, the occassional birds’ eggs, added up to an acceptable diet. Once it had even managed to catch a duckling. It was a good place for a rattlesnake to hunt.3

I4

As Charles Henry “Bat” Masterson mopped the third floor hallway, he brooded. He was always brooding. He never needed LSD or Crystal Meth to get off into his private parallel universe. It was amazing that he got such good grades - or maybe not - he was brilliant, probably bordering on genius, and he found the complexities of his chemistry major absorbing and stimulating. But that genius didn’t convey any people skills. Short, skinny, introverted, working his way through college on a work/study-aid program, he was the ultimate lab-rat. His upbringing by his Viet Nam veteran father only re-inforced his inherent complexities. 5

Wounded in the TET Offensive, sent home, mustered out, and abandoned by a grateful government, his father was a walking advertisement for PTSD. His mother died in a car crash caused by his father when Bat was four, he their only child. Into this mix came his paternal grandfather, then a sixty-five year old widower. He too was also a hyper-patriotic basket case, an emotional casualty from the invasion of Okinawa. His fragile life imploded when his wife died of cancer. He’d spent his last mournful years residing with his son and grandson. The dynamic between grandfather and son had been one of unresolved recrimination, bitterness and loathing. Those issues, decades in the making, were unloaded on Bat.6

There was a lot of bottled rage in Henry’s psyche. His nickname, for one, caused him endless torment. Yes, his surname was also carried by the western gunslinger, Bat Masterson. But Henry acquired the nickname because his highschool classmates considered him more than a little ‘batty’. Early on in life he had projected his frustrations and felt inadequacies on certain minorities. If he could hate them enough, he felt, he could forget how much he hated himself and his life. His thoughts were laced with venom about “Nigers, Kikes, Spics and Redskins”. 7

For all that, he wasn’t a white supremacist or neo-nazi, not in the accepted sense at any rate. That would have required identification and interaction with a group of people; and he was definitely not a joiner. His hate was not ideological, or even, in a certain way, racist. His shortlist of hate was simply the focus of the self-loathing he had imbibed from his two male role models. But for all that the hate was real, deep-seated, and growing. And being on a work-scholarship only added to it. He thought other students looked down on him as he mopped hallways, or cleaned toilets, and emptied trash cans; when the students deemed to put their trash in a can that is. 8

He knew, just knew, that they were talking about him as they walked past. Too shy and socially awkward to date, his hormones only raged when a desirable coed was around. He worked, he studied, and he went to class. He brooded. His only diversion was the psychodelic music of the 60’s that his father had played incessantly all Bat’s life. The lyrics and beat of Cream, Jefferson Airplane, Steppenwolf, Janis Joplin, Lead Zeppelin, etc, echoed in the distorted corners of his mind. He was, like the deluded Alice, following a white rabbit down a hole without a GPS. 9

As he mopped his way down the hallway one night early in the new semester he moved past the Political Science Department’s notice board. What he read lit a fuse that would not go out.10

II11

Morgan Hall, “Old Morgan” as the student’s derisively called it, had been built in 1904, and had recently passed its one-hundredth birthday. It was an architectural oddity when it was built, and was an antique oddity now. But the demands of educating an ever-growing student population meant that Old Morgan was asked to soldier on, decade by weary decade, as the campus grew up around it. 12

Ridderbacher Academy [for men] had merged with nearby Hawthorne Teachers Institute [for women] in 1897, to become Hawthorne College. The women’s college brought its arts and education strengths, while Ridderbacher brought its science and engineering departments to the merger. The new institution drew increased enrolment within two years, and the decision was made to build a central academic building; thus Morgan Hall. Chastely the single gender dormitories remained on the original campuses, a mile apart.13

Morgan Hall was designed by an alumnus enamoured of the square stone towers of Saxon church buildings. Instead of conventional red brick, the rectangular four-storey building was built of granite blocks quarried out of state. The windows, though many, were more like medieval archers’ ports in a castle wall. At each corner of the building stood a Saxon-style tower, rising to pseudo-battlements atop the roofline, the southeast tower capped by a cupula. Each tower held a stairway to the various floors. Why build this oddity? Very simply, the Ridderbacher Academy alumni architect had a rich and indulgent Ridderbacher Academy alumni father, who wanted the new academic building to reflect the style of the new Saxon-style college chapel, which he had mostly funded.14

The four towers were designed to be functional as well as decorative. The stairways ended on the fourth floor, with the exception of the northwest tower. A locked stairway gave access to the roof, for maintenance and the flagpole. That tower room held shelving and tool cabinets; eventually to be superseded by an elevator mechanism. The northeast tower room was reached externally from the roof, and held electrical equipment updated intermittently with the advancing decades. The southeast tower held the campus clock. Originally, the southwest tower held a small weather and astronomy laboratory. 15

As both meteorology and astronomy advanced in technicality over the years, the archaic laboratory lapsed into disuse. At least academically, that is. It seems that officers of a certain fraternity had changed the lock on the lab door, and maintained the room for certain illicit ‘coeducational’ purposes. Their hegemony over the room was maintained by one of their membership becoming a student janitor each year. This clandestine ownership lasted from 1921 until 1942. Then it too, under the discontinuity of war, was broken. The frat house itself closed its doors from 1942 until 1947. It was hard to function when the entire membership had volunteered enmass for military service. By 1947 there was no one available to transmit secrets to instruct new frat members of the existence of the coeducational facility.16

The last holder of the key was one William B. Masterson. He did not return to Hawthorne after the war. He passed the key on, with instructions, to his son, Bill junior. Junior dropped out of college after one semester, to join the Army. His only child was Henry, who didn’t join a frat, and who eventually found another purpose for the room.17

Fortunately, Breuer Library, built in 1907, followed a more conventional Ivy League style of architecture. Likewise, all future additions to the campus were boringly tame and functional. The redeeming feature of the campus was the quadrangle, full of open sward, walk paths, oak and maple trees, all surrounding a pond fed by a living stream; and thus not a breeding ground for mosquitoes, algae and duck-muck. 18

Over the years, to the original arts, education, science and engineering departments were added the humanities. Enrolments wavered under the impacts of the Great War, the Depression, and World War 2, and Korea. But the last crop of Baby Boomers’ children was now attending America’s colleges and universities. Despite the Republican Administration’s short-sightedness over America’s declining competitive edge, colleges like Hawthorne were kept afloat by their alumni, and creative commercial endeavours.19

Hawthorne College was fortunate in its corps of tenured faculty. Among its excellent staff were two professors who shared a particular vision. Andrew Du Lac, PhD, was a former FBI agent and head of the college’s Political Science Department. He was also a Mohawk from New York state, with a face that alternated between cheery and serious, depending on the foibles of his students. The other was his wife, and senior lecturer in sociology, Suzanne Talltree-Du Lac. They had met and married when she was working in the juvenile offenders unit of the St Louis Police Department. She was a Cherokee. Their passion? Seeing Native American police officers better equipped to deal with the human side of law enforcement. Justice, and not mere enforcement, motivated them.20

After several years of planning they had finally sold the college administration on the viability of hosting a quadrennial NAPOA convention. After eighteen months of planning, meetings, emails, arranging, and campaigning, it was about to come together. The Native American Police Officers’ Association held a conference every four years for training, debate, discussion, and policy setting. Membership was drawn from Native American members of federal, military, state, local and reservation policing agencies. Andrew and Suzanne had arranged significant national media attention. Additionally, they had planned to draw students from the Political Science, Law, Pre-Med, Sociology and Psychology majors into the convention activities.21

Just that day Andrew’s student assistant had posted conference announcements all over campus, starting with the Poli Sci bulletin board. It read:22

STUDENTS !!!23

Native American Police Officers’ Association Quadrennial Conference24

The NAPOA Conference will be held on the Hawthorne College campus September 16th through 19th, at the Morrison Centre, 9am – 4:30 daily.25

Register with your departmental secretary.26

One credit granted towards your community service requirement upon the completion of supervised participation in the conference, and the submission of an essay. 27

Phone Ext 3741, or email: edulac@hawthorne.edu for further details.28


Part of Bat’s hidden genius was his ability to make detailed plans; even when he was operating in his own parallel universe. They may not have been logical or rational plans, but they were detailed. The next Friday afternoon he took the bus home to the farm and spent Saturday morning cleaning and preparing his grandfather’s 30.06 lever-action deer rifle. Then he went out to his extensive chemistry lab in the tool shed. Later Bat packed the disassembled gun and supplies in a student-style knapsack. Sunday he caught the bus back to college. He had plans.29


III30


As they drove east from Arizona Gad Yazzie reflected on the last two years. His participation in the successful conclusion to the Bilagaana Buzzard Case had eventually brought a promotion, to corporal. That small, but deserved, increase in his job security allowed him to plan his next major life step, marrying Shideezhi “Doli” Ahiga. When the Navajo Police Chief circulated the dates and venue of the next year’s NAPOA Conference; Gad applied immediately for one of the limited spots on the Navajo Nation’s quota. Once his application was approved, he went straight to Manuelito Ahiga’s hogan and sought permission to marry his granddaughter. The old Code Talker had been expecting him. Not surprising, since Doli had been dropping less than subtle hints for months.31

The wedding was arranged so that the NAPOA conference would be their honeymoon trip. Three day’s drive there, four nights at Hawthorne College, and three days drive back to Arizona. Preceded by the wedding celebrations, and followed by a few days to set up housekeeping in Gad’s meagre police officer’s apartment. Then back to work. Doli’s brother Jonny would care for Manuelito until Gad could afford larger quarters.32

Now he drove eastward with his new wife cuddled at his side in a Navajo Nation police panel truck. He was a very happy husband; even if he had to pay the gas and lodging out of his own pocket. They would pick up the other three Navajo delegates at the Kansas City airport, and drive up to Hawthorne. Then the panel would be for their group use; especially since Gad was the junior officer among them.33

While Gad had seen some of the US, and too much of the Middle East, Doli had never been out of the four states in which the checkerboard Navajo reservation lay. Because they didn’t have to drive far or fast each day to stay on schedule, it was a real honeymoon for her, a time to sightsee, learn, share the driving, and have fun. 34

Fun that is until they hit Texas. At a truck stop outside of Groom three young rednecks had come over to their table and made lewd comments about Doli being a ‘ripe squaw’. Gad tried being polite, and hold his temper over the insults to his bride. It didn’t work. The three yahoos were spoiling for a fight.35

Between his combat and police training it didn’t take long for Gad to subdue the loudmouths. But during the very brief altercation the café owner had called the police. The ‘County Mounties’ came in guns drawn to support their damaged local worthies. The standoff resolved itself when Gad produced his police ID. While the constables were less than polite towards Gad, they did urge their local heroes on their way without further adieu, and then left themselves. No apologies offered.36

The meal ruined, the day depressed, the newlyweds drove many miles in silence. The more subtle racism and benign neglect of white Arizona had not prepared Doli for the open racism she’d just experienced. Gad stopped early, at a nicely appointed motel, and spent hours just letting her talk through her stress. After a grease-soaked soggy fast-food breakfast they started out early the next morning. Despite the stress of yesterday they were both feeling more comfortable in each other’s company. 37

Doli spent some of the drive day-dreaming about the wedding. Because both she and Gad were Christians, they’d had a semi-traditional ceremony at Manuelito’s hogan, with their pastor officiating rather than a medicine man. She pictured again her nervous arrival with her pastor. Gad already sat on the west side of the floor, his mother had come from New Mexico and sat beside him, while his relatives sat on the north side of the floor. Doli came in carrying a wedding basket half full of white corn mush. The pastor followed her carrying a water jug. 38

She placed the wedding basket on the floor in front of Gad according to tradition and sat down beside him on the south side. The pastor sat next to her. Then the pastor celebrated Communion, and prayed for the cleansing of the couple’s body, mind and spirit, gently washing their hands with water. The pastor blessed the basket of mush, and the couple fed each other symbolic portions. A traditional meal was served, and the day ended in socialising. These fresh memories healed the stress from the restaurant, and brought a deep satisfaction to Doli’s heart. She was very proud of her new husband. And, she knew that he would honour his commitment to care for her grandfather.39


IV40


As Gad, Doli, a policewoman and two policemen pulled onto the Hawthorne campus at about 4pm that Friday, they were directed by a campus security officer to the visitors’ parking lot. There they found a registration table, and a crowd of volunteers, and other arriving NAPOA delegates. The policewoman was assigned a hostess to escort her to the women’s dorms in the panel truck. Likewise a host took the two officers in tow to the men’s dorms. Gad and Doli were greeted by a volunteer, Jenny Ferguson, who would drive them to the Du Lac’s home. As the only couple, and newlyweds, they were to enjoy bed and breakfast at the professors’ house.41

In the five minute drive Jenny gave them copies of the program, and a map of the campus, explained who the Du Lac’s were, and confirmed a pick-up time to come get the couple for the evening’s social event. Jenny dropped them off at a typical Midwestern farmhouse, peaked roof and second storey gables. Suzanne, half a head taller than Gad, and at least twenty years older, greeted them warmly at the door. Taking them straight to the guest room and its ensuite, she left them to freshen up before dinner. A night of socialising with other NAPOA delegates, politicians and college professors lay ahead. Saturday, while Gad went to the NAPOA meetings, Doli would meet with psychology and sociology students, to discuss Navajo social issues; her associate’s degree major at Diné Community College.42


V43


Saturday morning various delegates were walking leisurely through the quad, enjoying the trees and pond on their way to the Morrison Centre. Gad and Doli were walking arm in arm for the last few moments before Jenny escorted Doli to her student seminar. The first bullet smashed into her right arm before the sound of the gunshot reached her. Gad automatically yelled “gun!” as he grabbed at Doli’s falling body. The second shot took him in the back, and slammed them onto the sidewalk together. Despite his own pain he dragged Doli behind a bench, and tried to stop the bleeding in her upper arm. An uncomprehending volunteer was the next to fall, while streetwise but unarmed police officers scattered. More bullets found targets in the quad or ricocheted off into the distance.44

The shooting and chaos lasted about one minute. The campus quadrangle’s trees, building doorways, and any solid object harboured cowering people. Screams and moans began to rise. Shouts. A campus cop, unarmed, ran into the scene, ducked for cover and called in an alarm. Too late for some. The campus security office following protocol, called the city police, then the ambulance, and lastly the state police. All received the same no nonsense message: “Sniper! Hawthorn College quadrangle! There now!” The paramedics were the first responders, and were ushered into the rear of the Morrison Centre by campus cops. There they set up a first aid post.45

As the shock wore off, and the shooting ceased, various NAPOA delegates began to usher students out of the line of fire. Others went, cautiously, in search of victims. Instinctively, everyone was expecting the sniper to start up again as people began circulating through the dead and wounded, but no further fire came. Gad, unconscious, and Doli, nearly so, were found and carried to the medics. Jenny, the one student hit, had bled-out from a shot that transited her heart and a lung. She was nineteen. The wounded were stabilised, triaged and transported to Jackson Memorial Hospital. 46

Local police cordoned off the campus. State police set up road blocks out of the community, in the event that the shooter had fled. From the angle of the shooting, it was obvious that the sniper had shot from a height. Rooftops or classroom windows the most likely venue. Building by building, the quad was searched. As the police reached the roof of Old Morgan an explosion shattered the air, with additional fear and fright rippling through all those already caught up in the morning’s grisly chaos. The face of the clock tower bulged and then fell, leaving a gaping hole in that tower, through which poured smoke. On the back side of the tower, the metal clockroom door was blasted off its hinges and hurled on to the roof. The officers caught in the open were pelted with shards of granite, resulting in minor injuries. 47

Those who first reached the twisted mechanism of the clock found it dripping with what looked like minced meat. One officer, a veteran of the Kansas City Federal Building bombing, understood what he was looking at. He radioed headquarters to request that Homeland Security be notified. The final toll for the morning was two dead; not including the suspect bomber; and nine wounded in the shooting, with four wounded in the explosion. The interior of the clocktower was a charnel house of singed gore. 48


VI49


Gad awoke slowly. He was lying on his stomach, his back a region of dull and distant pain. “Doli!” he slurred through dry lips and analgesia. “Doli?” he questioned no one in particular.50

“She is fine, and resting, and you are in the recovery room at the hospital,” answered a female voice behind him. A nurse entered his field of vision, took his stats, moistened his lips, and advised him that “the doctor will be here soon to talk with you.” Her footsteps receded, and he was alone in the cubicle, with only the monitors for company. Even through the anaesthetic he was aware of the burning, cutting pain across his upper back and the deeper pain in his right chest. It took him a while to recall what had happened.51

Doli had jerked and screamed and a spray of her blood swept across the side of his face as the sound of a shot registered on his subconscious. A sound he was too familiar with. He turned to grab Doli, and shout a warning to those around him. Then his upper back had exploded in pain. He helped Doli to the ground behind a stone bench and began to compress the holes in her upper arm. She had passed out, and he soon followed suit. His next aware moment was of awakening in this hospital. He was tense with anxiety about Doli.52

Someone entered the cubicle, took a chair and sat within Gad’s limited range of vision. “Hello Officer Yazzie, I’m….” 53

“My wife?” Gad interrupted.54

“I’m Dr. Mortensen, and your wife is fine and resting. The wound was in the flesh of the upper right arm. There was no arterial or bone damage, though the bullet gouged out a chunk of flesh. With a bit of rest she will heal up just fine. You took a bullet in your back. Your left shoulder blade was chipped and the muscles damaged. The bullet deflected into your left lung. I have removed the bone chips and sewn the torn muscles, and removed the fragments of bullet. Your spine was not affected. Your lung received only minor damage. You will take a while to mend, and will have to stay on your stomach until the muscles start to heal. I have arranged for you and your wife to share a room. I will see both of you again tomorrow.”55

“Were there other casualties? How are they?”56

“Besides yourself and your wife, there were seven wounded, five officers and two students. There were two deaths, an officer from Chicago and a student. All the wounded have been treated and will recover, eventually.”57

“Thank you, doctor.”58

“Yes, well… you rest now, and we’ll have you transferred upstairs as soon as possible.”59

Gad spent an anxious hour waiting to be moved to their room. His concern was for his wife. The nurses positioned his bed so that Doli could reach out to touch him. They spoke softly in Diné, but mostly just touched, and dozed in and out of the twilight of medications.60


VII61


In the minutes following the shooting, Old Morgan appeared to be the most likely vantage point for the sniper, with the library roof a minor second. Unarmed campus cops, and the few city police who could be spared to respond, sealed off both buildings until the state police armed response team could arrive. Once they arrived in sufficient numbers search teams began combing both buildings. The larger number went into Old Morgan, with a campus cop accompanying them with pass keys.62

With local police guarding the exits, the state troopers worked their way up from the basement. Every closet, storeroom, classroom, toilet and office was searched. The ground floor was neat as a pin, and unoccupied. The same with the second floor. On the third floor police could hear machinery operating, and proceeded with greater caution. The three stairwells and elevator exited onto east/west hallways, which linked with a central hallway. Four classrooms lay on each side of the central halls. 63

In a pincers movement, the teams converged on the central hallway, to observe a young man operating a floor polisher. He had not observed their approach, as he was intently watching the arch of his machine back and forth across the floor. When they called for him to stop and raise his hands, he did not respond. A repeated call also brought no response. They could hear him singing, tunelessly.64

One of the squad ran up behind him and clubbed him to the floor with his rifle butt. Only then did they realise that the young man was wearing earplugs and listening to an IPod. With that and the machine’s noise it had been impossible for him to hear their commands. A medic was called, while the majority of the squad combed the floor. They then went on to search the fourth floor. Again finding nothing, the campus cop gave them access to the roof. 65

As the medic was treating the bruised and angry Henry Masterson, an explosion from the direction of the roof rocked the building. The medic dashed off, and the trooper guarding the student janitor was aggressively watchful of his ward; forcing him to lie facedown, spread-eagled, and handcuffed on the floor. It was an hour before anyone came to interrogate him. Once properly identified, by student ID and a campus cop, he was uncuffed and questioned. 66

Had he seen anyone in the building? “NO. No one”67

When had he started work today? “8:30.”68

Had he heard the gunshots? “NO. What gunshots? Not over the IPod and floor polisher.”69

What floors had he been working on? “Working his way upward from ground level.”70

Had he smelled any gun smoke? “NO.”71

Had he seen any strangers around the outside of the building when he came to work today? “NO”72

Did he mind submitting to a forensic test? “NO”.73

A technician came and wiped his hands and shirt for GSR nitrates, with negative results, and then took his fingerprints. 74

Bat was bemused, but still sore from the gun butt. No one offered to apologise. They were still running around as mad as hornets. Police officers had been killed and wounded, after all; and no one was in an apologetic mood about ‘collateral damage’ to a potential suspect. A medic eventually double checked the laceration on Masterson’s scalp and he was sent on his way, cleaning unfinished; and the building sealed for forensics. 75

The first of the FBI agents arrived as Masterson walked out the entrance to Old Morgan. He spent the weekend watching CNN. Campus snipers, bombs, and police and Native American deaths made for a media circus. Media representatives already on campus for the convention had scooped everyone else.76


VIII77


The media descended on the hospital by Saturday evening. Uninjured NAPOA delegates set up a perimeter, and would not let the newsies through, though they did allow themselves to be interviewed. A hospital spokesperson gave some meagre details, and the sharks went off to feed elsewhere. The college’s public relations department was overwhelmed. Fear and rumour swept the campus, more bombs, more snipers, terrorists, a tribal war, etc. Phones rang off the hook as worried parents called to see if their child was injured. It was not a pleasant weekend for the college’s president and the dean of students.78

The next morning Doli was allowed to sit up; and moved to a chair next to Gad. They spoke low and intimately while she caressed his hair with her left hand, her right arm in a sling. From time to time they shared a grimace of pain when they laughed at something that appeared funny. The doctor did his mid-morning rounds; and pronounced them mending well. Andrew and Suzanne Talltree-Du Lac came by, apologetic, embarrassed and sad over the course of events. They were visiting all the survivors that morning, and left the Yazzie’s for last. After a discussion, it was agreed that Doli would stay with them once released, until Gad was well enough to travel.79

The conference was cancelled, and a day of mourning set for Monday. The Governor, a number of police chiefs, and the Vice President would attend. The media would have a field day, milking the tragedy for at least a week. The pundits and talking heads were in full swing, especially in the absence of facts concerning the shooter, motives, etc. As usual, speculation outran truth as media outlets vied for headlines and audience share.80

Audience share equalled advertising dollars, and revenue beat truth hands down. Besides, the shallow and short-memoried US public wouldn’t recall the bogus claims and shoddy reporting a year from then anyway. 'Racism', 'Terrorists', 'Madman', all had their time on the stage of opinion, irrespective of facts.81

And the facts were slow and hard coming.82

The blast in the clock tower had smeared the occupant everywhere, and identification would be laborious. That issue was left to the state police forensic lab. The bombing and shooting investigation was taken over by the FBI under Homeland Security provisions. The college itself was in lockdown, with no students or staff allowed off campus until the shooter was identified. The library, after the bomb blast, was cleared as the sniper’s perch, and students were allowed in for study; mid term exams were looming. 83

It took three days for the state troopers to identify one Thomas Meninges, a senior from Wisconsin, as missing since Friday night. He was known in the dorm to be hot tempered and sullen, with few friends. He was also a Chemistry major. Checks on his home, and all known associates drew a blank. His car was still in its parking place; his clothing untouched. His roommate hadn’t seen or heard from him since 7pm, Friday. From the blast site a shattered pair of wire-rims were identified as his, as was a highschool class ring. DNA from the scene matched that of his dormroom toiletries.84

While no motive was apparent, he was named as the most likely suspect; much to the dismay and heartbreak of his family in Madison. They suffered greatly at the hands of the press, and received many vengeful threats. Much was made by a snooping reporter of Thomas' penchant for constructing homemade fireworks, explosives and rocketry.85


IX86


On campus, in an office set aside for FBI use, Special Agent Michael Cameron sat reading the autopsy report. It made strange reading, and put the investigation to date into question. The subject, Thomas Meninges, had been reduced to smears and scraps of flesh by the blast. The upper torso and head had been virtually obliterated. The legs were mostly intact from the knees downward.87

Forensic testing had revealed that:88

• The explosive was a homemade version of C4; but no traces of C4 were found in the subject’s room or in the college chemistry labs.89

• The rifle found in the room had been fired recently, and was of the proper calibre; but the barrel was too damaged by the blast to match it to the bullets recovered. There were no fingerprints found on any shells, but the subject’s finger prints were all over the rifle.90

• Traces of cyanide were found in tissue recovered from the site. The low volume of blood at the scene, and lividity in the feet indicated that death occurred some time before the bomb blast. A time of death had not been fixed.91

• The rifle was manufactured before 1930, and there was no existing record of sale or licence. The subject’s family and friends denied that he ever owned such a weapon.92

This raised significant doubt about the incident in Special Agent Cameron’s mind. Did Meninges work alone or with a partner? Was he murdered and set up as the shooter? He made a call to campus security and took a walk. At the roof access he met up with a campus cop, who unlocked the door and accompanied him to the roof. They walked over to the blasted clock tower. Inside the smell of gore and explosives mixed, still potent after almost a week. The room would not be cleaned, nor the clock replaced until the investigation was complete.93

The media circus had almost ruined the scene for the forensic team. Helicopters rented by the TV network newsies had had to be forcefully kept away from the site, lest they contaminate the room with their downdraft. Clear plastic tarps now covered the empty doorway and gaping clock space. Cameron looked around silently, trying to see things in a new light. He stood at three of the windows looking out on the field of fire. All the glass and their frames had been blasted out of the slit windows. A though occurred to him. 94

“Did the windows in the clock tower open?”95

“Sorry Agent Cameron, I haven’t been up here before. I don’t know. Ask Maintenance.”96


X97


Doli had been discharged into the Du Lac’s care, and Gad had finally been allowed to sit upright. The more his back mended the more it hurt, or so it seemed. He fidgeted in irritation. Some Honeymoon! As a newlywed husband he wanted to be with his wife. As a police officer, he wanted in on the investigation. It had been six days. His only compensation was that the Navajo Police had granted him extended sick leave; because, technically, he was on departmental business when shot. And, because the other Navajo police had driven the panel back already, KTNN-Radio had raised enough money so that Gad and Doli could take the bus back to Arizona when they were fit to travel.98

Dr. Mortensen came in on rounds and gave Gad a thorough going over. He pronounced him fit enough for discharge, as long as he came back in three days for a check up. After the nurse changed his dressing he was free to go to the Du Lac’s. He gave them a call, dressed and waited.99

After a cuddly but gentle, reunion with Doli, and a nap, Gad asked to be taken to the campus to visit the scene of the shooting. It was a ‘get-back-on-the-horse’ decision. Andrew Du Lac drove Doli and him over. No major emotions erupted as they walked slowly along the pathway. Having been informed that the shooter had used the clock tower, Doli and he stood where they had been hit, and tried to reconcile possible trajectories with what they remembered of their body positions.100

“It doesn’t fit.” Doli said aloud. 101

“What did you say?" Queried Andrew.102

“The clock tower. It doesn’t fit the actual shooting.” Doli pointed at the other tower facing the quad. The field of fire was perfect, but no one had seen it. “Take us to the FBI office, please.”103

A short walk brought them to Special Agent Cameron’s office. Introductions done, they settled down to talk over facts and conjecture. Gad, backed up by his perceptive Doli, was less than happy with the simplistic assumption that Meninges was the shooter, and had committed suicide with homemade C4. Another call to the campus security office brought the news that there was no key for the other tower. More phone calls by the Special Agent brought a flurry of activity back to campus.104

Local cops were again stationed on the roof. The state police were sending forensic investigators. The college maintenance department was getting equipment up to the roof. The four of them left the temporary FBI office and proceeded to Old Morgan. When everything was in place, the maintenance men began to drill out the lock on the metal door. A quarter-hour later the door had been removed, and the forensic team entered the abandoned observatory. Agent Cameroon and Officer Gad peered in as the forensic investigators began their search.105

The room smelled very faintly of gunpowder. The thick dust on the two old couches, table and overstuffed arm chairs had been recently disturbed. There were footprints on the tabletop, and scuffmarks on the floor boards. A couple of empty bottles of Southern Comfort sat in a corner, their labels showing long-ago superseded designs. Some guttered candles sat in a dish. The windows were covered with tattered curtains. Ancient cobwebs hung in the corners.106

“Do the windows open?” agent Cameron asked.107

One of the forensic team checked. “No, they don’t”108

Gad looked around. “What did this place used to be?”109

“An astronomy observatory” answered Du Lac. “Unused for decades….at least for astronomy,” he observed as one of the investigators fished out an obviously old-fashioned pair of women’s knickers from between the cushions of a couch.110

“Observatory, yeah….right,” Gad mumbled.111

Simultaneously Du Lac, Gad, Doli and Cameron looked towards the ceiling. The small observatory cupula and its sliding panel seemed to jump out at them. There were drag marks on the floor where the table had been move to sit under the dome. Doli, at the rear of the foursome, walked up the slight slope of the building’s roof. “Open the cupula panel, stand on the table, and you should be able to see the quad without being seen,” she called out to the men. 112

Agent Cameron instructed the forensic team to make the cupula, inside and out, a matter of inspection. Then the foursome withdrew from the roof and went down to Professor Du Lac’s office.113


XI114


As a student janitor, Bat Masterson knew most of the campus maintenance men. From them, in the most natural of ways, he could obtain information via gissip without drawing attention to himself. Between that intellegence and the media coverage, he was the best informed person on campus. He went about his work and classes in smug silence, feeling safe in the knowledge that his role was unknown, and that his weapons were safely hidden.115

It wasn’t until the FBI had openned the observatory that Bat’s veneer began to crack. But it didn’t take him long to identify Gad and Doli as two persons very much at the center of the investigation. And, besides, they were “Redskins”; and as such, still the focus of his hate. A new plan began to form in his diseased psyche.116

Gad was up in their room that evening. The activity of the day had quickly used up his reserves of energy, and he had gone to bed early, just after dinner. Andrew Du Lac was in his study grading papers, while Doli and Suzanne were in the kitchen cleaning up, and having a good natter. Suzanne was walking down the hallway to the office with a cup of cofee for her husband when she heard the crash of breaking glass in the livingroom. 117

“Andy, come quick!” she shouted as she retraced her steps through the kitchen and towards the livingroom, tossing the cup onto the counter as she passed. Doli, that much closer, was a step ahead of her when the livingroom errupted in a blast. A couch took much of the force of the blast, but the concussion still knocked both women off their feet and hurled them back into the kitchen. Andrew Du Lac had just entered the kitchen at a trot in response to his wife’s call when the blast occurred.118

Smoke and dust immediately filled the kitchen and hallways. Andrew Du Lac groped his way across the kitchen floor to his wife, and then to Doli. Both were conscious but dazed, choking and coughing from the smoke. As soon as he was satisfied that neither woman had lacerations or broken bones, Andrew entered the livingroom, took a quick assessment, and went to the kitchen wall-phone to call the fire department and police. By this time Gad had rushed weakly downstairs and was holding Doli, making sure she was OK. She was shaking with stress. 119

“Bomb,” was Andrew’s simple statement as he hung up the phone. “Through the livingroom window. Let’s get the women out the back. Wait till I get my gun.”120

As Gad helped Doli and Suzanne throught the laundry and towards the back door, Andrew retrieved his licenced 9mm Glock-17 from his office safe. Thus armed, he reconnoitered the backyard before he allowed anyone to exit. The former farmyard had no fencing. An old barn served as a combination garage and workshop. The former FBI agent led his wife and guests into the garage, where he had an extension phoneline. He dialed the number for Special Agent Cameron’s mobile phone. In the distance the wail of fire and police sirens filled the night.121

“Michael, this is Andrew Du Lac. Someone just tried to blow us all up…..No. No serious injuries….Yes…Yes. Can you get us into a motel and arrange some security for the night. Between the fire department and forensics we won’t be able to use the house again for a few days…..Great, we’ll see you there.”122

When the first police car rolled into the driveway the foursome came out of the garage. The paramedics were right behind the police, and the fire department behind them. While the medics checked the women over for concussion and shock, and the fire crew went into the house and put out the smouldering spot-fires started by the blast, Gad and Andrew began answering the police’s initial questions.123

Two FBI cars soon pulled up. As soon as the women were cleared medically the foursome were driven to a local motel. Rooms had already been booked, and Special Agent Michael Cameron was waiting for them. The dinningroom had already closed for the night, so they met there for a debriefing. Soon, the wives, disheveled and still shocky, begged off to go to their respective rooms to clean up.124

“Ideas?” asked Cameron. He was, after all, dealing with peers.125

“Our friend the sniper, playing us a visit, would be my guess,” responded Gad.126

“Ditto,” added Du Lac. 127

“That’s the way I’d read it, too. But why you four?”128

“Unfinished business? His primary original targets seemed to be the NAPOA delegates. Doli and I got some media coverage. And Andrew and Suzanne were hounded by the media as the sponsors of the conference. Maybe the sniper saw four Native Americans and wanted our scalps too, so to speak.”129

“Sounds reasonable, especially if it is a student, or college staff member, who could easily identify us, locate us, and observe us interacting with the investigation. They could easily see us as a threat,” suggested Du Lac.130

“Perhaps both,” concluded Cameron, “unfinished business and to eliminate a threat. At any rate, my team should have finished their initial appraisal of the blast site. I’m going over there now. You folks get some rest, and I’ll talk with you in the morning. I’ve got two men posted outside your rooms, and I’ve had a heavy word with the motel manager that I don’t want press leaks.”131

After Cameron left the two husbands went to their respective rooms to see to their wives’ needs. Sleep came with difficulty despite their badly wanting to sleep.132


XII133


Retrieving some of his home-brewed C4 from its hiding place had been no trick for Bat. Carrying it out of the building was absolutely easy; he was just a student with a bookbag finishing classes for the day. The devise was absolute simplicity; C4 wrapped around a one-quarter stick of TNT with a blasting cap and cord fuse; crude and effective; the blasting cap detonates the ¼ TNT, which provides the heat and force to detonate the C4. All in all, about the size and weight of a softball; more than enough to break through a window. The only weakness in his plan was getting there. Du Lac’s home, though well known to students, was just out of town, and with no personal transport would require a forty-five minute walk to reach.134

With no friends, and no social network, Bat had no access to cars, motorbikes, or even bycicles. The only route to Du Lac’s took him through town, and past a shoping centre. It would be difficult, though not impossible, to remain inconspicuous. The first three-quarter’s of the walk was done under the glare of street and shop lights. Even on the outer streets he still just looked like a student walking home from evening classes. 135

But as he left the edge of town he actually became more conspicuous. A student in the dark on a country road was something one noticed. Several cars passed him, but did not slow. Eventually he came to the Du Lac house. A farm house on a few acres with one out building, there were trees and bushes to hide his approach, and from which he could observe.136

He stood under a low tree until nearly 8 o’clock. Road traffic was minimal. There was a light on in the livingroom. He lit the fuse, threw the ball-sized bomb and ran, hearing the breaking glass as he bolted down the driveway. A loud and satisfying blast came seconds after he reached the road. He continued running until he reached the town limits. He was a block into the urbanisation by the time the first responders rushed by, lights and sirens on. It made him feel invincible.137

It didn’t make him invisible, however. Out of the corner of his eye, registered in his subconscious, one onrushing police officer glimpsed Bat striding along the sidewalk; hands in his pockets, empty backback bouncing. He drove past just as Bat walked through the glow of a street lamp. Bat’s red backpack, black shirt and brown pants and Chicago baseball cap entered the officer’s subliminal awareness, filed away automatically, but left unreported. 138


XIII139


Doli awoke at 4 a.m. to the sounds of her husband’s moans. Turning on the bedside lamp she saw that he was soaked in sweat, and had bled through his bandage. Dressing hurredly she opened the motel room door and called for the FBI agent posted in the hallway. He took one look at Gad’s condition and called an ambulance and his supervisor. 140

“He’s torn open his stitches, and picked up an infection somewhere,” the emergency room doctor told Doli after admitting the relapsed policeman. “We’ll keep him here until the infection is licked and the wound closes up again. No need to worry. From what I’ve been told, it is clear that he simply overdid himself since he was discharged. We’ll keep him quiet, force him to rest, and everything will soon settle down.”141

Doli and the agent stayed with Gad until morning. Back at the motel she slept for several hours. By noon she and the Du Lac’s were allowed back into their house. The damage to the livingroom was substantial, and Andrew spent the rest of the afternoon arranging insurance repairs. Doli helped Suzanne to clean up as best as possible in the circumstances. She and Suzanne were making dinner when Special Agent Cameron called by with the next shift-change of agents. The four of them sat around the dinningroom table to talk through events.142

“It’s the same mix of C4 as in the clock tower. We know for certain that the Meninges boy was dead before the bomb went off. His lifestyle and student record don’t fit any sociopathic profile, and neither do any of his known associates. We are counting him as a victim, a patsy left to try and fool us into thinking that the sniper took his own life.”143

“And the astronomy lab?” asked Suzanne.144

“No usable fresh fingerprints, but we have shoe tread prints, shell casings and some GSR on the cupula roof. There were smudged prints on the shells. There was fresh gun oil on all the shells that matches that in the rifle recovered from the clock tower. All bullets recovered were 30.06, and the ejector marks on the shells match the Winchester M1895 recovered. NAPOA witness accounts roughly tally at fifteen rounds fired, with eleven casualties. Unfortunately, pretty good shooting. Three clips in under a minute. Someone with lots of military, hunting or target shooting experience.” 145

“What does the homemade C4 tell us?” querried Andrew.146

“What is C4?” interjected Doli.147

“It looks like Play-Dough, Doli”; he replied and she nodded in understanding, “and is one and a half times more powerful than dynamite. It is used by the military and in demolition. An explosive is mixed with a plastic binder, and can be shaped to fit the object to be destroyed. Our killer has obtained, perhaps even made up his own, batch of poor quality C4. We are still trying to track down the source of the C4…..Every producer of C4 puts a chemical marker in it for identification. 148

“You told us the other day that Meninges was a senior Chemistry major. Could we be looking for another Chemistry major? Would a student have enough knowledge to make C4?”149

Cameron thought for a minute. “Yes, Doli, perhaps you’ve hit on something. If a really smart student could get ahold of some C4 powder they could probably use the batch-production process to make plastique-explosive in the quantities we’ve seen used so far.”150

As Cameron was answering Doli’s question, Andrew Du Lac was speed-dialing the Dean of Students on his mobile phone. “Larry? This is Andrew Du Lac….Yes, we’re OK….No….Yes, the FBI have taken care of that…..Thanks, Larry….Listen, could you please supply Special Agent Cameron with a list of the current top ten Chemistry students in each class year? Yes, asap! Great, thanks. Bye.”151

“I overheard. You still think like an agent, don’t you?”152

Du Lac smiled. “The Dean will have a list to your office in half an hour.” 153


XIV154


Andrew and Suzanne had to return to their teaching schedule, regardless of the bombing and other disruptions. Doli, accompanied by an FBI agent, was taken back to the hospital to spend the rest of the day with Gad. They made a funny-looking pair, both with their right arms in slings. His fever had begun to abate with antibiotic treatment, and the re-suturing of his wound; and he had slept soundly until mid-afternoon. The two of them discussed the progress of the case.155

In the interim Special Agent Cameron had returned to his office to assess the list of Chemistry students. He called in the head of the Chemistry Department; and they discussed the personalities and performance levels of the various students. That eliminated several potential suspects; students who were well adjusted, had good social networks, and whose knowledge and skills weren’t advanced enough to support the batch-processing of explosives. Of the original forty students on the list, Cameron came up with a short-list of fifteen he wanted to interview; eleven boys and four girls. 156

It took several hours to arrange an appropriate interview room, organise video and sound recording equipment, and send spare agents and police to collect the students on the list. Because of their professional backgrounds Cameron bent the rules, and had the Du Lacs sit in the video monitoring room to view the ongoing interviews. Agent Cameron was assisted in the interviews by Special Agent John Tibbits, whose background was in abnormal psychology. 157

The four female students were quickly elimnated as suspects because of confirmed alibies. Two had been home for the weekend of the shootings, two out shopping; while all four had been in the library at the time of the bombing. Really it was a no-brainer, as female students didn’t normally fit a profile for using guns and bombs. It did however give the two agents insight into the social dynamics of the Chemistry Department. Which led them to have keen interest in Bat Masterson.158

Bat entered the temporary FBI office with an air of smug superiority. Cameron and Tibbits had read the brief police interview notes on Bat’s presence in ‘Old Morgan’ on the day of the shootings. They played the interview as if Bat were a witness rather than a suspect. Most of his answers sounded too pat, too bland. And his flat affect regarding the shootings flagged a seriously deficient personality. 159

Bat stuck to his story that he had seen no one, and heard nothing while he worked. Unfortunately for the FBI agents, there were no witnesses to contradict his story. They had to come at the bombing from a different direction, asking if he had heard any rumours or boasting in the dorms. No, he hadn’t. Yet, once the subject of the bombing was broached he quickly volunteered that he was in the library that night, studying. 160

There was a swagger to his body language as he left the office, which the agents duly noted. He most definitely was a person of interest. Later, as the agents discussed the various interviews with the Du Lacs it became quite evident that all four experienced law-enforcement veterans were convinced that Masterson was ‘hinky’, and deserved closer attention.161

Special Agent Cameron made some phone calls, and agents at the state office began collecting information on Masterson’s homelife and his family. The resultant information, faxed to Cameron in the late afternoon, only added to their suspicions. Charles Henry “Bat” Masterson, the only child of David and Belina Masterson [nee Charlesworth], now aged 19, won Chemistry awards in Highschool, and has own chemistry lab on family farm. He was a loner, and had a geek reputation in highschool. Mother deceased. Father, small-time farmer, part-time “powder-monkey” for a construction company; Viet Name Vet, opinionated and agressive, misdomeanor record for bar fights. Both father and son are avid hunters.162

In light of these facts, Agent Cameron requested that a pair of agents visit the Masterson farm, interview the father, and obtain permission to inspect the son’s room and chemistry lab. That night at the Du Lac home, when Doli returned from the hospital, she and the Du Lacs discussed the day’s interviews. Agent Cameron phoned and asked to come over.163


XV164


“We’ve been checking up on young Mr. Masterson. He definately fits the profile. Classmates report that he has often made racist remarks about minorities, including Native Americans. And, his father is a demolition technitian with access to the constituents of C4. All we need now is enough evidence to obtain a search warrant for his home and dorm room, or catch him in the act.”165

Sitting at the Du Lac’s dinning table, the foursome tossed around ideas for a few minutes. Eventually Doli observed, “Sometimes you find rattlesnakes in places you don’t want. To trap that snake, you put a live mouse in a wire cage near where you know a snake to be, and wait. Eventually the snake will scent the mouse and comes hunting; and the trap is sprung.”166

“Kinda’ hard on the mouse, isn’t it?” questioned Andrew, guessing what Doli might be getting at.167

“Depends,” Doli smiled, and then continued. “We suspect that Masterson is the sniper and the person who bombed the house. That means that he’s obsessed with killing Native Americans in general, and probably us in specific. My bet is that he’ll try again if we give him the chance. He probably knows that we have FBI protection. He also knows that he is on the FBI suspect list. But he’s smart and arrogant. If we dangle some bait in front of him he may just come hunting out in the open.”168

“So,” asked Suzanne, “how do we get him out in the open?”169

“Well, we haven’t had that lecture I was supposed to give the poli sci, psych and soc students. What if we reschedule that and publicise it widely. It may lure him out.”170

“We can keep him under constant surveillance,” added Cameron, “and catch him with weapons or explosives before he can act.”171

“What is Gad going to say about this?” asked Suzanne.172

“I won’t tell him if you won’t,” cautioned Doli. 173

They thought on it in silence for a while, then; “Agreed,” said Special Agent Cameron. “If you, Suzanne, will make the academic arrangements, I’ll set up the covert surveillance teams.”174

The plan was put in motion, and the announcements prominently displayed all over campus. Doli prepared actual lecture notes, as there was no guarantee that Masterson would put in an appearance. Again, the lecture was scheduled for the main Poli Sci lecture room. Special Agent Cameron planted two of his youngest-looking agents, both female, in the crowd.175

The sniping murders and bombing had generated an interest in Doli’s ostensible lecture well beyond the boundaries of the psych, soc and poli sci students. Other departments were well represented, even if their interest was only morbid curiosity. Bat Masterson had no difficulty merging into the flow of students entering the lecture theatre that evening. 176

He left his room well before the lecture was to begin. Unbeknowns to him, he had been under observation ever since leaving his dorm room; while walking towards the quadrangle, and into Old Morgan. He went not to the lecture theatre, but took the elevator to the fourth floor and entered the men’s toilet. Fifteen minutes later he came out, carrying a red student’s book bag over one shoulder. Then he walked into the hall and sought a seat as close to the front as possible. The two female agents took seats immediately behind and at an angle to him.177

While Suzanne M.C.’d and Doli gave her lecture and answered questions, a team of FBI agents, accompanied by a campus security officer, entered the fourth floor men’s toilet. They went directly to the end of the room, and entered the janitor’s storeroom. It was as a thorough, but seemingly fruitless search, was drawing towards an end that one of the agents noticed that the ceiling airconditioning grate was not properly seated. Standing on the folding chair in the small room the agent lifted the grate and shone a flashlight into the ducting. 178

Reaching in, he pulled out a canvas hold-all. Upon opening the bag the agents discovered some det-cord, a brick of C4, three empty rifle clips and a nearly empty box of 30.06 ammunition. The bag was secured for investigation, and the stand-by forensic team called in to collect any trace evidence in the storeroom. 179

Masterson had placed his bag under his seat, and when the lecture was over, simply reached into the bag for a moment, then got up and walked away. His exit was blocked by a team of FBI agents. While he was being cuffed, and read his rights, another team was clearing the room, and securing his bag. An FBI explosives expert openned the bag, assessed its contents and quickly disarmed the crude detonator. The bag and its contents were quickly removed from the room and bagged as further evidence. 180

After congratulations all round, Doli was driven to the hospital by Suzanne and Andrew. It took some time to calm Gad down once the evening’s events had been described to him. He eventually got so angry he switched into Dime, and began scolding Doli, which made Doli start laughing, partly out of tension, partly from the pure absurdity of the situation. Gad, after all, was the policeman, not Doli. It was his job to catch the crooks. 181

Once Doli started laughing, Suzanne did also. Then Andrew. And last of all, Gad. They laughed so hard that Gad had to beg them to stop, because his sutures were starting to hurt.182

With the media focusing on the FBI’s arrest of Bat Masterson, the spotlight was off the Du Lacs and the Yassies. Gad was declared fit to travel within two days. The money raised for bus tickets was combined with a gift from a grateful [though humbled] Hawthorne College administration, and the Yassies flew from Kansas City to Phoenix first class. The assistance of relatives and workmates meant that their move into their new housing was hastle-free. Medical leave meant that they actually had some homeymoon time.183


Epilogue:184

In late September’s ‘Indian Summer’ warmth a courting college couple, strolling hand in hand along the edge of the reeds, sighted the rattlesnake getting its’ last dose of sunshine before hibernation. They reported it to the college security staff, who in turn told the Biology Department. Within three days the juvenile Massasauga had been located, captured, and housed in the departmental herpetarium. Its free-roaming life at an end, it would get fat and even more sluggish as it fed on lab-rats; those of the four-legged kind that is.185