Calabaza opened a desk drawer, removed a file, and gave it to Clayton. "Take a look yourself. Everyone on the citizen advisory board goes through a thorough background investigation before being appointed by the chief."
Clayton read the intelligence report on Rojas. He was single, never married, born and raised in El Paso. Father was a construction worker, mother a hotel maid. Played high school football, made all-state his senior year as a first team wide receiver, attended the University of New Mexico on an athletic scholarship, and graduated with a degree in marketing. Parents deceased, five siblings-two brothers and three sisters. The brothers, two sisters, and a brother-in-law worked for the trucking company Rojas owned. One sister lived in Las Cruces, New Mexico-forty miles north-and currently served on the county commission.
Clayton scanned the financial data. Rojas had an eight-figure personal net worth, and aside from the trucking company, was a one-fifth partner in a privately owned local bank, owned an office building leased by a state agency, and held shares in an investment firm.
"A real rags-to-riches story," he said, studying Rojas's photograph. He didn't come close to matching Harry Staggs's description. Light brown hair, full nose, no mole on the right cheek, wide, full lips.
"That's right," Calabaza replied.
The report documented that Rojas liked to gamble occasionally at the nearby Indian casino and enjoyed piloting his own plane. Interviews with women Rojas had dated revealed nothing out of the ordinary in his personal relationships. The list of Rojas's friends and associates included corporate executives, area politicians, civic leaders, and wealthy patrons of the arts, all of whom gave Rojas high marks as a businessman, friend, and upstanding citizen.
After college and before returning to El Paso, Rojas had lived in Denver for a number of years working for an advertising agency that was no longer in business. A criminal- and traffic-records check in Colorado had come up empty, as had inquiries to various federal law-enforcement agencies.
Clayton read the narrative report filed by the investigator who'd interviewed Rojas. Rojas had cooperated fully, allowing the officer access to his personal income tax statements and corporate financial records. Everything checked out.
"Do you see anything in that report that's illicit, immoral, illegal, or of dubious character?" Calabaza asked.
"He looks like Mr. Clean," Clayton replied as he wrote down Rojas's home address and closed the file.
"I don't know much about the New Mexico criminal statutes," Calabaza said, "but in Texas, illegal gambling is a Class C misdemeanor that carries a five-hundred-dollar fine. Are you going to file charges?"
"Right now, he's just a possible witness," Clayton answered.
"Well, if you do charge him, let me know. My chief will want his resignation from the citizen advisory board."
"Thanks, Captain," Clayton said.
Calabaza nodded. "Give my best to Oscar Quinones."
Mansion was the only word that came to mind when Clayton arrived at Rojas's house. He'd never seen anything like it. The semicircular driveway was paved with brick, and an attached six-car garage had a second story accessed by an exterior stairway. The entryway, illuminated by soft lights, was a series of arches under a covered portal. Above the portal four double-sash doors opened onto a roofed balcony with a lacy cast-iron railing. The place looked like a Spanish villa.
Motion-sensitive lights came on as Clayton walked up the pathway to the house and Luis Rojas greeted him at the door. Clayton went through the formality of identifying himself and showing his shield.
"By all means, come in, Deputy," Rojas said pleasantly. A couple of inches taller than Clayton, Rojas wore a lightweight crewneck sweater and a pair of casual slacks.
In the living room Rojas directed Clayton to a sitting area in front of a window that looked out on a lighted landscaped interior courtyard with a fountain.
"How can I help you?" he asked.
"Have you seen Harry Staggs today?" Clayton asked.
"No, but he called me to apologize for any trouble he might have caused. I told him he'd done the right thing by talking to the police. After all, a man has been murdered. That's far more serious than getting busted for playing an illegal game of chance. Are you here to arrest me?" Rojas smiled charmingly. "I must tell you my reputation will suffer if you do."
Clayton shook his head. "That's not my intention."
"What a relief," Rojas said with a chuckle, as though it was all a big joke.
"Did Staggs tell you what his plans were?"
"I didn't know Harry had any plans, other than to obey all the gambling laws in New Mexico. He told me you'd shut down his operation."
"We think he's left Ruidoso," Clayton replied.
"I wouldn't have any idea where he might have gone," Rojas said.
"Do you know a man named Johnny Jackson?"
Rojas shook his head. "Sorry, I don't. I'm not very helpful, am I?"
"Do you know this woman?" Clayton said, holding out the blonde's photograph.
Rojas took it. "She doesn't look familiar."
"You were seen with her at the Ruidoso airport."
Rojas didn't blink. "That's not possible." He rose from his chair. "Excuse me for a minute. I think I can clear up the confusion."
He came back in the company of a strikingly attractive blonde. "Deborah, this is Deputy Sheriff Istee. He wants to ask you a few questions. Deborah is my girlfriend."
Deborah smiled at Clayton with pretty blue eyes, shook his hand, and answered all his questions. Yes, she'd flown to Ruidoso with Rojas. No, she wasn't at the poker game. She'd spent that night at Rojas's vacation home, and stayed over an additional day after Luis had returned to El Paso.
"Did you go anywhere, see anybody, do anything?" Clayton asked.
"I took several hikes by myself," Deborah replied. "But I didn't see anybody. Other than that, I didn't go out at all."
"How did you get back to El Paso?"
"I drove Luis's SUV. That's why I went with him. He's trading it in for a new one, and he asked me if I'd like a few days in the mountains in exchange for doing him a favor. I jumped at the chance to get out of the city and be by myself for a while."
"What kind of vehicle did you get?" Clayton asked Rojas.
"I'm still shopping around," Rojas replied, "although I'm considering a Mercedes. It's a civilian version of a military vehicle used by the German army. Are you familiar with it?"
Clayton had read somewhere that the movie stars who made action flicks and owned ranches in Montana all had them. He'd seen photographs. They were macho adult toys that went for about a hundred thousand dollars. Almost four times his annual salary.
"Yeah, I've seen pictures," Clayton said, concentrating his attention on Deborah. "Are you sure no neighbors saw you at the vacation house?"
"I have no neighbors," Rojas said. "It's very secluded."
"Where is it?"
"I've had a map drawn up for friends," Rojas said, "so they won't get lost when they visit. I'll give you a copy."
He opened an end-table drawer and handed Clayton the map. The retreat was on private land surrounded by national forest, northeast of the village of Alto.
"That's deep in the mountains," Clayton said.
"Which is why I need good transportation to get to it," Rojas said. "Especially in bad weather."
"I bet you do," Clayton said as he folded the map into his shirt pocket and looked at Deborah. "I'll need to see your driver's license, miss."
"What on earth for?" Deborah asked.
"My report."
Deborah smiled. "Of course. I'll get my purse."
She fetched her purse and handed Clayton her license.
"You have your own place?" Clayton asked, noting the address on the license.
"Yes, but I'm here a lot," Deborah said, sliding her arm around Rojas's waist.
He made sure all the license information was current, got a work and home phone number, and closed his notebook. "I doubt tha
t I'll have to bother you again."
"It's been no bother," Deborah said.
"None at all," Rojas said, giving Clayton a hearty handshake. "Good luck with your investigation."
Outside, Clayton walked to his unit thinking how convenient it was that the girlfriend had been on hand to confirm Rojas's story.
Chapter 8
Sally Greer rented a first-floor apartment in a building at the rear of the complex. There was no sign of activity inside, and her assigned parking space with the apartment number stenciled on the curb was empty. Ramona Pino found an inconspicuous spot away from the security night-lights and waited in her vehicle for Greer to make an appearance.
Ramona wasn't sure how she would play it, if and when Greer showed up. Approaching her directly would raise too many questions. She would hang out for a while to see what developed. Besides, the only thing waiting for her back in Santa Fe was the tiny guest house she rented from a retired cop, whose last tenant had been Chief Kerney.
It was nice enough, but lonely. Moving out on her ex-boyfriend had been the smart thing to do. He'd turned into a channel-surfing couch potato, who spent his evenings at home watching cable sport shows, bitched at her for working late on the job, and never seemed to want to do anything fun.
During their last six months together, he'd treated her like a wife, and that wasn't going to happen to her again. She needed a close relationship with someone who cared for her as a friend and lover, who accepted her as an equal, who respected her independence, who appreciated the demands of her job.
She wondered about Sgt. Jeff Vialpando. He was good-looking, seemed bright, had a sense of humor, and didn't put out a macho attitude-all good signs. She put the skids on her thoughts and decided not to dwell on him any further. Lunch tomorrow would give her a better idea if he really had potential as a boyfriend, although dating a cop who lived sixty miles away might be something of a problem.
An hour into Pino's wait, Greer appeared. Within a short time she was back in her car, after changing from tight-fitting jeans and a turtleneck pullover into a short dress with spiked heels.
Pino followed her downtown to a hotel near the convention center. Inside the crowded hotel bar, Greer joined two middle-aged men and a young woman at a table. Pino recognized the other woman from the photographs she'd seen at Thomas Deacon's studio. Neither of the men looked to be particularly likely dates for such attractive young women.
She retreated to the lobby and sat behind a placard on an easel that welcomed a trade association to the hotel. When the foursome appeared Greer was paired off with one of the men, walking arm in arm to the main exit, smiling and chatting. She'd covered her facial bruises with makeup. Pino pegged the man with her to be in his fifties. Balding and portly, he had an eager expression on his face as he laughed at something Greer said.
Pino waited until they were outside before taking a side exit. By the time she turned the corner the foursome was gone, the taillights of a car fast disappearing down the street. As she walked to her vehicle Pino called her older sister, Rebecca, who lived in the city.
"Becky, I need a bed for the night, if it's not an imposition."
"Come on over," Becky said.
"Can I use your computer and borrow some clothes?"
"Sure, I'd even throw in Tim, if you wanted him, but he's out of town on business."
Ramona laughed. Tim was Becky's husband, and the two were about the most perfectly married couple imaginable. "Too bad. One night with me, and you'd be history."
"I'll tell him that when he calls."
"Don't you dare," Ramona said as she pulled away from the curb. "See you in a few."
A year apart in age, the two sisters were often taken for twins. Rebecca, a middle-school social-science teacher, was taller by a quarter of an inch, had thicker eyebrows, a slightly wider mouth, and a more oval face. On the phone to each other at least once a week, there wasn't much catching up to do, so after a cup of tea Ramona explained why she needed to use the computer, and Becky asked if she could watch.
In the home office Ramona worked Jeff Vialpando's favorite list of local Web sites with Becky sitting at her side, looking for a personal ad for Sally Greer. First she cruised the adult personals sites.
"Unbelievable," Becky said abruptly, reading the sexually explicit narratives, many of which were posted with revealing or completely nude photographs that showed everything. "I wonder if our school computers block this kind of smut. This is just porn, for people who don't want to visit the adult sites, isn't it?"
"Ask your students," Ramona replied as she exited a site and called up another. "They would probably know."
She went to the preference screen and entered information closely matching Greer's age and physical characteristics, and scrolled through the ads.
"Are these sites all like this?" Becky asked.
"According to Jeff Vialpando what we're seeing is fairly typical," Ramona said.
"Who is Jeff Vialpando?" Becky asked. She was always interested when Ramona mentioned the name of a new man, especially now that she'd broken up with her live-in boyfriend, whom Becky had never really liked anyway.
"He's an APD vice sergeant," Ramona said.
"And?" Becky asked, searching her sister's face.
Ramona smiled. "And, nothing. At least not yet. We're having lunch tomorrow."
"I'll want to be told everything."
Ramona nodded. "Don't I always?" She switched from the adult personals and started in on the list of love and relationship sites, which were much more mundane and rather like classified personal ads that ran in newspapers. Most consisted of blurbs describing how interesting the women were, and their laundry lists of desired traits in a man. Some wanted friendship only, others were looking for soul mates, and a few sought intimate encounters, cyber sex-whatever that was-or E-mail pen pals.
"It's just an Internet meat market," Becky said with a groan, getting out of her chair.
"Seen enough?"
"More than enough," Becky said. "There's something so sad about it all."
"There are desperately lonely and needy people out there," Ramona said.
"I'm going back to the real world," Becky said as she picked up a thick manila folder from the desk. "I've got papers to grade."
Ramona stopped scrolling and gave her sister an apologetic look. "I've stolen your space."
"I'll use the kitchen table."
Becky left, and Ramona returned her attention to the screen. Time passed. Through the open door she heard Becky's footsteps. She turned to find her sister in her pajamas with a toothbrush in her mouth. It brought up the memory of Becky wandering through their parents' house every night just before bedtime, brushing her teeth and being ordered back to the bathroom to complete the job. No parental chiding ever stopped her behavior, and by the time Becky was a teenager their mother had given up trying.
Becky took the toothbrush out of her mouth and said good night. Ramona smiled in response, called up an ad for Sultry Sally, and clicked on the photo icon. A picture of Sally Greer in a scoop top that showed a lot of cleavage appeared on the screen. Ramona read the accompanying narrative. Hi, I'm Sally. I'm not looking for a serious relationship yet, and I like older men who enjoy the company of a playful, sexy lady. If you enjoy adventurous dates with a woman who isn't afraid to be honest about her desires, e-mail me. You should be intelligent, discreet, affluent, honest about your needs, and willing to show your appreciation for the time I spend with you. I hope to hear from you soon! Oh, by the way, I love to travel!
The ad was new and the photograph looked very much like the work of Thomas Deacon.
Greer had included an Internet address for her personal Web site where visitors could view a photo gallery with new pictures recently posted. Ramona called it up and smiled as two photos she'd seen at Deacon's studio appeared on the screen.
She perused the gallery. There were photos of Greer wearing a summer frock and smiling over her shoulder, on a bed with a long
cocktail dress hiked up to show a bit of thigh, and sitting in a chair with legs crossed and a smoky look on her face.
One shot showed Greer and the woman who'd been in the hotel bar with the two men. Both wore short dresses and high heels and stood arm in arm smiling at the camera. The caption read: THIS IS MY FRIEND STACY. WE LOVE TO DOUBLE-DATE!
Ramona printed out copies of everything and stuck them in her briefcase. Jeff Vialpando had written his home phone number on the business card he'd given her. She thought about calling him to ask if he'd be willing to respond to Greer's ad, and decided the hour was late and it could wait until morning.
Pleased with her progress, Ramona shut down the computer, yawned, and undressed in the small guest bedroom. Sally Greer was a working girl, no doubt about it. How that tied into Bedlow's modeling agency-if it did at all-was a question yet to be answered. She fell asleep anticipating her lunch date with Jeff Vialpando.
Clayton got up early and fixed breakfast for Grace and the kids. They sat around the table making small talk. Using her finger Hannah showed Clayton two different ways to make the letter A, drawing each letter carefully in the air. Very seriously she explained that one was big and the other was little.
"What do those letters do?" Clayton asked.
"Make words," Hannah replied happily.
"Tell me an A word."
"Apache," Hannah said with a broad grin, poking herself in the chest. "That's me."
"You're a very smart girl," Clayton said.
Hannah nodded in agreement. "I have two a's in my name. Little ones."
"Who taught you all this?"
"Mommy," Hannah said. "I'm gonna learn all my letters."
From across the table, Wendell smirked at his sister. "What comes after A?" he asked.
Hannah lifted her chin in Wendell's direction. "You," she answered.
"That's wrong," he said with authority.
"B for boy, boy, boy, boy," Hannah chanted from her high chair as her feet tapped against the underside of the table. "And C is for Daddy's name."
Clayton grinned at Grace. "I think she's going to be as smart as you." Perhaps, when the time came to give Hannah her Apache name, he would ask for her to be called Bright Girl. That would be perfect.
The big gamble kk-6 Page 14