“The problem, sir,” Del Rio said quietly, “is that you have the skill set needed, and a past history that shows you have carried out similar actions. While you have no apparent motive at this point in the investigation, you have no alibi for most of the prior murders, and with what happened today, we can no longer fully trust the source of your alibi for Walker’s killing. You, sir, would make the same claim of innocence whether you were the killer or not.”
Jim’s face turned ashen as it became apparent to him that in all likelihood he was now the prime suspect. Del Rio pressed on, looking to find a chink in Jim’s armor.
“When Yazzie began his run for office, you were a pretty vocal opponent, correct?”
“Yes,” Jim replied. “I thought he was too young; his ideas too radical for our people.”
“And now? Has your opinion changed after one year?”
“Not much, no,” Jim admitted reluctantly. “I’ve been in politics for almost thirty years, young man. There have been many that I have disagreed with and disapproved of. I didn’t kill any of them then, so why would I start now?”
“You’re an old man, closer to the end of your career than you want to admit,” Del Rio said, carefully watching Jim as he spoke. “Here are all these young guns looking to hurry you and your old way of doing things on out the door. They are a threat to your sense of self-worth, your reason for living. You know how to deal with threats to your life, your Army record clearly shows that.”
“Again, all I can say in response is that I did not kill those people, Agent Del Rio,” Jim replied. “Whether you believe me or not is up to you.”
Del Rio held Jim’s gaze as he considered what they had to go on. He could not clear the man as a suspect, but he didn’t have nearly enough to say with certainty that Jim was the killer either. He flipped the folder shut and stood up.
“You have four men assigned to keep an eye on you for the duration,” he said, rising out of the chair. “Do not go anywhere without at least two of them accompanying you at all times. If you think of anything that can help us in our investigation don’t hesitate to call me. Good day.”
With that Del Rio exited the room with Chee in his wake. Jim waived his aide out of the room and waited for the door to close before reaching for his telephone. There were two rings after he finished punching in the number before his call was answered.
“We need to talk,” Jim said without preamble. “Not on the phone and not here.”
As Jim listened to the reply, the echo of his meeting with Del Rio remained in the forefront of his mind.
“Alright, I’ll be there,” Jim replied. “You be careful as well. It would seem this FBI Agent is not the fool we thought him to be.”
Jim hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair and contemplated the door Del Rio had just exited through.
****
Chee had waited until they were well out into the hallway and away from Jim’s office before saying anything.
“It looked intact to me,” she said, referring to the coyote she’d examined while he’d talked with Jim. “I couldn’t see any obvious patches of missing hairs or replacements. It also looked like it was permanently attached to that stone.”
Del Rio nodded and continued on towards Shelly’s office. Chee wanted to ask Del Rio why he had all but told Jim he was the prime suspect, but knew better than to ask while inside the government building. There were likely too many curious ears, both human and electronic, that would also want to know what Del Rio was up to. So she held her silence as they walked into Shelly’s office and they were shown right in. Unlike Jim, Shelly was all alone in his office, the men assigned to watch him stationed outside his open door.
“Agent Del Rio, Officer Chee,” he greeted them warmly. “A terrible shame about what happened to Tommie. Are you any closer to catching this maniac?”
“We’ve developed some information that is pointing us in the right direction, we’re hoping you might be able to help us out a little bit more,” Del Rio replied as he took in the office.
It was spartan quarters, especially when compared to Jim’s office. There were very few photos to be found, and almost all of them had Shelly prominently featured. There was very little in the way of memorabilia on the desk, the shelves or tables, and no sign of the coyote pelt sold to him by MacDonald. Del Rio shot a quick look at Chee, who shrugged in return. Her task to examine it would have to wait until they found out where it was.
“Anything I can do to help, of course,” Shelly said, watching Del Rio and ignoring Chee.
“I appreciate that,” Del Rio said, picking up one of the framed photos from the small table between the two chairs placed by the desk for Shelly’s visitors. It was Shelly, surrounded by several women clad in very colorful feathered outfits that left little to the imagination. It had clearly not been taken on the reservation.
“Ah,” Shelly said. “The Montevideo Carnival in Uruguay. I never miss it. Have you ever been?”
“No,” Del Rio replied. “My brother went once during shore leave. Sounds like a hell of a party though.”
“It is. I was down there when I was in the Marines. The carnival was going on then and I got hooked.”
“You just go down for the Carnival then?”
“At first, then I developed some contacts and started doing some importing and exporting. Make enough to cover the expense of the trips and a few extra bucks every year.”
“What do you import?”
“Granite. You’d be surprised how many different uses you can find for the stuff up here, and apparently Uruguayan granite is preferred over the stuff we have here in the States. Don’t ask me why.”
“What do you export?”
“Junk mostly,” Shelly said dismissively. “They love anything that is ‘authentic’ Native American. So I take down jewelry and some crafts. Like I said, junk mostly.”
“It pays the bills and it’s an excuse to catch the carnival,” Del Rio said, replacing the photo as he took a seat.
“Yes.”
“Do you have many businesses?”
“Oh, I have many I dabble in, mostly with other partners who do most of the heavy lifting.”
“Any of them involving the four murdered council members?”
“No.”
“Any that would have been in competition with their businesses?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Shelly said, adding with a nervous smile, “I hope I’m not a suspect? I may not have known them too well, but I had a lot of respect for each of them.”
“Really? Why?”
“I was a young lion once too, you know,” Shelly said. “New to the council. Not very warmly welcomed by the old guard back then. I remember what it was like to have new ideas and ideals. It’s not an easy task to take on the establishment anywhere, but even more so out here.”
“I can imagine,” Del Rio replied. “So what’s it like being caught between the old guard and the young lions?”
“Hah,” Shelly chuckled. “It can be interesting indeed. The old guys still think I’m a young upstart and the newbies lump me in with the old guys who don’t have a clue. Still, sometimes I hear something from one side and manage to present it to the other and get them to work together, so it’s not all that bad.”
“Hear anything from the old guard about any of the four victims that would make you think there was a problem?”
“You mean of course from the Speaker?” Shelly asked coyly.
“He’s part of the old guard isn’t he?” Del Rio returned with an indifferent shrug.
“Yes, he is. He tends to favor youngsters who adhere to the old ways and keep quiet unless spoken to. I don’t think he cares much for the victims, although I can’t say I’ve heard him say anything against them in public.”
“I understand it was his idea to buy several stuffed coyotes from MacDonald to help support a traditional artist,” Del Rio said. “I saw you sitting next to Yazzie’s the other day in his office, and the Speake
r has his out on display in his office as well. I don’t see yours though.”
“That ratty thing?” Shelly said and Del Rio could have sworn he saw a brief flare of panic flash in Shelly’s eyes when he brought the subject up. “I went along with the idea to be supportive, but I got rid of it as soon as I could. I think I gave it to a lady friend.”
“Remember who?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Shelly said. “As I recall it was on one of my trips to Uruguay and I only saw her that one night, you understand?”
Shelly made a show of being a little embarrassed at the implication of a one night stand and for some reason, Del Rio found himself not believing a word of it.
“Of course,” Del Rio said aloud. “It’s not important, don’t worry about it.”
Shelly looked relieved as Del Rio stood up to leave.
“Sir, under the circumstances, we’ve increased the number of bodyguards assigned to keep an eye on you. Please make sure that you don’t go anywhere without at least two of them at all times.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Chee was surprised when Del Rio ended the interview without bringing up Shelly’s alibi issues, which were equal to the ones Jim had at the very least. Wondering what she might have missed in their conversation, she quietly followed him out to the car. It was getting dark and she realized they had put in a very long day. She also realized something else.
“You just told both of them they were our prime suspects,” she said across the roof of the car.
“Yeah,” Del Rio said, looking back at the building. “Maybe knowing that they are under the microscope will make whichever one of them it is hold off whatever they have planned next. If we can keep someone else out of the morgue until we solve this, it’ll be worth it.”
Del Rio looked back toward the top of the Window Rock and it was clear what was going through his mind at that point.
“It isn’t your fault, Jack,” Chee said. “She was dead before we even started back. Blame the guy who was supposed to be watching out for her, but not yourself.”
“Yeah,” he replied softly, gently tapping the top of the car with his knuckles. “It still happened on my watch Lucy. I was supposed to make sure it didn’t.”
“Think about how we feel then,” she chided. “All four have happened on ours.”
“Point taken,” he said sheepishly, rubbing his eyes. “It’s been a long day. I don’t think there’s much more we can do tonight. We’ll get back here first thing in the morning and talk to Yazzie. Maybe if he knows we have it narrowed down to two he might cough up whatever it is he’s trying to keep under wraps. Let’s go home.”
The ride back to Gallup was quiet, interrupted only by a quick detour to an open sandwich shop to take something back to their rooms for dinner. It was late enough when they pulled up to the hotel that the neon pink and blue lights spelling out the hotel’s name were in full force. Del Rio had yet to see them lit up until the moment he stepped out of the car. Chee was getting pretty good at reading his face by now, and she could see the mix of bemusement and disbelief.
“They wanted it to be seen from the interstate,” she explained.
“I’m surprised they can’t see it from the space station,” he replied with a shake of his head before heading for the front entrance. Any hopes for a quiet retreat to their rooms died the instant they stepped into the lobby.
Harry Cardosa was the publisher of the Gallup Times and he had been camped out in the lobby for hours, just waiting for the FBI agent to return. Chee knew too well that Cardosa had a bad case of big fish in a little pond syndrome, and often used his paper to grind away at his enemies both real and imagined. On the reservation, Cardosa and his paper weren’t well liked, and every ethnic slur known to be associated with someone of Cardosa’s Hispanic background were usually used whenever he was the subject of conversation. So when the little man charged up to Del Rio, she hesitated, offering to stick around to back up her temporary partner.
Del Rio caught her eye long enough to give a quick shake of his head, thanking her for the offer and letting her know to go on ahead. He knew who Cardosa was, there had been a note in the background file about Cardosa’s many run-ins with Mayor Hollinger which included a paragraph on Cardosa himself. Del Rio was surprised this meeting hadn’t already happened, but he could handle this man by himself.
“Agent Del Rio,” Cardosa began in a raised voice. “My reporters have been trying to reach you ever since you arrived here. Why are you avoiding speaking with the press?”
Chee made her way up the stairs to the second floor, but lingered nearby to keep an eye on the confrontation just in case. Cardosa had a history of pushing the limits of acceptable behavior in order to provoke the other person. True to form, he had stepped up close enough to Del Rio to be able to read the label on the inside pocket of Del Rio’s jacket. The look on Del Rio’s face was one of pure boredom, which likely would push Cardosa’s big red button. She wondered if Del Rio had affected it on purpose, and she settled in to watch the scene below as it played out.
For his part, Del Rio was tired, and dealing with this ridiculous man was simply something he did not want to do. He’d heard of Cardosa long before coming to Gallup, the man had made national news for several physical confrontations with many of the city’s leaders, although no charges were ever filed against anyone involved. There were whispers of negative stories being buried on the behalf of friends, unsubstantiated hit pieces printed if the subject was an enemy. Again, no charges and no lawsuits ever came to light. It seemed in this city, this was as accepted as the way things were as much as the sun rising and setting each day.
“Mr. Cardosa,” Del Rio said patiently, “all comments regarding this investigation will be made through the NNPD. If you want a comment, you will have to speak with them. I have nothing to add, on or off the record. Now if you will excuse me…”
Del Rio moved to step around the man and walk away only then noticing the photographer off to the side snapping away. He had a sudden feeling that Cardosa was up to something more than looking for a quote. For some reason the thought irritated him more than it probably should have. So when Cardosa grabbed Del Rio’s arm and tried to turn him back around the pushy man got more of a response than he’d bargained for.
Flipping his sandwich bag and soda to land on a nearby soft couch, Del Rio jerked his arm loose and quickly grabbed the offending hand and its owner. Spinning Cardosa around and pinning the arm behind the back, Del Rio firmly planted Cardosa against the front desk. The cameraman moved in to get a better shot and got too close. The camera was snatched out of his hands before he realized Del Rio had even moved toward him.
“Hey man,” the photographer blurted, “you can’t…”
“I can, and just did,” Del Rio interrupted. “This man just assaulted a federal agent. This is my evidence. You can spend the night on a cot in county jail as an accessory, or you can go home and sleep in your own bed. Which is it?”
The young man, just two years out of school, took one look at Del Rio’s face and made his decision.
“I’ll go on home, but can I have the camera back at least? You can keep the card.”
Del Rio deftly flipped the card out of the camera and ejected the battery for good measure, to ensure no more unwanted picture taking would take place, then slid the camera down the desk so the man could pick it up and leave, which he did quickly and without another word. All the while, Cardosa had been pinned to the desk by Del Rio’s left hand and was sputtering in rage. Del Rio ignored every word of protest, and addressed the night manager who had stood behind the desk and watched it all play out. He hadn’t said a word so far and secretly was enjoying Mr. Cardosa’s comeuppance. He didn’t much care for the paper or its publisher either.
“Sir,” Del Rio addressed the manager, “would you call the Gallup Police or the county sheriff and ask if one of them can come collect this person?”
“Of course, sir,�
�� he replied, reaching for the phone.
“Now wait just a damn minute,” Cardosa spluttered. “You can’t do that. What the hell did I do?”
“Mr. Cardosa, you assaulted a federal officer,” Del Rio answered with eerie calmness. “Under a provision of the Patriot Act, you can be detained as having committed an act of domestic terrorism and sent to Guantanamo Bay. You’ll spend the night in jail while I make the arrangements and you’ll be in Cuba in time for dinner tomorrow.”
“You can’t do that,” Cardosa shrieked. “I barely touched you!”
Del Rio pocketed the data card and battery. He would put them in an envelope and mail them back to the paper later after wiping the card just to make sure no Photoshop mischief would rear its head later on. That done, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs, letting them rattle loudly.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, okay?” Cardosa howled. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you. I’m sorry.”
Del Rio looked up to where Chee was standing, her hand against her mouth to keep from laughing at Cardosa; a lifted eyebrow asking her if he should let the man off the hook. A slight shrug in response; do what you like with him.
“Mr. Cardosa,” Del Rio said softly, leaning close to Cardosa’s ear. “I do not want to see or hear from you for the rest of my stay in your town, nor ever again in the future. If I do, I will ship you off to Cuba so fast you won’t know what hit you. Is this understood?”
Cardosa nodded furiously.
“Very well,” Del Rio said, turning his attention to the manager. “Mr. Howard, this man is an unwelcome visitor, would you be so kind?”
“It will be my pleasure, sir,” Howard said with undisguised glee. Howard’s wife was Navajo and he shared her people’s dislike of this man. He moved around the desk, took a solid hold of Cardosa and hauled him to the front door. Without any preamble, Howard shouldered the main door open and gave Cardosa a hearty heave past the threshold.
“And don’t come back!” he added for good measure.
Jack Del Rio: Complete Trilogy: Reservations, Betrayals, Endgames Page 14