“The road continues for several more miles before there’s a fork. You can go on through the Indio Hills or double back and head down again by the other route,” Nick said.
“That’s good to hear. I don’t know what you’d do if you met another vehicle on this road other than in one of those open spots, or anywhere but here, in fact.”
“Kim’s right about that, Nick. I didn’t see anywhere to pull off the road until now.”
“It would have been hard to see much with your eyes closed,” Nick teased. “It’s an unwritten rule that you go up this way and down the other. Not everyone follows the rules, though, do they? Over the years, tribal police have had to pull people out of gullies below, but not often since this isn’t a road that attracts many visitors.”
“I can see why this place seemed like a sanctuary to Louie,” Kim observed, walking around the area. “It’s peaceful and much cooler than below. We must be at an elevation of a thousand feet or so.”
“Yes,” Nick replied. “The road climbs more if you keep going—to two thousand feet. The higher elevation and shade here make this a haven. Others found this spot long before Louie. I’m not sure that Louie knew it, but the trees in the crevice between the rocks mean there’s water here. A lean-to would have given the original inhabitants of this area shelter during the summer months. There’s not much in the way of game. Most native people preferred to go up into the San Jacinto Mountains for the summer.”
“I doubt Louie will ever come back here, even if we can find Sacramento’s real killer,” I spoke in a wistful tone.
“Perhaps if he’s given a second chance to live free, Louie Jacobs will honor his friend by visiting this place to remember him. It’s not a bad place to die, although it was too soon. Sacramento would have gone far in life and would have helped the tribe find a balance between the old ways and the new.” Nick paused as if he had more to say. “Let me tell you what I’ve heard about what happened here. That’s what you’d like to know, isn’t it?”
“Thank you, Nick.”
Nick began to show us around by taking us down the road a bit to the opening we’d passed. There was a well-worn path not far from where we’d parked. Nick claimed that was the one Louie and Sacramento would have taken to get here on foot. From what I could see, it started near the casino’s property and gained elevation quickly. Next, Nick took us to the spot where Louie had stored the things he left behind. It was cleaned out now. Not even a scrap of paper or trash remained.
“Did the tribal police remove his items, or did the county send a team of investigators here?” I asked.
“What I heard is that when the tribal police realized who the dead man was, they called his father. Then John Lugo called the County Sheriff. They came out and arrested Louie Jacobs. Maybe the county collected some evidence, but the tribal police had begun to place Louie’s belongings in their vehicle before the Deputy Sheriff arrived.”
“Hm, it’s interesting that they called John Lugo first,” I said wondering if Louie had been right that the tribal police had been searching for Sacramento. “I didn’t see anything about that in the police report. Does it seem odd to you that the first thing the tribal police did was call Sacramento’s father?”
“Oh, no. I’m sure they’d gone there in the first place to find Sacramento and take him home. Timothy Ridgeway and Billy Castro were often asked to find John Lugo’s son. There was a fight earlier in the evening near the parking lot at the casino so someone might have told Sacramento’s dad about it. Both boys, and their friends, had been in the casino earlier. Some played the slots, and others were watching—eating and, apparently, also drinking.”
“Were they allowed in the casino at their age? Louie was only seventeen,” I said.
“Yes, they could gamble at eighteen, but they weren’t supposed to be able to buy drinks. Sacramento had a high school graduation party in June and invited all his friends. Even though he went to a private prep school, most of his friends who showed up were the ones he’d met when he went to public school. By then most of them were eighteen, I guess. Louie Jacobs was a year behind them and underage, but he was in the casino with Sacramento all the time.” Nick shrugged.
“That explains why the tribal police were there that morning,” I said.
“Yes, we do. They must have checked other places first, not to show up here until dawn,” Kim commented.
“It could be. Since Sacramento and Louie had a fight earlier, this may have been the last place they expected to find Sacramento,” I argued.
“Quarrels between close friends don’t end their friendship,” Nick noted.
“I understand. Louie said he loved Sacramento like a brother and would never have killed him,” I added.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Nick replied. “Brothers often fight. From the moment he was arrested, Sacramento’s aunt believed Louie wouldn’t have killed his friend.”
“Okay, so we need to speak to Timothy Ridgeway and Billy Castro. I’d also like to know what other places they checked before they came here that night. Unless you already know that, Nick.”
“I can’t be certain, so you should ask them—that’s if you can get them to speak to you.”
“I have my ways, Nick, although I’d like to speak to them sooner rather than later and without resorting to a subpoena.” That’s if, and when, I could get one. Dealing with the tribal jurisdiction added an extra wrinkle to an already complicated case. I stopped ruminating about it when Sacramento’s concerns about the man he’d seen from his bedroom window popped into my mind. “Are either Timothy Ridgeway or Billy Castro big, musclebound guys?”
“Yes, they both are. Billy is bigger than Timothy, although neither of them is as big as Brien nor Peter.” Nick paused and grinned. “They’d have trouble with Brien or Peter even if they worked together.”
“I won’t argue with that,” I said. “Wouldn’t Louie or Sacramento have recognized the man watching Sacramento if it was either Timothy Ridgeway or Billy Castro, Kim?”
“Yes, unless he was disguised in some way. That doesn’t seem likely, though. Since Sacramento had seen the man more than once, I’m sure he would have spotted some detail that gave his identity away,” Kim said, searching the area. She stooped low to the ground to examine something.
“When did you first come here after the murder?” Kim asked.
“The next day, although the road was still blocked off. I parked in the casino’s parking lot and took the footpath up here from there.”
“Did you notice anything that you couldn’t attribute to police tramping through here?” I asked, picking up on Kim’s question to Nick.
“On the way up here, there were footprints on the trail that didn’t belong to Louie or Sacramento. I found the mess you can see in this area with footprints over footprints, heading in different directions,” Nick said, pointing at areas as he spoke. “Who knows if one of them belongs to the Cleaner Man as Auntie Agnes believes.”
Kim and I waited, hoping Nick would say more. I really didn’t want to prompt him to take a position. I decided to go on and come back to it if he still didn’t offer more information about the Cleaner Man.
“That’s understandable given all the police personnel who went through here that night. Those marks look as if something heavy was rolled away, leaving wheel ruts behind. See?” I asked, playing show and tell.
“Yes. Most likely, it’s from whatever was used to remove Sacramento’s body since the ruts start there where he was found,” Nick replied, pointing to an area close enough that I could see what appeared to be a streak of blood on the rock. I quickly dropped my eyes. Although I needed to learn as much as I could about the scene, I felt as if I were intruding.
“I doubt they got the coroner’s van up here, but they must have some method of getting into remote areas. The crime lab too.”
“That’s if the county sent anyone to collect evidence since this is tribal land,” Nick added.
“That must have
happened when the case was turned over to the County Sheriff. Surely, when John Lugo asked for help from them, that’s what he had in mind.”
“Maybe,” Nick shrugged. “I didn’t speak to Mr. Lugo, but I believe he was most concerned that Louie was caught and punished as soon as possible. I don’t know how much he cared about who gathered the evidence.”
“That puts the decision to transfer his case to the County Sheriff in a little different light. Especially if he then leaned on them to quickly reach a conclusion about who murdered his son,” I murmured, trying to remember who’d signed off on the evidence listed in the log.
“What about this print?” Kim asked, interrupting my conversation with Nick.
I sipped water, trying to stay ahead of the dry heat that can dehydrate you before you realize it. When hikers get lost or have accidents in the desert, it’s often because they haven’t kept hydrated. Dehydration is at the top of the list of the many ways the desert can kill.
“It appears recent, doesn’t it? Have you seen one like it before?” I asked Nick after squatting down to see what Kim had spotted.
“You two have tracker skills, don’t you?” Nick asked as he bent down next to Kim. “Betsy told me you developed those skills for shopping. She says you can find bargains and sniff out a sale even if it’s miles away.”
“She said that, did she?” I stood, put my hands on my hips, and tapped my foot as if I was irritated by Nick’s comment. When I broke into a smile, relief washed over our guide’s face and he grinned. “Betsy knows me too well.”
“You’re right that this is a recent print and it matches one of those I saw on the trail made after Louie and Sacramento had already passed by. Does it belong to el hombre limpio? I don’t know.” Nick shrugged. “Does that answer your questions?”
“Yes. Well, no. You’ve mentioned the Cleaner Man a couple times, but have you ever seen him?” I asked as I bent down and did my best to get a picture of the footprint.
“I’ve seen many men walking alone around here, but none dressed the way the Cleaner Man has been described—all in white—like the ghost of a lost cowboy. I’ve heard of him before, but it wasn’t until Sacramento asked me the same question you just asked that I considered he might be in this area.”
“Why did Sacramento ask you about him?”
“He didn’t want Louie to be anywhere near him—especially not while Louie was alone up here,” Nick replied.
“Dang it!” I said when the picture I’d taken of the footprint was blurry, so I took several more from different angles. I snapped more photos as Nick, and I followed a trail of fresh footprints.
“Someone stepped on the prints here, but they continue that way.” Nick disappeared around an outcropping of rock into a smaller open space. When I followed, he pointed out the place Louie used to stash the items he left here when he wasn’t at the campsite. The crevice was a narrow split in the rough, speckled rock. I tried to imagine how the skinny young man had fallen asleep in the uncomfortable space that appeared too small to sit or lie down in. Kim had joined me, staring at the spot that was shaded by trees.
“Louie must have passed out because there’s no room to sleep,” Kim said, squeezing into the area. Her attempts to turn around were unsuccessful as she leaned into the crevice. “It’s narrow enough that it could have kept him upright.”
Nick continued, even though there was no more sand in which to find more footprints. He peered closely at a rockslide that filled the space between large boulders. The slide was almost like what you’d see in a wash created by the flow of water. Maybe occasional snowfalls at the higher elevation above us led to flooding, created the slide, and kept the dirt wet enough for the wispy trees and scrubby brush that grew here. There was a thick clump of vegetation to the left of the slide, maybe there was water underground too.
“A branch is broken, and someone stepped on these leaves before scrambling up over the rocks. Recently, because the broken ends of the branch aren’t completely dry yet.” In an instant, he was on top of a large boulder that was in his path, and then he hopped to the next one.
“Wait, Nick!” Too late. If he’d done as I asked, before disappearing behind the boulders, I would have added that the break in the branch seemed a little too recent to me. Kim must have thought so too. She was searching the area again. In a flash, she ran back to the road, and then dashed around the corner in the direction Nick had gone.
I’d followed her and stopped when she disappeared. The “let’s split up” line I hate to hear in a scary movie had arrived. Alone, out in the open, I suddenly felt like Cleaner Man bait. I recognized the icky feeling in my stomach as a telltale sign of the paranoia that goes with snooping into calamitous events as if another unfortunate event was about to occur.
When I heard a noise, I quickly realized it was coming from the path Nick had said Louie and Sacramento used to get up here. I took off after Kim, turned around the corner so fast that I collided with her, and almost knocked her down. When she yelped, I reached out and covered her mouth. She yanked my hand away.
“What is it?” she asked, speaking in a low voice. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost—or the Cleaner Man.”
“No,” I whispered. “There are footsteps coming from below. Where’s Nick?”
“I don’t know. I found something, though. See?” Kim asked, pointing at a small pile of cigarette butts on the ground and an empty cigarette pack. “If the Cleaner Man left those, he’s not just a psycho serial killer, but a hypocrite and a litterbug.” Then we both jumped and shrank back.
“Well, how do you like that?” a familiar voice bellowed. “Why didn’t Bernadette tell you we could drive up here?”
“Don’t ask me,” an even more familiar voice replied. Tommy went on, griping at the top of his lungs. “Bernadette knows I hate exercise and all the dirt and creepy critters you find when you go hiking. I’m sweating like a pig, which is gross.”
“Where is everybody?” George Hernandez groused. “I thought you said you knew Jessica was at the crime scene.”
“What he said was, ‘If I know Jessica, she’ll be at that crime scene and in trouble.’” Jerry added. “Tommy’s got to be right. Someone’s here, and who else but Jessica would be up here in this heat?”
I couldn’t believe my ears when Anastasia began barking wildly. In a flash, Louie’s place went from hauntingly peaceful, albeit in a white-knuckled way, to ridiculously frenetic.
“Stop him!” Nick shouted almost the moment Kim and I ran toward the voices. When I reached the clearing, I slammed into a beefy man of medium height. He succeeded in doing what I’d failed to do when I bumped into Kim. He knocked me down. I landed hard, skidding over the ground like a rock bouncing on a pond. When I came to a stop, I wasn’t in a very ladylike position. I quickly straightened my skirt while everyone else was preoccupied with stopping the maniac in our midst. Tommy hurled himself at the man who flicked him off as if he was a redheaded gnat.
Anastasia growled, stood on her hind legs, and pummeled him like she was a boxing kangaroo. He dodged her paws of fury, although I don’t believe any of her punches could have hurt him. The guy appeared stunned to be fending off a large poofy white poodle in a deserted patch of the Indio Hills. When he paused a few seconds too long, Nick took him out at the knees from low and behind. George whipped out his service revolver and shouted.
“Move, and I’ll let the poodle have her way with you.” Then he scowled. “Shades of Brien Williams, I’ve been hanging around the Cat Pack too long. Tell anyone those words came out of my mouth, and I’ll sue you.”
“Nice to see you, George,” I said. Then I had a question for Nick. “Is this Ridgeway or Castro?”
“This is Timothy Ridgeway,” Nick said, dusting himself off after tackling the big man who was wearing a tribal police officer uniform.
“It’s Officer Timothy Ridgeway,” the man corrected Nick, gritting his teeth. “I’m arresting you all for trespassing on tribal lands, for obstr
ucting justice by taking evidence from a crime scene, and for assaulting an officer.”
“No one’s trespassing, Timothy. Besides, as far as I can see, you’re the only one trying to leave with evidence taken from a crime scene.” Nick lifted the edge of the shirt Timothy Ridgeway wore. Tucked into his belt was a sheath for a knife. “That’s a fixed-knife sheath used for a hunting knife. Isn’t that the type of knife that killed Sacramento Lugo, Detective Hernandez?”
“It is, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the one Officer Ridgeway was trying to sneak out of here fits it like a glove!”
“Of course, it’ll fit! That’s why I’ve got it.” Timothy Ridgeway snarled. “I knew it had to be up here somewhere, so I came back to look for it.” When he reached for the sheath, Nick grabbed his hand. George took a step closer with his gun aimed directly at the man.
“What did I tell you about making a move?” My cranky detective friend responded. “That’s a helluva evidence collection technique you’re using there. I don’t believe I’ve ever encountered the ‘stick it in your pants’ method as part of any chain of evidence protocol. You need to be better prepared if you want to be a convincing liar.”
Then George whipped out a pair of plastic gloves from a pocket of the vest he wore. It was a safari-looking vest with lots of pockets. He pulled an evidence bag from another pocket. When he had the gloves on and the bag open, he removed the knife sheath from Timothy Ridgeway’s belt and dropped it in the bag.
“How do you like that? There’s still a price tag on it as if it’s brand new!” George exclaimed. “That ought to help us figure out where you bought it and when. Did you smile pretty at the store’s cameras?”
Timothy Ridgeway paled. The wheels were spinning in his head as if he was trying to remember whether he’d seen a camera or not. I wasn’t as sure as George was that a price tag would make it easy to determine when and where he’d bought the knife.
“Do you have more gloves and bags?” Kim asked, bringing me back into the moment. “We should probably pick up the other stuff Officer Ridgeway left lying around. There’s an empty cigarette pack, sporting the same label as the one that fell out of his pocket when Nick wrestled him to the ground.” When Kim pointed at the cigarette pack on the ground, I had to grab Anastasia by the collar before she could investigate it.
A Dead Nephew Page 6