by Ted Clifton
Jane looked pained, but kept smiling. Loving the old bastard took real fortitude and a great deal of patience.
Johnson’s speech didn’t go much longer, which was good, but he wasn’t very kind. He had a way of pissing people off. It was one of his most consistent qualities. He’d been elected and re-elected because he also had a way of getting things done. But his skills were more those of a bully than a diplomat. Not many people would be sorry to see him leave, especially Senator Graham.
“You know,” his wife told him after, “it’s not your job to make the senator angry.”
“I know, Jane. I should learn to be more diplomatic. But if I did that, I wouldn’t be me, now would I?”
“No.” Jane snuggled a little closer for a quick hug and a little peck on the cheek.
“I don’t deserve you, Jane.”
“No, you don’t.” She smiled at her husband. “It was nice of the senator to come to your going-away party.”
“Well, I’m sure it was because of the going-away part. He’s nothing but an old crook dressed up in fancy clothes and hiding behind a law degree. If I could make his life more miserable, I would.” His eyes narrowed. He’d sighted Graham nearby.
Jane knew the look and tensed for what was about to come.
“Senator, mind if I have a few private words?”
“You know, Jeremiah,” Graham sighed, “there’s no reason for us to be enemies. Why don’t we part as friends?”
“Tommy, you are the biggest bullshitter I’ve ever met. Plus, you’re a crook. Why the fuck would I want you for a friend?”
Graham scowled. “Listen, you dumb son of a bitch. I’ve had it with your foul mouth and holier-than-thou attitude. Fuck you!” The senator turned to leave, an ugly expression on his face.
“I know what you and your lowlife brother are trying to do in Pueblo,” Johnson fired back. “I won’t stand for it. I have documentation on who owns that land, and what’ll happen to its value if that road project you’re pushing happens. That road to nowhere is a boondoggle, designed for no reason except to line your pockets. Either drop the project, or I’ll expose you.”
The senator stopped, turning slowly. His face was red. He was starting to perspire. “You do anything like that, and I’ll have you killed.” He spat the words in Johnson’s face.
“I would rethink that, you two-bit thug. Your little threat is on tape.” Johnson pulled a small recorder out of his pocket. “Now, unless you want to go back to Pueblo and work in your idiot brother’s construction business, you better do what I told you.” Jeremiah Johnson’s first instinct had been to punch the fat senator in his fat face. But he saw Jane glaring in that familiar stop-whatever-you’re-doing way, so he walked off.
“You know my dear,” he said to her, “I think it’s time we move to another state.”
The next few months were full of activity. They sold their house in Colorado Springs and rented one in Albuquerque. They’d decided to park in Albuquerque for a while and get a feel for things, then decide whether they wanted to buy a house there or in Las Cruces.
But the congressman couldn’t sit still. He got involved in Democratic Party activities in Albuquerque, and soon was being talked about as a potential state leader for the party. Jeremiah was happiest when discussing politics—it was his life. He hadn’t been active in New Mexico politics for some time, but it was amazing how similar the issues were to those in Colorado. Being an ex-congressman gave him status and respect that pushed him up the ranks in the party pretty quickly, and his witty, bombastic ways opened a lot of doors.
His family had been long-time residents of New Mexico and were once considered one of the “noble” families in the state’s political hierarchy. The problem with that, though, was that all members of his famous family were Republicans. Jeremiah became the black sheep when he declared himself a Democrat; he might as well have declared himself the devil. Even after the passing of many years, there were still certain family members who wouldn’t talk to him.
After he and Jane lived several years in Albuquerque, occupying the same rental house they’d first moved into, they were still not sure whether to stay or move to Las Cruces. But they had firmly established themselves as active political beings in all things New Mexican.
The years moved along. The Johnsons were happy, and very active for people in their mid-sixties. Senator Tommy Graham had just run for governor of Colorado and won. Jeremiah had debated with himself about offering some of his nasty tidbits to the senator’s opponent, but had decided he didn’t need the grief. He and Jane were satisfied with their life as it was—why stir up old pain and anger?
Then tragedy struck. Driving home from the grocery store, Jane was rammed broadside in a busy intersection by a speeding police car. The cruiser was pursuing a car thief and wasn’t using its siren. She died instantly.
Jeremiah withdrew from everything and became a recluse. He had his phone disconnected and would rarely answer the door. There were days when he couldn’t get out of bed. The man of action, full of piss and vinegar, had been defeated. He dreamed of being dead.
There was loud knocking on the front door. “Hey anybody home? Mr. Johnson this is the police—we need to make sure you’re okay. Hello? If you can hear me, I need you to come to the door or we’re going to break it in.” They banged on the door some more. The doorbell hadn’t worked in months.
Jeremiah lay on the couch, listening to them. He hated the police. He knew it wasn’t rational, but that didn’t change how he felt. They’d killed his wife and now they were going to break into his house. Something snapped. He blinked very quickly several times and his mind began racing. What the fuck!
He threw open the door.
“You better stop pounding on my door you moron. Do you know who the fuck I am, you little piece of shit? I tell you who I am—I’m an ex-congressman, I am friends with the mayor, I am friends with the police chief, I know the asshole governor. And I am pissed. You need to get off of my property and file your goddamn report saying that the old fart who lives at this address is alive and well. Now fuck off!”
Slam!
The police left. Their report said the man living at the house was up and apparently not in any physical danger. They added they suspected he might be crazy.
Jeremiah began attending political meetings again. It was hard. He moved out of the house he and Jane had shared; the memory of her was too strong there. He moved into a small apartment in downtown Albuquerque. Sometimes he would go to his new home and cry. He’d never done anything like that before. After a while, he cried less.
The incumbent governor of New Mexico, Richard Hawthorne, was a Republican, and he was running for re-election unopposed by anyone in his party. He was a colorless man who talked a lot about money—mostly his—and about arts and culture. He was expected to win in a landslide.
The Democrats were having a difficult time finding a viable candidate who was willing to run—and most assuredly lose. In a why-the-hell-not moment, the party chair approached Jeremiah and asked if he would consider running.
“Lookin’ for someone to get stomped on by that elitist asshole of a governor.”
“I understand, Jeremiah,” the party chairman sighed. “More than likely, he’s going to be re-elected. It’ll be his final term, though, which means the next election will be wide open. All of our eager beavers want to wait and run then. We need someone who can run a good campaign and talk about Democratic values.”
“And be willing to lose.”
The chairman nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s the deal. Will you do it?”
“Hell yes, I’ll do it.” Jeremiah Johnson smiled. “And I’ll beat that pompous ass!”
Johnson had been a politician his entire life and knew every trick in the book. But there was something else. He wanted to do the right thing. Not that he’d ever not wanted to do what was best for the people, but there was just a new intensity to his drive to help the ones who were being stepped on by the assh
oles of the world, like the present governor.
He ran a populist campaign from the heart. He denounced the incumbent governor in words not often heard in public. The crowds grew. He was an overnight sensation. He held nothing back, saying what he wanted to say, and people loved it. The incumbent called him foul-mouthed, crazy, a communist, another Hitler. People loved that, too.
They only had one head-to-head debate, and Johnson was in his element. His opponent, who had spent years saying almost nothing of substance; now found it impossible to shift gears, was not. By the end of the debate it almost seemed even he had decided to vote for Jeremiah Johnson.
Jeremiah was elected in a landslide. Within months of taking office, he’d implemented most of his campaign promises. He became the most popular and colorful governor New Mexico had ever had. He lived a simple life and spent every day trying to make Jane proud.
Farmington, New Mexico
Chief Deputy Trujillo had made reservations for the Pacheco party at the Casa Blanca Inn, a short distance from the airport and a few blocks from the sheriff’s offices. Check-in was easy. And they were pleasantly surprised by the Southwestern charm of the building and the uniqueness of a hotel outside the usual national chains. The overall effect was cozy and romantic.
“Ray,” Sue gushed, “this place is beautiful. Guess I wasn’t expecting such Santa Fe charm in Farmington.”
“Plus, it’s about half the price of those Santa Fe joints.”
“You’re always so romantic.”
Ray paused a minute to see if Sue was upset or just kidding. From her look, he couldn’t be sure. He was still getting used to a lot of new things in his life, with marriage being one of the areas demanding most of his attention. He couldn’t have loved Sue any more than he did, but there were many times he wasn’t sure what she was thinking. At those times he felt like he didn’t know her. He had a very reliable gut instinct about crooks, but much less about his wife.
Tyee’s scowl suggested he wasn’t pleased with much of anything. “Man, this place just screams ‘romance.’ Maybe you two should stay, and I should go down to the Holiday Inn.”
“Okay, look—both of you. Let’s just get on with the task at hand and enjoy a nice place to stay at the expense of the governor, then head home. Okay?”
The biggest problem with that plan of action was there didn’t appear to actually be a specific task at hand. Sheriff Jackson’s actions were beyond anything Ray, or even the governor, could likely deal with. If anyone was going to do something, it would have to be the FBI or ATF. It was also apparent Chief Deputy Trujillo had everything under control. The obvious course was for the governor or his attorney general to appoint Trujillo acting sheriff, set a special election for a while down the road, stand back, and let the man do his job. End of assignment.
Sue smiled at Ray in a way that told him clearly she wasn’t angry, and he should go do whatever he had to do. “I think I’ll hang around the hotel and have a leisurely lunch while you two go about your duties. See you later.” She gave Ray a peck on the cheek along with a wink, then set off for their room.
“Listen, Ray,” Tyee said, “I know I’m being a pain in the butt. Guess it was the plane ride; not real sure. But there’s something else. I know this is going to sound silly, but ever since we landed, I’ve had a feeling of foreboding. I know you’re going to mock me for getting mystical. But I really feel a powerful sense of danger.”
Ray let out a deep breath. “Tyee, I trust your instincts. It’s not silly. I feel on edge, too, for some reason. I think we need to be careful. The whole thing with Sheriff Jackson is strange. But right now, I think the most important thing to do is to get as much information as we can on Trujillo so we can give the governor a heads-up on whether he can take over the department until there’s an election.”
It was a short drive to the sheriff’s downtown office. Ray and Tyee were both quiet, absorbed in their own thoughts.
“Get everything squared away at the Inn?” Deputy Trujillo seemed overly concerned with Ray and Tyee’s comfort, or maybe just nervous at being responsible for people sent by the governor. Either way, it felt a little overdone to Ray.
“Yeah, the place is great. Really appreciate all your help. Wonder if we could get that phone number and address for the sheriff’s wife.” Ray was ready to do something, and not just stand around chatting.
“Sure, got that right here.” Trujillo handed the information to Ray. “You also can use that office just behind you while you’re here. No one’s using it now.”
“That’s great. Thanks, Deputy. Well, we’ll let you get back to work; no need to entertain us. Maybe some time tomorrow we can get together and go over some of the issues that might come up if Jackson doesn’t come back.”
“Great. I’ll look forward to that. As I’m sure you know, small towns have a pretty efficient communication system—gossip. So your visit isn’t a secret. I received a call this morning from one of our leading citizens, Mr. Lewis Grimes. He owns Grimes Oil Company and wanted to know if you had time, could you drop by and see him. He did mention that he’s a major contributor to the governor.”
Ray wasn’t sure how to respond. He sure as hell didn’t want to spend time talking with some pompous businessman just because he had political clout with the governor. “Let me get back to you on that. Our plan is to gather some information regarding Sheriff Jackson’s actions and to make sure everything is under control in the department, and then head home. Not so sure how much time there’ll be for glad-handing.”
“With you there, sheriff,” Trujillo nodded sympathetically. “But Mr. Grimes is as about as important as anybody gets around here. Not only is he our leading businessman, worth millions, he’s also head honcho on almost everything political. His latest wife—think she’s the third or fourth—is a very attractive twenty-something blonde bombshell. Rumor is she’s threatening to file for divorce, and she’s made it clear the reason was Mr. Grimes’s supposed affair with—” his eyes widened “—Barbara Jackson, the sheriff’s wife. My guess is he wants to talk to you about more than politics.”
Ray got Grimes’s contact information and assured the chief deputy that he would contact him and see what he wanted.
The edgy feeling Tyee talked about was starting to take shape. Almost all small towns had secrets, and sex and money were the common themes. This was the ugly side of law enforcement, when you had to get involved with upstanding citizens because of their personal weaknesses. Ray hated it.
Tyee was not pleased with the turn of events, either. “Sex and politics—not our strong suit.” His goal had been to gather some facts, pass them along to the governor, and head home, not talk to politically connected rich businessmen.
“Yeah, not a good surprise. But let’s just see how this plays out.” They had called Barbara Jackson from the sheriff’s department and didn’t get an answer. Now they headed for her apartment to see if they could learn anything. It wasn’t very scientific-sounding, but a lot of law enforcement amounted to poking around and seeing what happens. Stirring the pot. Shaking the trees. Ray was from the old school where you had to be out in the field doing something if you expected to make progress.
Barbara Jackson’s apartment building was a few blocks from the sheriff’s department. They pulled into a parking spot right in front. Tyee walked up and rang the bell on her unit. There was no answer. He got the sense no one was inside. They went to the unit next door and rang the bell.
The door opened a very small crack.
“Hello,” Ray said. “My name is Ray Pacheco, and this is my associate, Tyee Chino. We’re assisting the local sheriff on some matters. We were wondering if you knew where Barbara Jackson might be today.”
“Are you here because I called?” The lady responding looked to be in her eighties or maybe nineties—and very nervous.
“Not sure what you mean, ma’am. Did you call someone?”
“Yes. I just called the sheriff’s department and told them th
ey should check on my neighbor.”
“Well, we’re from the sheriff’s department, but we didn’t know you’d called. We wanted to talk to Mrs. Jackson about her husband.”
“I think her husband may have killed her.” The elderly lady made her bold statement and slammed the door. They could hear her set several safety locks. Apparently, the conversation with the neighbor was over.
A patrol car pulled up and parked next to Ray and Tyee’s car.
“Hello, Sheriff. Deputy Trujillo said you might still be here. I’m Deputy Clark. We got a call from the neighbor of Barbara Jackson. She wanted us to check on her welfare.”
“Good to meet you, deputy. We’ve just talked to the neighbor lady. She seems to think something might be wrong with Mrs. Jackson. She also indicated she thought it involved her husband. We didn’t question her because after her comment that Barbara’s husband may have killed her, she slammed the door and locked it.”
“Yeah,” Clark nodded, “that sounds like Shirley. She’s ninety-two. And about every week, she’ll report some kind of crime, from alien invasion to mass murder. But before I left out for here, I called the mayor’s office where Barbara does volunteer work, and they said they hadn’t seen her in some time. So, there may be reason for concern.” The deputy went up to the door and rang the bell. As expected, there was no response.
“Might not get away with this in a big city, but I believe I will just force this lock and see what’s going on. Might want to hide your eyes if you or Mr. Chino are sensitive to such actions.”
Ray and Tyee gave Deputy Clark slight smirks, but did not hide their eyes. Using an appropriate small tool, he had the lock picked in a matter of seconds and opened the door. They were confronted by the equally unpleasant and familiar odor of a dead body.
Ignacio, Colorado—Days Before
“Colonel Jackson, where do I put these boxes?”