by Ted Clifton
Sheriff Jake Jackson, sometimes called “Colonel” by the men of the Americans for Liberty, allowed his shoulders to sag. He rubbed his face with a weathered hand and silently counted to ten. “Son,” he said at last, “I believe I told you just about thirty minutes ago to place all the boxes behind the main house until we can get one of the tents set up.”
“Oh, right. I wasn’t sure you actually meant all of them. But I’ll get them over there, right now.”
Jackson sighed.
When he was a little boy, all Jake Jackson ever wanted was to be a soldier. He would play with his toy army men for hours. They were his best friends. His mom told him his father was a soldier and he’d died in Vietnam. He didn’t remember his dad, but his mother said he was big and handsome and that Jake looked just like him. By this time, his mother was always introducing him to “uncles” who visited her late at night. Jake dreamed that someday he would be the big soldier, and he’d kill all those uncles. They were all ugly and smelled bad.
The little boy Jake never smiled. When anyone talked to him, he kept his eyes on the ground. When forced to speak, he would say little more than “yes, sir” or “yes, ma’am.”
When he was a young man, he tried to join the Army. They told him he had several serious medical issues and hadn’t tested well. They advised him to seek counseling. Jake knew they thought he was crazy, just like all his teachers.
He became a big man with broad shoulders, but he still felt small and weak. A friend of his mother’s got him a job at the sheriff’s department for the summer after he’d graduated from high school. It was mostly running errands, but he got to wear a uniform. That gave him a new goal. He wanted to be a deputy.
Jake struggled with the tests. But he was big and strong, and he had a calm manner that suggested to others he was under control. Eventually, he passed the requirement exams and became a deputy in Farmington, New Mexico—his hometown.
Farmington was in the Four Corners region, so named because it is where New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, and Arizona meet. The area had been inhabited for over two thousand years by a diversity of Native tribes, Spaniards, Mexicans, and European settlers. It remained a harsh, rugged land that still held many secrets about its past.
Jake achieved success in the sheriff’s department, with only a few incidents involving excessive force to blemish his record. He was known as a loner and very seldom socialized. He ran for the office of sheriff, and won. Some believed he won because no one else wanted the job. His mother had directed his campaign, and the prevailing opinion was that she got him elected. She knew a lot of people in town.
During his first year as sheriff, his mother died. Jake was alone. Most people commented that he’d aged a decade in that one year. He said nothing about it.
To his militia in the backwoods of Colorado, he said, “I want to thank each of you for your commitment to the AFL. You have made an important decision to fight for your freedom and to establish a base of security in the midst of this troubled country. I hope in only a few years we will be free and living the life we all expected in our own country.” That brought only a spattering of applause. The Colonel was respected and feared, but he wasn’t a dynamic speaker. However, the intensity was evident in his eyes. No one challenged the Colonel. “We have established ‘Americans for Liberty’ so we can escape the tyranny being forced on us by the U.S. government. We have worked for many years to reach this point. Now we are going to take action. As of this morning there are about a hundred of us ready to build a better tomorrow. In the next few weeks, I expect that number to grow into the thousands. Once we reach a certain mass of people, there’s no way the government will send in the ATF, or the FBI, or the fuckin’ Army. They will be forced to leave us alone.” That hit the right chords and got shouts of approval.
Most members of the AFL were ex-military, and many were in law enforcement. The country had changed, and they didn’t like it. They were angry and frustrated over a lack of control. They would meet to talk about how things had to change. Many years ago, before many current members joined, they began a fundraising drive to buy land in Colorado. They managed to get enough money to buy a hundred and sixty acres in La Plata County near Ignacio. The land butted up against the San Juan National Forest near Navajo Lake on the north and adjoined Bureau of Land Management land to the south. There were some high-dollar cabins worth many millions in the area, but they were mostly in the west, toward Durango.
It was remote land, and very rugged, mountainous terrain with steep ravines and almost no flat surface. This was going to be AFL’s new country: “Freedom”.
Over the years they built primitive structures and moved a tremendous amount of weapons, ammunition, and other gear into the zone. The Colonel announced the target date to set in motion all of their plans was October 1st. It had arrived. Many members became nervous and dropped out, but newer, meaner, and crazier ones had just joined. They were intensely loyal to Colonel Jackson.
“Freedom—our new county—is within our grasp. We will claim thousands of acres of this land as our new home. We will secede from the screwed-up United States, and we will become our own country. Freedom is within our reach. We will not fail.”
Many cheered wildly. A few looked a bit nervous.
“Freedom or die!”
“Looks like she was hit on the head with that skillet over in the corner,” the assistant coroner told Trujillo. “My guess is she died sometime within the last three days, and as late as yesterday morning. But that’s only a guess at this point. Once we do an autopsy, I’ll be able to pinpoint that better. No question in my mind, though—she died almost immediately after being struck.”
“Any chance there are prints on the skillet?”
“Sure, could be. The surface of a cast-iron skillet is not the best to get prints. But we’ll try.”
Trujillo began directing his men on how he wanted the crime scene searched and secured. He went outside to find his visitors.
“Ray, sorry you had to be involved in this. I know the governor didn’t send you to assist in a murder investigation.”
“Don’t worry about it, deputy. Let us know any way we can help.” Ray knew the unspoken message was to stay out of the way.
“Once we get everything secured and some preliminary autopsy results, we can meet and discuss how this might affect what you’re doing here. It’s pretty obvious the most likely suspect is going to be her husband, our absent sheriff. But let me get more details, and then we can talk later.”
“Of course.” Ray thought Trujillo seemed on edge—and hell, maybe he should be. Murder couldn’t be a normal thing in Farmington, unless it occurred in a dark bar between folks nobody much cared about. But murder of the sheriff’s estranged wife, who worked for the mayor and supposedly had an affair with the richest man in town—now, that would make any law enforcement officer nervous. No matter what you did or didn’t do, someone important was going to be unhappy.
“Tyee, I think Deputy Trujillo would like for us to leave town.”
“Okay with me. Don’t see how we can be much help in a local murder that might involve important people. My Apache sense says we should get the hell out of Dodge.”
“I agree. Way too many loose ends around here. We’d just be in the way. I’m going to call the governor and give him an update but suggest to him that we go back to T or C until we have a better idea how to proceed.”
“What the fuck, Ray? Things get a bit nasty, and you want to go home?”
Ray’s conversations with the governor always posed a challenge to his self-restraint. He was aware, after many such exchanges, that Johnson exercised no self-control over what he said. It just came out. He would yell and cuss at the slightest provocation, and only after a little cooling down did he start to think. While it was a very annoying quality in a private conversation, the pattern had served the governor well during his years in politics. It was how he bullied his way to some very important positions. And he was not going to
change his ways at this point in his life.
“Look, governor,” Ray replied cautiously, “if there was something useful we could do, then we’d stay. But for now, the acting sheriff has it under control. Our main goal coming to Farmington was to make sure the sheriff’s office was being properly run. And it is! So, if we hang around, Trujillo will decide the only reason we would do that is to spy on him. He’ll clam up, and there’ll be no more cooperation. Plus, governor, he’s your best bet to run the sheriff’s office. We piss him off, and he might quit. As far as we have been able to see, that would mean you’d have to send in someone from the State Police to manage the department. That’d mean more problems, more headaches, and more chances for more screw-ups.”
The governor went quiet on the line for a moment. “Shit, Ray. You’re right. I just don’t like it. Feels like we’re leaving a lot in the hands of a guy I don’t know and I’m not sure I trust. I don’t like it.”
Ray understood the governor’s concern. “We can go back to T or C and start doing research on Trujillo. Plus, I’ll stay in touch with him about the murder investigation. And I’ll contact the FBI to discuss our wandering Sheriff Jackson and see what they think should be done. I think there are still areas we need to explore. But it’s just not necessary to be in Farmington.”
“Okay, okay. I agree. One thing before you leave. I’d like you to visit with Lewis Grimes. Now, Ray—you need to be very careful with that old crook. He’s dangerous in a lot of ways. He’s been a contributor to my campaigns, and a royal pain in the ass because of it. I’d like your impression of this man.”
Ray frowned. First Trujillo, now the governor wanted him to meet Grimes. He didn’t like it. Still, he acquiesced. “I can do that, governor, if he’s agreeable to meeting with me. This murder may affect that. The most likely suspect’s her husband, but Grimes will be on the list. Trujillo advised me that it was common knowledge he’d had an affair with her. He might decide he doesn’t want to talk to anyone without a lawyer.”
“Nah, I doubt that. That old bastard hates lawyers about as much as he hates cops. If he’ll see you, I’d like you to do that. But he worries me, Ray. I don’t want to cloudy up the picture too much more, but I’ve been told by the Director of Revenue there’s good evidence he’s been underreporting the fuel taxes he owes to the state. We think it’s a scheme he developed on the Navajo reservation, in cahoots with the tribe’s officials, to report more gasoline sales there while those gallons are actually being sold in the state. He’s collecting the tax but not paying it. This is a monster deal, Ray, and one I could end up in the goddamned middle of. We’re talkin’ millions.”
Ray was by no means a math wizard. But he had a good idea that what the governor talked about could amount to an amazing sum of money. He’d dealt with a smaller instance like it in Las Cruces. A station owner falsified his sales records to understate them so he could siphon off money to pay gambling debts. That guy owned just one little station, but in a matter of months he’d accumulated over two hundred thousand dollars in unreported fuel taxes. Grimes’s businesses were hundreds of times bigger. The money involved would be a huge sum anywhere, and almost unbelievable in Farmington, New Mexico. Now Ray’s interest was piqued.
He nodded as if Johnson could see him. “As soon as we’re done, I’ll call and see if we can get an appointment to talk to Grimes. Before Barbara Jackson’s body was discovered, he’d wanted Trujillo to ask if I’d drop by and see him. So, unless her murder changes things, I believe he is expecting me to call.”
“Great. Listen, Ray—Grimes is a different kind of crook, with all his lawyers and political connections. But you should remember that, at his core, he’s nothing more than a thug. And he’ll do anything to protect what he’s got. Be very careful.”
Ray called Sue from the sheriff’s department. “The governor called his pilots for us, and they should be here in about two hours. Are you ready to get back to T or C?”
“Sure, I guess. You know, we just got here. Something wrong?”
“Yeah, some things have happened. And I think it’s best if we leave while it gets sorted out. I still need to run by and visit with the local tycoon, either to please the governor or piss the local guy off, I’m not sure which. Anyway, Tyee and I are headed over to this guy’s mansion. My guess is it’ll be a short meeting. So, hopefully we’re back to the hotel in about an hour, and then we can go out to the airport.”
When they approached Grimes’s neighborhood, a couple of things stood out. One was the ominous, substantial fence all around a vast area with three large houses. Another was the armed guards stationed at strategic spots.
“Looks like Mr. Grimes is expecting some kind of trouble,” Tyee noted gravely. “Maybe we should have called first.”
“I’m sure it would have been the polite thing to do,” Ray agreed. “But, under the circumstances, I thought it might be more useful just to drop in. Of course, I was not expecting an armed encampment.”
“A couple of those guards look like Navajo warriors,” Tyee observed. “From the stories I heard growing up, not the guys you’d want to mess with. Apaches and Navajos have a long history of fighting each other. The only time there was any sort of truce was when we joined together to fight the white man. I might just wait in the car.”
“I thought Apaches were the toughest of all Indians.”
“Takes all kinds, Ray. I’m working on being the smartest Apache.”
“Your timing is perfect.”
“Okay,” Tyee sighed. “One more rodeo. But this walking-into-danger thing is getting tiresome.”
“One more rodeo?”
“Old Apache saying.”
“Yeah,” Ray sighed. “Should’ve called first.”
They parked in front, keenly aware of the many eyes watching them. Once inside the fence, they could see the three houses were connected by breezeways creating a sense of one huge structure. The compound was massive, covering probably more than 30,000 square feet. The entrance to the main house would have been more suitable for a castle in England than a mansion in Farmington. Its massive front doors looked like they weighed a ton each; impressive, but not friendly or inviting.
Ray was looking around for some way to signal someone that they were there—a doorbell or some kind of knocker—when the door swung open.
“Well, son-of-a-bitch! You’ve just got to be the famous sheriff who cleans up the governor’s shit piles.” Then his eyes went straight to Tyee. “And you must be his famous Indian sidekick.”
He held up one hand, with a gesture like a cop telling traffic to stop, obviously imitating the stereotyped aboriginal characters in old western movies. Still looking at Tyee, he put on a serious face and spoke gravely, though what he said was nonsense.
“How! Ugh!”
Tyee didn’t react, and Grimes quickly reverted to playing host.
“How exciting to have you guys just drop in. This calls for a drink.”
With the flamboyance of royalty, he turned back into the house and called for someone named Mable. Before any explanations could be sought, a friendly-faced, middle-aged woman appeared and took immediate instruction to bring drinks out to the pool. Grimes waved to Ray and Tyee, indicating they should follow him through the house and outside into a broad space under towering oaks. The scale and audacity lent the house, pool, and yard an unreal, mystical quality.
The surrealism of the situation was capped off by the much younger, very attractive Mrs. Grimes, who was enjoying the warm New Mexico sunshine, lying beside the pool wearing nothing but a perfect tan. Completely naked and unconcerned.
“Shit, Vickie,” Grimes snapped. “Can’t you see we have guests? Put somethin’ on.”
With the deliberate movements of a graceful feline, Vickie rose up on one elbow to peer at Tyee and Ray without the slightest hint of embarrassment. She slowly rose from her chaise lounge to find her robe. If anything, she seemed reluctant to put it on.
“Sorry about that, guys. Vick
ie’s my wife. She’s not exactly shy.” Grimes’s expression bore a strange combination of irritation and pride.
Tyee and Ray struggled to recover and stop gaping. Being in proximity to the beautiful Mrs. Grimes seemed to remain a distraction, even now that she was somewhat clothed.
Mable arrived pushing a cart loaded with drink options. Both Tyee and Ray chose diet cola. Grimes took a bourbon and water and Vickie a tall gin and tonic, which she almost consumed before she made it back to her chaise.
Grimes opened the discussion. “That’s some awful news about Barbara being found dead. It’s hard to believe that moron of a husband of hers would murder her. But you should know, that guy’s not all there. I’m not going to say he’s crazy but, my god—that man’s crazy. And now he’s off with his make-believe militia, threatening to break away from the United States. Now, is that not crazy?”
Ray cleared his throat. “It’s a tragedy. But we have nothing to do with that investigation. I’m sure Acting Sheriff Trujillo will get to the bottom of that matter very soon.”
Grimes smirked. “Yeah. Sure. He will, without fail, pick someone to accuse and make sure the evidence proves it.”
Ray raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting Trujillo is not honest?”
Grimes shook his head. “What I’m suggesting is that Governor Johnson better send some more people out here to watch over the local yokels as this thing progresses. The governor has enemies here, and so do I. My message to Johnson needs to be very clear—either he helps control these people and his tax bastards, or some bad shit is going to happen.”
Ray stiffened. “Are you asking me to threaten the governor for you?”
“Shit, call it whatever you like. He’d better take some kind of action to put a stop to this right now. Got that, cowboy?”
Tyee answered, “If you’re going to be a rude old bastard, you should at least say, ‘cowboy and Indian.’ ”
His retort seemed to surprise Grimes. He glowered at the giant Indian. “I’m tired of you guys. Get the fuck out of my house.” With that, he stormed off.