by Ted Clifton
Ray sipped his coffee. He wondered what a mobile phone would cost.
Tyee spoke up, “If this was Las Cruces and you were still sheriff, what would you do?”
“Good question.” Ray gave it some thought. “I believe I’d go to a judge and get a search warrant for Grimes’s house and office. Might even try for an arrest warrant.”
“Based on what?” Tyee knew it was dirty pool. But he knew he needed to get Ray on point and fired up.
Ray sighed, perhaps finishing his own thought. “Well, I guess all I’d have for that would be White’s testimony that he saw documents that proved Grimes was stealing gasoline taxes.”
“Is that enough to get you a warrant?”
He shook his head. “Nope. It would get me a lecture from a pissed-off judge because that would be asking for a warrant against a powerful citizen based on gossip. I see your point. We need evidence. Let’s go see the coroner. Bound to be better forensics by now for Martin.”
“Giddy-up.”
“Just got off the phone with the State Police,” the coroner informed Ray and Tyee in a tone that hardly concealed his annoyance with them. “They said you’re authorized to receive whatever information I have on the Martin death. Still seems strange to me that some guy and his pal can walk in here and demand confidential information. But I don’t run this damned state, thank god.” Walter Strange was a medical doctor who spent a few hours each month as the county’s acting coroner. Generally, his duty was mostly filing the right paperwork. But the Jackson and Martin deaths had more than tripled his time on the job. He didn’t like that and had resolved that he would quit as soon as he could. “After looking at the angle of the bullet,” he continued wearily, “it is clear that Councilman Thomas Martin was murdered. His killer staged the incident in an attempt to make it look like suicide. But from the beginning, it was obvious to me that it wasn’t.”
“When did you know this?” Ray asked. “And who have you shared this information with?”
“I knew it the moment I viewed the deceased,” Strange replied icily. “I saw at once he had been shot from an angle that he could not achieve himself. Some people think to fake a suicide, one only needs to have the gun touching or close to the head. There’s more to it than that. The angle at which you can hold the gun is obvious, and any deviation from it raises suspicion. In this case, the angle was far too steep. The killer stood behind him and fired the gun into the upper part of his cranium, so the angle was a little behind and pointing slightly down. I suppose a person could get a gun in that position for self-inflicted gunshot, but it would be difficult and very awkward at best. The only reason someone intent on committing suicide would do that would be an attempt to make it look like it wasn’t suicide. A strange thing to do, I should think. Even for all that, the most telling clue was the gunshot residue. There was none on his hand. Therefore, someone made a feeble attempt to make it look like a suicide. And the attempt failed. It was homicide. I told Sheriff Trujillo all this pretty much right away—Mark White, too. Both of them were bugging me, calling to find out what I’d found. By the next day I’d a written a report that I sent to the District Attorney, Rick Travis.”
“Did you hear back from the DA?” Tyee was mostly just curious, particularly because it seemed odd to him that they had not heard Travis mentioned before.
Strange rolled his eyes. “Travis is a known slacker. I have no respect for the man. And no, I have not heard a word. Now, I believe that is all I have to say, and I have other things to do.” Strange lived up to his name. He turned and left without another word.
“Maybe it’s something in the water?” Tyee watched while Strange slammed the door with clear intent.
Ray nodded. “We did learn a few things, though. It is murder, which we suspected, and it was not Trujillo. If he wanted to fake a suicide, I’m sure he could have done a better job. Also, it would appear that this information has been available for some time but not provided to us. Why would Trujillo not tell us for sure this was murder?” He thought again. “Let’s go see Travis and see what he thinks. And don’t say, ‘Giddy-up’. Okay?”
“Okay. Giddy-up, partner.”
“Was wondering when you two would show up,” Travis greeted them. “In case you’re curious, the city attorney and I hate each other. On several occasions he has threatened to have me disbarred. So, whatever he said about me is probably lies.” The DA smiled but seemed on edge.
Travis was slim and stood tall, likely six foot six. He had wavy, prematurely white hair and bore an air of nobility. Ray figured that most likely every man hated this guy, not only White.
Tyee jumped in. “Actually, it was the coroner Strange who called you a slacker. The city guy didn’t say much at all.” He gave Travis an innocent smile.
Travis chuckled and seemed to relax at that. “That’s not too surprising. He’s my wife’s uncle. He’s always thought she should never have married me. Small-town connections, small-town attitudes.”
Ray spoke up. “Have any theories on who killed Martin?”
“Well, you know, sheriff, it is our job to prosecute—not investigate. We’ve been waiting to hear something from the sheriff’s department.” With that, his tone turned a bit more serious. “I requested a meeting with Trujillo to see what the hell he thinks he’s doing and have been told by the totally incompetent staff that he is out of town, whatever in the hell that means.” He cleared his throat and composed himself a bit. “I was hoping your presence here meant you had something to tell me. Besides, you represent our wacko governor, I suppose I should be asking you for answers.”
There was a long pause. Ray studied the DA, evaluating what to think about the man. Still, he’d been right. It was not his job to track down suspects; only to prosecute them. “I will give Trujillo one day to come back from wherever he is,” he informed Travis, tensely. “If he doesn’t come back, I will request the governor appoint me sheriff. And I will raise holy hell in this town like you have never seen until I find the killer or killers. And I will drop them in your fuckin’ lap.” He rose and left.
Tyee kept his seat while they watched him stride away. He turned to Travis. “It’s difficult to piss off Sheriff Pacheco, but I think this town’s finally done it. We will find out who did this. And we will arrest that person, no matter who it is. See ya, Mr. DA.” Tyee stood, intending to demonstrate that even if he was about the same height as the DA, he dwarfed him in mass. Tyee smiled and left.
“What now, chief?” Tyee found Ray outside, staring at a tree.
“You know that is not funny,” Ray mumbled.
“I thought it was.” Tyee grinned. “What’s with the tree?”
“Thinking about fishing. Besides, I like trees.” Ray gave Tyee a weak smile. “Let’s call it a day. Trujillo will either show up tomorrow, or he won’t. If he doesn’t, I’m calling the governor, and he can either appoint me sheriff or send someone else.”
“Sounds good. What’ll we do if he does appoint you?” Tyee could guess, but might as well ask the horse since he was standing right next to him.
“Arrest Lewis Grimes.”
“What’s the charge, other than being an asshole?”
“Murder.”
The phone rang and kept ringing. Ray wasn’t sure he cared. Then he realized it might be Sue. Maybe something was wrong in T or C. He bolted up and glanced at the clock—twenty past one in the morning. This was not good.
“Hello.” He listened. “Okay. Be there in a few.” He called to wake Tyee.
Not until they were in the truck headed toward the Grimes mansion did Tyee ask, “What did the sergeant say?” He looked tired and grumpy.
Ray still had trouble putting sentences together. “Said Grimes was killed. Shot by his wife. In their pool. They were drunk. Some kind of game. Or something.”
Tyee squinted at him. “Does that mean case closed? And we go home?”
Ray yawned. “Don’t think so. I still think Grimes killed Martin. It’s all that makes se
nse to me. But I needed proof, so my plan had been to arrest him and see if we could get him to confess. Then we’d go home. Now that he’s dead, we have to think of some other way.”
“We were going to beat a confession out of the old man and hightail it out of town?” Tyee glanced at Ray.
“Not sure about the ‘hightail it’ part. Besides, I thought we’d just dazzle him with our brilliance and he’d be so awed, he’d have to confess to everything.”
At the Grimes mansion it looked to them like every emergency vehicle available in the county was there. The blinking lights almost blinded them.
Tyee squinted and frowned. “Looks like a lota folks are up early.”
They hunted down Sergeant Hoover. “Tell us what happened,” Ray snapped.
Hoover looked exhausted. He pulled a notepad out of his pocket, flipped it open and referred to his notes. “At about 12:45 this morning dispatch received a 911 call from Vickie Grimes of this address, saying her husband, Lewis Grimes, had been shot and he was dead. She also advised that she had been firing a weapon at the victim, but that none of the shots she fired struck the victim.” He looked up. “Dispatch said she sounded hysterical.” He went back to his notes. “Emergency was dispatched, and arrived in about, uh, seven minutes. They indicated they found Mrs. Grimes in the rear of the residence at the swimming pool, seated next to the body of the victim. Victim’s body was half in the pool and half out. Emergency advised they observed an entry wound in the back of the victim’s head, and that he was deceased.” He closed the notepad and wilted a bit. “They were both naked as jaybirds. She’s like, catatonic, now—in some kind of trance or something. Medical’s taken her inside and drawn blood. I mean, you can tell she’s been drinking, but we wanted to check for drugs. We got here about 1:08 and roped off the area. I have people searching the back yard and beyond the fence. Unless ballistics and forensics say otherwise, it looks like Grimes was in the pool, and Vickie was shooting at him, and got him, whether she meant to or not.” He seemed done, until he blinked and said, “Oh, yeah—one other thing. Neighbors heard the shooting and told my guys they estimated eight shots fired. So,” he shrugged, “I guess she fired those eight shots, and hit him in the head, deliberately or not. The first people here said she told them she jumped into the pool and tried to pull him out but could only get him partially out.” He took a breath and let it out. “That’s all I’ve got.”
“You said she claims she didn’t hit him,” Tyee said. “What do you think that means?”
Hoover shrugged. “She could be saying she didn’t shoot him. But at this point, it sure looks like she did. Maybe she really didn’t mean to hit him. Until she’s a little bit more lucid, it’s all just a guess.”
Ray looked around. “Since Trujillo is not present and his whereabouts are unknown, I’m taking charge of this investigation on authority of the governor. If Trujillo has not returned by tomorrow—or I guess, later today—the governor will appoint me as acting sheriff until some other arrangements can be made.”
The sergeant nodded, looking relieved and exhausted. “What do you want me to do?”
“For now, what you’re already doing. We’ll want to talk to Mrs. Grimes before we leave. You finish up here, and we can meet later to decide what to do next.”
The sergeant turned to leave, looking far more relaxed now that someone else was taking charge of the mess.
Ray approached Grimes’s widow gingerly. “Hello, Mrs. Grimes. Or do you want to be called Joyce?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you call me.” She started to cry. “I didn’t kill him.” She seemed to have sobered up. She at least made some sense.
“Can you tell us what happened?”
She took a deep breath. “We were skinny-dipping.” She swallowed, and her eyes hardened. “Then the old bastard told me he was tired of me, and that he was on the lookout for the next Vickie. I just completely lost it. I couldn’t believe what he was saying. The only reason I stayed with the old goat was I thought he’d die soon, and I’d get his money. I know, that makes me a bad person. Well, so fuckin’ what?” She looked up at Ray, eyes narrowed. “He was evil. Anyway, I went and got my pistol. When I came back with the gun, I could see the terror in his eyes. And I loved it. I didn’t plan on killing him, but I sure wanted to scare the hell out of him. He started swimming to one side, and I shot into the water ahead of him. He turned and swam the other way; another shot. And I kept him going back and forth like that, like some penny-arcade game. And then,” she said, staring away from anyone, “his head jerked in this weird kind of way, and—and blood went flying everywhere.” She started to break down but kept talking. “But I didn’t shoot him. I swear. I jumped in and got him and tried to pull him out, and then I called 911. Fuck! I didn’t kill him.” She surrendered to tears and convulsions. A nurse came to help her into the house.
Tyee had watched her closely. He believed she was telling the truth. “Unless she’s the greatest actress in the world, she either didn’t kill him or it was an accident. Jumping into a pool full of blood just isn’t a thing someone who deliberately killed a person would do. They’d leave them there, and get away, fast.”
“Could be right. Go find the sergeant and have him make sure they search every inch of the fence perimeter, and keep an eye out especially for shell casings.” He took a deep breath. “Guess I’m going to call the governor.”
Ray gave the governor a brief overview on what had happened in Farmington.
“Dead,” Johnson replied without emotion. “Can’t say I’m sad about that in any way other than it’s gonna create one hell of a disaster regarding his business activities. A lot of people are gonna be hurt by that old bastard even after he’s dead. Do you think he’d die without a will, and just leave it all to his wife?”
At least the governor was an honest man. He hated Grimes while he was alive and still hated him now that he was dead. “I would guess he’d have a will,” Ray replied. “At his age, death was nearby every day. I just can’t imagine him letting everything go to wife number three.”
“Yeah, me neither. So you think the wife didn’t kill him.” The governor had been grumpy due to the abrupt interruption at such an early hour, but now sounded alert and interested.
“I think if she did, it was an accident. Another possibility is that someone else was there and saw what was happening. That person intended to murder Grimes and stumbled across the weird pool scene and used it as cover. The wife is goofy, and even she admits she’s a gold-digger. But I really don’t see her as a killer.” Ray knew the governor’s habits. It was a sure bet for him that Johnson would prefer that the wife had done it, so it could all be closed up and forgotten.
“I’ll have an authorization statement making you sheriff sent out there as soon as I get to the office. Do you think Trujillo could be involved?”
“At this point, his actions put him on the list of suspects.” Ray hated to admit it. He had trusted him and felt angry that he’d been fooled.
“Even if he shows up, I want you to relieve him of duty until we get to the bottom of this.”
“I agree. Too many unanswered questions about him to let him continue. I’ll keep you advised.” Ray hung up. Considering the circumstances, it had not been a bad conversation with the governor. He couldn’t say that every time. He hunted down Hoover. “Sergeant, do you know who would be the number two guy at Grimes Oil Company?”
“Oh, yeah. Guy’s been there forever. Name’s Mathew Bowles. He’s their chief financial officer. My brother-in-law used to work for him in accounting out there.”
“Thanks.” Ray wanted to talk to Bowles as soon as the office opened.
The McDonald’s drive-thru was busy but efficient. Ray and Tyee had their coffee and breakfast biscuits within minutes of ordering.
“You know,” Tyee observed with his mouth full, “I really like this stuff. Do you think it’s bad for you?”
“The coffee’s way too hot,” Ray replied, “and these egg
sandwiches taste too good not to have things in them that we shouldn’t be eating.”
Tyee twisted his mouth. “That’s kind of a cynical view of the world, Ray.”
Ray nodded with admission. He had become cynical. He needed to fish more and spend time with his dog. Alone time and the companionship of dogs kept men from turning old and grouchy. “You’re right. They do taste good.” Ray tipped his coffee, as if to propose a toast.
Grimes Oil Company looked austere. It was obvious fancy offices were not required for the mundane and dirty job of delivering gasoline to hundreds of convenience stores and service stations. Its aroma spoke of its core product, stored in great tanks, right on the grounds. Ray and Tyee parked in front of a nondescript two-story steel building. They took time to finish their tasty breakfasts before going inside.
“Good morning.” Ray gave the receptionist his best smile. “Is Mr. Bowles in?”
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
“Ray Pacheco and Tyee Chino.”
She smiled at Ray, but looked sidelong at Tyee, as if suspicious he might pose a threat to peace and safety. She stepped away toward the back offices and soon returned. “He will see you in just a minute.” She was no longer smiling at either.
It took closer to ten minutes before Bowles appeared. “Please come on back.” They followed him through an open-style office filled with people busy at their desks and into his glass-enclosed corner office. They glanced at the suitcases stacked against the wall inside. Bowles noticed that. “Leaving this morning on a business trip. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Bowles, I am acting sheriff of San Juan County, appointed by the governor as of this morning. We need to inform you that Lewis Grimes is dead.”
Bowles turned a sickly white. He looked like he might faint. His head lowered to his desk.
Tyee spotted a pitcher of water, poured Bowles a glass, and offered it. Bowles gulped it down, shaking visibly.
“Are you all right? Do you want us to call for help?” Tyee asked.