by Ted Clifton
Trujillo nodded, smiling faintly.
“What’s the plan now?” Tyee sensed maybe they were nearly done, and thought that a loud “yippee” might be in order if they’d been outside.
“We need to find Watchman. I believe he’s the source for all this evidence. We need to hear his story. Thad, how would you find him?”
“I’d call him. He has one of those mobile phones.” Trujillo pulled out a notebook and shuffled the pages while Tyee turned to Ray with a meaningful grin, which Ray ignored imperiously. “Here’s his number.”
They pulled into the McDonald’s, which Ray had picked for a meeting spot with Watchman because it was Ray’s favorite food and he was driving.
“We really need to have mobile phones,” Tyee remarked on the way. “Navajos shouldn’t have better shit than Apaches.”
“We’re not going to have some kind of Indian war in here, are we?”
“You mean like one where I take his stupid mobile phone from him while I wave my tomahawk?”
“Well no, that wasn’t exactly what I meant. But now I’m really worried—be nice, okay?”
“Have any idea why Watchman would collect all that evidence and just turn it over to Jackson?”
Ray parked. “No clue. If he was protecting Begay, he wouldn’t have made any of it, nor would he have given it to the sheriff. But we know the real threats were the feds, either FBI or BIA. So, did he give all that to the sheriff to keep it out of their hands? The part that really confuses me is Jackson. One minute he’s nuts, and the next he’s in the middle of a major crime investigation. I know he confessed to killing his wife. But is he a bad guy or a sort-of good guy?”
“Crazy people often act crazy.”
“Is that an old Indian saying?”
“No. Just common sense.”
Ray smirked at Tyee while they entered the restaurant. They were a few minutes late and expected Watchman to be there. He was not. Ray bought coffees, and they took a booth. After about twenty minutes it was clear Watchman had stood them up.
“Now what?”
“Go see the DA. Based on what we’ve uncovered, maybe there’s enough to arrest Watchman for obstruction of justice. Likely that’s complicated because he’s a policeman for the Navajo Nation. But he can’t stand us up. No more Mr. Nice Guy.”
“I like it. Be nice to us, or we’ll haul your ass to jail.”
The Albuquerque Journal’s headline read, “Governor Threatens War Between the States.” Many readers had to be curious about what the hell that meant. Within the article, they discovered Governor Johnson was quoted as saying he would use the National Guard, if necessary, to secure and return the military equipment that the State of Colorado held illegally. It went on to say the governor also had directed the state attorney general to file a lawsuit against Colorado to force them to return the hardware. The paper quoted Colorado Governor Tom Graham as saying he had “real concerns about my old friend and his mental health.”
“Fuck that bastard Tommy Graham. He’s always been a goddamn crook, and he’s still a fuckin’ crook.” The governor was reading his morning paper and was not pleased. “Call the goddamn AG and tell him I want to see him.”
His beleaguered chief of staff had aged noticeably since coming on board about a year ago—the previous one was rumored to be in hiding somewhere near Taos—took a deep gulp before he replied. “Governor, I have had conversations with Colorado’s attorney general. He said we can have our equipment—just come and get it. He reassured me that if Governor Graham implied something else, he has changed his mind.”
“What?” Johnson glowered. “Why should we come get it? They’re the ones holding it. They should bring it to the border.” The governor loved fighting more than anything. And this was likely his last fight.
The attorney general walked in, already briefed about that morning’s tirade. “Sir, you might recall it was our San Juan County Sheriff who took all of it into Colorado. And at least according to the attorney general, their governor may have overreacted a bit during one of your conversations when he said they would hold it until hell freezes over, but in any case, all we have to do is send people to that camp, and they can drive everything back here.” The AG smiled broadly to indicate what a good idea that was. He did not smile because he felt at all happy to be in the middle of a pissing contest between two bulls, even if they were just about all out of piss.
The governor made a sour face. “You know, in 1925 the U.S. Supreme Court settled our border dispute with Colorado. They said the border would be the thirty-seventh parallel, based on surveys conducted by two groups. The two crews started at opposite ends of the state and would join in the middle. Well, wouldn’t you know it? They fucked it up. Yep, there were morons back then, too. They missed each other by maybe two miles. That’s why we have a kink in our border with Colorado. A fuck-up. Now, wouldn’t you think that could be fixed? Oh, no. They just joined the two ends with a line—and that’s the state border. Now, there’s a road that runs right down that line. It’s just inside the line, in New Mexico. But it serves mostly the people who live on the other side, in Colorado.” He narrowed his eyes at the chief of staff, who wilted with dread. “You tell that fat-ass governor he can keep that military junk. But I want Colorado to pay for the annual maintenance of that highway. You tell him if he says no, I will have DOT tear the damned road out—completely gone. Then he can build his own road on his side of the border and pay for the maintenance.”
The attorney general stood speechless. He began to speak but seemed to change his mind. “Yes, sir. I will let them know.” He left.
“All right,” the governor nodded conclusively. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” And he began to cough. Then he couldn’t stop. He rose from his chair and collapsed onto the floor with a loud thud.
Emergency medics already stationed at the capitol were steered into the governor’s office. They quickly examined him and placed an urgent call to the hospital. All the signs looked bad. They lifted him onto a gurney and rushed him to an ambulance, but he did not live to reach the hospital. His term was over. He’d had a long run.
Ray walked woodenly into the conference room where he and Tyee had been drinking their morning coffee. “Just took a call from the governor’s office. He had a heart attack this morning. He’s gone.” He turned and left, and did not stop walking until he was outside, where he stayed for many minutes before he went back inside and found a quiet room to call Sue. “Don’t know if you’ve heard or not but . . .”
“I did. I’m sorry. Do you want me to come out there?”
Ray almost broke. He felt weak. He swallowed. “No. I’m sure the funeral will be quick. It’ll be in Santa Fe. I’d like for you to be there.”
“Sure. But just say the word, and I’ll come to Farmington.”
“I’ll be fine.” Ray paused. “We’ll get this wrapped up in a day or so. We’re going to hand this back to Trujillo pretty quick, and we’ll head home.” He wanted to change the subject. “Have you heard from Nancy?”
“She’s so happy. Tyee’s a lucky man. She really cares about him. I think they’re going to be great.”
“Sue, I love you. I’ll be home soon.”
“I love you, too. Be careful.”
Tyee burst into the office. “Ray, just got a call from the DA. An attorney from Albuquerque called and said he had Grimes’s latest will. He wants to meet with Travis to give him some information. And Travis wants us there.” He suddenly realized Ray was not reacting. “You okay?”
He seemed to refocus. “Yeah. The governor dying just kind of hit me hard, I guess. I’m fine. Hey, uh, talked to Sue. She said she talked to Nancy and you’re one lucky guy.” Ray smiled, or gave it his best shot.
Tyee smiled back. “Yeah, I know. Time to wrap this up. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“So, when does the DA want us in his office?”
“The attorney was already in town, so in about forty-five minutes.”
&nb
sp; At the DA’s office the receptionist took them straight back to the conference room to meet Travis and someone new.
The DA handled the introductions. “Ray Pacheco and Tyee Chino, this is Paul Unger. Paul’s an attorney from Albuquerque, and he prepared Lewis Grimes’s most recent last will and testament.” They both shook hands with Paul, a slight man of slim build, about five-foot-six, with deep brown eyes, dark, thick hair worn long in the back, and a manner of notable intensity.
Tyee opened the questions. “Have you done a lot of legal work for Grimes?”
“Not at all. I’m just a one-man shop. One day about a year ago, he walks in and asks if I do wills. And that is a lot of what I do. Anyway, he hired me to do his, and I never heard from him after that. Then just lately I saw in the paper that he’d died—all so unusual, especially with him being killed. At first, I thought somebody would contact me, but no one did. So, I filed a copy of his will with probate court yesterday. And I drove here to see if I could find the beneficiaries and give them copies of it.”
The DA asked him, “Could there be later versions?”
“Like I said, I haven’t talked to anyone, especially not Mr. Grimes, since I prepared it. I guess he could have had later ones done. But I thought I should operate under the assumption that this is his valid last will and testament.”
Tyee peered at him. “Did you find the beneficiaries?”
“Yes. Matter of fact, it was Mrs. Grimes who asked me to contact the DA and give him a copy.”
“So she was named in the will?” Ray asked.
Unger handed Ray a copy. “As you will see, there are two beneficiaries: one Joyce Sanders aka Vickie Grimes, of Farmington, and one Chris Kee, address unknown. The estate is basically split down the middle—fifty percent to Mrs. Grimes and fifty percent to Chris Kee.”
“Did Mr. Grimes identify to you who Chris Kee is?”
“No, he didn’t. If I may say, I believe it was seeing Kee’s name on the will that prompted Mrs. Grimes to suggest I should get the DA involved. So, who is Chris Kee?”
“Apparently we’re not sure.” Tyee remarked, almost under his breath.
Unger seemed to ignore that. “One of the odd things that happened, after I prepared the will, was I received a letter from Mr. Grimes in which he named me as executor. Sort of a weird thing to do, but the letter came with a very nice check. While I thought it was strange since we had only met once and I hadn’t seen him since, it was still legal. I decided that, for his own reasons, he wanted someone who was not involved in his day-to-day life to handle his estate. So, unusual? Yes. But legal.”
Travis cut his eyes toward Unger. “Well, Mr. Unger, I believe you may find being the executor of this estate to be a very interesting job.”
Unger thanked them for their time and left.
“What does that mean?” Ray asked anyone who might know.
The DA spoke. “I have some knowledge about Kee, as I think you do, too. And based on what I know, there’s no accountable reason for Grimes to leave him anything, much less half of everything.”
“We’ve been told Kee is Sheriff Jackson’s father. Do you know if that’s true?” Ray asked.
Travis shook his head slowly. “I have no verifiable information about him. Just rumors, like you have.”
“Under normal circumstances, this would be Kee’s lucky day. But with all the legal problems, his estate may not be worth much.” Tyee seemed almost sad.
“Wonder what Vickie—or Joyce—is thinking about now?” The DA pondered.
“I think we should go ask her.” Ray stood, ready to move.
“Before you leave,” Travis said, “we should discuss your plans for Mark White.”
“My plans went so far as locking him up. Maybe I should ask you what he should be charged with.”
He chuckled. “I’ve talked to him. He called and raised a ruckus. Wants to charge you with false imprisonment.” Travis grinned, clearly relishing the matter. “I told him that would be a waste of time and that he was in a lot of trouble. I reminded him about conspiracy charges that he could face besides ones for withholding evidence. And with a little thought, we could probably come up with other ones. He wants to talk a deal to avoid jail. I said I’d talk to you.”
“My job is to find evidence and arrest people. I’m not a deal guy. Rubs me the wrong way. White contributed to an attitude in this town that led to all this. Maybe he didn’t do anything himself, but he sure didn’t do anything to stop it. I’m not sure I could make it stick, but if we really push, we might even be able to charge him in connection with Martin’s murder.”
“I hear you, Ray. The biggest problem there is that we can’t prove Grimes did it. So, we may not like it, but there are a lot of holes in your case against White. Sometimes it’s best to take what you can get, rather than shoot for the moon and miss everything.”
Ray looked at Tyee and frowned. This was the part of the law he didn’t like. “What can we get?”
“He’ll plead to a misdemeanor, interfering with an investigation. And he’ll surrender his law license and take two years probation. That means he’d have to resign as city attorney.”
“What would you do?”
Travis looked wistful. “If I could, I’d throw the book at him. He’s that kind of privileged lawyer who thinks the law doesn’t apply to him. And that rubs me the wrong way. But what I would do is offer the deal and consider it a job well done. Otherwise, I think there’s a good chance he just walks. And probably sues us.”
“Tyee, what’s your opinion?”
“Never take big bites. You might get choked.”
The DA looked at Ray. “Does that mean anything?”
“Yes. Offer him the deal.”
Tyee took a gulp and grimaced. “Another day, another great cup of coffee.”
Ray looked at Tyee. “You’re being a wiseass, right?”
“I was only complimenting this wonderful cop coffee.”
“I know. It’s awful. Hey. Let’s go to McDonald’s and get some real coffee.” Ray was smiling.
“Seriously? McDonald’s?”
“Sure. I like their coffee.”
“It’s too hot.”
“It’ll cool.”
“Okay.”
About halfway there, Ray suggested they stop and see the mayor.
“The mayor doesn’t drink coffee,” Tyee grumbled. “Only booze.” He didn’t hide his disappointment that they weren’t going to McDonald’s.
“His honor will be with you in a few minutes.” Ray noticed the mayor’s receptionist was not the same person as the one they had seen in the office before.
After waiting a good ten minutes, Ray approached her again. “We need to see the mayor now,” he said firmly. “Please inform him that this is a law enforcement issue.”
She rose from her desk, looking annoyed and disconcerted, and went to the office door. She lightly tapped on it. No answer. She did it again. Still nothing. Ray pushed past her and opened the door. The untidy office was empty.
He turned to her. “I am the acting sheriff of this county, and I am working in association with the FBI. You should know that if you have lied in order to allow the mayor to leave by the back door, you will soon find yourself in jail.” The woman’s eyes widened with alarm, but she didn’t say anything. “Was he here when we first came in?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say to you after you told him we were here?”
“He said to stall. He said he didn’t want to see you. He said he was leaving through the back door.” She pointed.
“Damn. Do you know where he went?”
“No.” She started to cry.
It almost made Ray feel bad, but only almost. “You were not here when we saw the mayor before. Are you new?”
“Yes,” she sniffled. “I started just a few days ago. I’m sorry if I did anything wrong.” Now she was really crying.
And Ray did feel bad. “It’s okay. The lady who was here before—wh
at happened to her?”
“That was June Walters. I think she quit. That’s what the mayor said.”
“Is she still in town?”
“I think so. Most people live here till they die.”
More tears and some sobbing. Ray said he was sorry and they left.
“Let’s call the office and see if we can get an address for the mayor and June Walters.”
“No coffee?” Tyee whined.
“Later.”
They called dispatch and talked to the officer on duty. That person gave them the addresses and directions for both houses. The dispatcher also mentioned that the mayor had inherited the place from his parents. Not much privacy in a small town, especially if you’re the mayor. They headed to the mayor’s house to see if maybe he had gone home to avoid them.
The mayor’s house was a large, plantation-style structure that needed paint. They knocked and got no response. Walking around the house, they saw more up-keeping problems, including some cracked windows.
“Nice old house. Needs some work.” Tyee remarked as they came around one side.
“Yeah. Looks like money might be a problem for his honor.”
June Walters’s house was much smaller, and very well kept. The house, the yard, the trees—everything was neat and tidy. June Walters was someone who liked order. They rang the bell and waited only a moment.
She recognized them at once. “Mr. Pacheco, Mr. Chino. Please, come in.” June Walters appeared to be dressed for work. Or maybe that was how she looked every day. The inside of the house exceeded the outside in neatness. It was immaculately clean and orderly. Ray surmised that she lived alone. “Please have a seat,” she offered. “May I get you some coffee or tea?”
Tyee was just about to say yes to coffee, but Ray butted in. “No, we’re fine. We were just at the mayor’s office for a visit. For whatever reason, the mayor left before we could speak with him. The new secretary said she thought you’d quit. We were wondering if you could share with us why you left your job?”