“Nothing to be embarrassed about—not that much to it. We all had to write our first one sometime. But in the interest of saving time, why don’t I do this one. I’ll go over it with you later, and we’ll both go to the judge to get it signed.”
“Okay. In the meantime, I’ll get over to the high school and the Jubilee Market and see if anybody can help us connect Benally to the Rogers.”
“That’s important. Anything else I should know about?”
“One thing,” said Tanner, again turning pages in her notebook. “I got a call from the family attorney, this Ed Rollins. He confirmed the existence of a will equally dividing the family assets among the five children upon the death of both parents.”
“Did you ask him how well the kids get along?”
“I did. He was blunt about it—told me we were barking up the wrong tree if we’re pursuing that angle. Apparently, it’s a close-knit family, and at the moment, everybody is terribly upset.”
“All right. For the moment at least, we’ll assume family members aren’t involved. Let’s focus on Mr. Benally. He’s the key to getting answers to some very difficult questions.”
Tanner left him to work on the arrest warrant. Something about the case had been bothering him, and until now, Books hadn’t been able to figure out what it was. He understood enough about pot hunting to know that Kane County was not the epicenter of ancient Fremont and Anasazi culture. That distinction belonged further east in a geographical area referred to as Four Corners—the point at which the borders of New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, and Arizona came together.
It was in that area where grave digging and pot hunting cases proliferated.
Books wanted to find out whether law enforcement agencies in the Four Corners region had any recent cases involving pot hunters who had been accosted or had mysteriously disappeared. The difficulty was he wasn’t sure who to contact. He called Charley Sutter.
“Worth lookin’ into, if you ask me,” said Sutter. “I don’t have a lot of contacts over there, but I do know the chief of police in Cortez, Colorado—guy by the name of Ray Mendez. Give him a call. He can probably help you out.”
Chief Mendez would have to wait. Books had an arrest warrant to write.
***
An hour later, a beaming Tanner thundered into Books’ office with good news.
Books glanced up from his computer screen. “What’s up?”
“I made our connection between the victims and Benally.”
That piqued his interest. “Tell me about it.”
“You’d asked me to check with the LDS Church. I struck out with them so I headed over to the high school. It turns out that Benally was a student both his junior and senior year in two of Rolly’s classes. The guidance counselor told me that Rolly took a liking to the boy and really tried to help him.”
“Interesting.”
“Get this. Rolly took him home one day after school and introduced him to Abby. She helped him get a job bagging groceries at the Jubilee Market.”
“There it is, the high school and the grocery store. Plus, if the kid spent any time around their home, he might well have seen the artifacts collection.”
“It would probably be a hell of a temptation for a kid with a drug problem,” added Tanner.
“For sure. So I assume you stopped at the Jubilee Market.”
“I did. I picked up a copy of the kid’s job application. The store owner, Hank Allen, told me Benally lasted less than two months on the job. They canned him for missing shifts without notifying anybody and for constantly being late on days he did work.”
“No big surprise—dopers don’t typically make reliable employees. What address do you have on the job app?”
“He used his foster family’s address.”
The phone interrupted their conversation. The caller was Charley Sutter.
“Afternoon, J.D. I wanted to give you a heads-up on something I just learned. Apparently, the Rogers never go on a pot hunting trip, excuse me, a camping trip without taking a firearm. We’ve got a missing nine-millimeter Glock.”
“How do we know that?”
“The family told us. After we returned the camper, they turned it inside out looking for the weapon. It wasn’t there.”
“What about the house?”
“Not there, either.”
“The implication is that whoever abducted the couple now has possession of their Glock,” said Books.
“Exactly. Better assume that whoever kidnapped them is probably armed.”
“Appreciate the heads-up. I’ll go ahead and get the weapon entered into NCIC.”
Chapter Twelve
Ten minutes later, Books and Tanner sat outside the office of district court judge Homer Wilkins waiting while he finished a calendar of arraignments in his courtroom. The wait annoyed Books. In Denver, this didn’t happen. When you needed a warrant, you headed straight for your favorite judge. If she was busy, you walked down the hall to the chambers of another judge. But this wasn’t Denver. This was Kanab, and it was a one-judge town. If the judge was busy, you sat on your keester until he became available.
Tanner carefully read the affidavit and then asked Books several questions.
“It looks like the document contains two different parts, the affidavit and the arrest warrant itself. Am I right?”
“You are. The warrant is mostly boilerplate language where we fill in the blanks as to the charge and the identity of the accused. The judge likely won’t pay much attention to it, but he will carefully read the affidavit.”
“That’s the specific information that supports the request for a warrant, right?”
“Exactly. We call it a probable cause statement. The legal standard under the Fourth Amendment to obtain an arrest or search warrant is probable cause.”
“So if the judge doesn’t think there’s enough evidence, he’ll refuse to sign the warrant.”
“You got it.”
Thirty minutes later, they were out of the courthouse with a warrant. The 120-mile drive to Escalante took just under two hours. They traveled for long periods without speaking, which was perfectly fine with Books. The silence gave him time to decompress and absorb the sheer beauty of the Escalante River as it snaked its way along the canyon floor. Navajo sandstone formations, replete with vivid colors and muted tones, were visible all along the route. In places, he could see the desert coming alive with the arrival of spring—an ocean of yellow-flowering snakeweed and the occasional prickly pear cactus with its bright pink blossoms.
Despite its breathtaking beauty, Books also understood that it was a hostile arid land whose overwhelming size and remoteness made you feel small and insignificant, where a careless step or sheer ignorance might prove fatal. Yet there was something about this land that drew you in making it part of you—a part of your soul.
When they reached the west end of town, Tanner asked, “How do you want to play this?”
“Why don’t we do a drive-by of his girlfriend and his mother’s homes to look for the kid’s pickup? If it’s not there, we can always knock on doors.”
The houses were on opposite ends of town. Ruthie Todd, Benally’s girlfriend, lived with her parents on the west side of town in an A-frame style log home. A detached two-car garage connected the house to a covered breezeway. A white Ford Explorer was parked in the garage, and smoke belched from a cinder block chimney at one end of the house. There was no sign of the Mazda pickup.
“Let’s try the other house,” said Books. “We’ll come back here if we strike out at his mom’s place.”
Books headed down Main Street to the other side of town. He turned north on to a gravel side street that quickly gave way to a pothole-filled dirt road. Variety hardly described the homes nestled side-by-side along these streets. There were old, two-story
brick homes, probably built in the early 1950s, sitting beside newer, stucco models. A handful of trailers and mobile homes had been tossed in for good measure.
Ruby Benally, now Ruby Grant, lived at the end of one of these streets in a single story brick rambler that sat behind a chain link fence. Books honed in on the Beware of Dog sign attached to the gate. A rusted out Dodge Dart was parked under a carport at one end of the house.
“Damn,” said Books. “No sign of the truck.”
As he passed the house, Tanner said, “Hold up a minute, J.D.” She was turned in her seat looking back at the home. “There it is there’s the Mazda. It’s hidden behind the house.”
Books grunted. “Nice spot. Damn near missed it, didn’t we?”
“That, I think, was the intent.”
Books parked around the corner. “I’ll take the warrant with me and go to the front door. You get out here and hustle around in back in case Junior decides to rabbit on us.”
Tanner got out of the Tahoe. “Give me a couple of minutes.”
“Will do. And Tanner, did you notice that big cottonwood tree in the back yard?”
“Yeah.”
“Plant your butt behind it and stay there. It’s the only decent cover around. Don’t stand in the open.”
Tanner frowned. “Expecting trouble?”
“Always. Good thing to remember, too. It might save your life some day.”
Books waited until Tanner had moved into position and then parked the Tahoe in the gravel driveway next to the house. He grabbed the warrant from the visor above the driver’s seat and walked to the front door, ever alert for sound or movement from inside. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the drapes covering the living room window move ever so slightly. He felt naked and exposed. He hoped that whoever awaited him on the other side of the front door wouldn’t greet him by shoving a gun in his face.
He heard muffled voices inside. He knocked, and moments later, the front door slowly opened. Books was greeted by a heavyset woman in her late forties. “Yes,” she said.
“Ruby Grant.”
“Yes. What do you want?”
“I’m looking for your son, Joe. It’s important that I talk to him.” He didn’t mention the warrant.
“He’s not here now. What do you want to see Joey about?”
Books ignored the question. “Where is Joey, Mrs. Grant?”
“I don’t know. He comes and goes. Look, why don’t you come back later after my husband gets home from work. I’m by myself and this isn’t a good time for me.”
Books held up the warrant. “Mrs. Grant, I’ve got a warrant for your son’s arrest, and I’m going to have a look around the house.”
She shook her head and started to close the door. Books blocked the move with his foot. He brushed past her saying, “Sorry, Mrs. Grant, but I don’t think you’re alone. I heard voices, and Joey’s truck is parked behind the house.”
As Books moved past her, he heard retreating footsteps in the hallway, followed by the sound of the back door opening and slamming shut. He grabbed his service revolver and ran to the back door in pursuit. He opened it just in time to see Tanner launch herself from behind the cottonwood tree and tackle a fleeing Joe Benally. He never saw her, and when they collided, Books heard an audible grunt from the kid, as the air was forced from his lungs. When Books reached the pair, Tanner was already straddling a face-down Benally clamping handcuffs to his wrists.
They pulled Benally to his feet. “Have you ever considered auditioning for the Green Bay Packers?” asked Books, smiling.
“Not lately. Why?”
“Because that tackle you just made would make any NFL linebacker proud.”
“It was nothing really,” she replied, “just an old rugby move.”
“I didn’t know you played rugby.”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, J.D. Come on, Junior, let’s go.” With that, she marched Benally to the Tahoe while Books spoke with Ruby Grant.
Books explained the nature of the criminal charge against her son. He didn’t tell her about the connection of the stolen property the kid had sold to the pawn shop, to the abduction of Rolly and Abby Rogers. He asked for permission to search Benally’s bedroom. The search revealed a hash pipe, Zig-Zag papers, and trace amounts of what Books’ suspected was marijuana. As he left the bedroom, he noticed a folded scrap of paper lying on a nightstand next to the bed. The slip contained a hand-written Kanab phone number. Books pocketed the slip, confiscated the drug paraphernalia, and rejoined Tanner outside.
“Find anything?” asked Tanner.
“Yeah. From his bedroom, drug paraphernalia and trace amounts of marijuana. Did you find anything when you searched him?”
“Two hundred in cash and about a half-ounce of pot.”
“Good. You can never have too many charges. By the way, that was a nice bust, Tanner.”
She smiled, “Thanks. It was a piece of cake. The kid was so busy looking over his shoulder to see where you were, he never saw me. Are we ready to go?”
“Sure. Did you happen to advise Benally of his Miranda rights?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
“Don’t bother,” said Books. “We’ll advise him after we get back to Kanab. In the meantime, let’s see if he says anything on the drive back.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“No. It’s an old trick, really. You give the suspect the opportunity to blurt out something incriminating during the ride to the station. If he does, it’s admissible, whether or not he’s received the Miranda warnings. The courts refer to it as volunteered or spontaneous statements. The catch is that the spontaneous statement has to be given voluntarily—not a product of our questioning him. We’ll do the Miranda schtick once we get him booked.”
“It may not be illegal, but it sure sounds unethical.”
“Illegal it’s not; unethical, maybe. I won’t lose any sleep over it, I can promise you that. Bad guys have plenty of rights. I don’t mind using whatever tricks and tools are available, so long as we play by the rules.”
Chapter Thirteen
The return to Kanab was uneventful. Joe Benally hardly said a word despite Books’ clumsy attempt to get him talking about his family. When that didn’t work, he turned to the subject of school. Again, it was mostly a one-way conversation. Finally, everybody settled into a long period of silence.
By the time they arrived at the sheriff’s office, it was dark. They had called Sheriff Sutter, and he was there to greet them in the booking area of the jail. Tanner placed Benally in a holding cell while Books spoke with the sheriff.
“Damned happy we got somebody in custody,” said Sutter. “The political heat was starting to get downright uncomfortable.”
“This should take some of the heat off. You ought to schedule a press conference for tomorrow morning.”
“I plan to—first thing. Have you questioned him yet?”
“Not yet. I’ll do that now, although I’m not sure how far we’ll get. The kid’s awfully tightlipped. Maybe it’s his personality, maybe it’s cultural. I’m not sure. He didn’t have shit to say on the way in—and he had two hours to think about it.”
“Well, let’s get after it. Maybe you’ll have better luck with him here. Want me to sit in with you?”
“Do you know the kid?”
“No.”
“Then I’d rather conduct the interrogation with Tanner. Maybe she can mother him into opening up and talking to us.”
“However you want to play it is okay with me.”
Before they started, Books asked Tanner to see if Benally wanted anything—food, coffee, pop, anything that might make him amenable to talking.
“He says he’s starving,” said Tanner. “Wants coffee and a burger. I’ll b
e right back.” Ten minutes later, Tanner appeared with a McDonald’s coffee and a Big Mac.
After he was processed, a jail deputy delivered Benally to an interrogation room adjacent to the booking area. After he ate, Tanner activated the video camera, and the interrogation proceeded. Books walked Benally through the Miranda warnings. He agreed to waive his rights and answer questions without the assistance of defense counsel—always a dumb idea, Books thought.
Books began the interrogation by avoiding any reference to Rolly and Abby Rogers. That would come later. Instead, he began with several innocuous questions designed to put Benally at ease. “Are you employed, Joey?”
“No.”
“Where were you last employed?”
“I worked a few months ago at the Jubilee Market.”
“So you’ve been unemployed for a while.”
“Yeah.”
“When we arrested you today, Deputy Tanner found two hundred in cash in your pockets. Where did you get that money?”
“I don’t know—saved it, I guess.”
“Maybe I can help refresh your memory. Were you in St. George on Monday?”
“Um, I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure. Look, Joey, you either were or were not in St. George on Monday. Which is it?”
“Okay, I was there, so what?”
“While you were in St. George, did you sell several pieces of jewelry at a local pawn shop?”
Tanner placed photographs of the stolen jewelry in front of him. “This jewelry,” she said.
“What if I did?”
“How much did the pawn shop pay you?”
“I ain’t sure. A hundred bucks, I think.”
“How about two-hundred-twenty-five. Does that seem right?”
“I guess so.”
“How did you come into possession of the jewelry?
The old fashioned way, thought Books. He stole it.
The kid was fidgeting in his chair and beads of perspiration had begun to form on his forehead. “A guy sold it to me.”
“A guy sold it to you. What guy?”
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