by Mark Reps
“Farrell’s secretary?”
“Her name is Darla Thompson. She told me Farrell had sold thirty or forty parcels of land up on Mount Graham to a foreign corporation by the name of AIMGO. They purchased the properties and then turned right around and placed them into a perpetual land trust.”
“Is that a fairly typical way of doing business?”
“I don’t know, but when I told her I was the San Carlos Tribal Chairman she mentioned that several of the defaulted properties that were bought up were once owned by Apaches.”
“Is there anyone else on the reservation who might know something about this?” asked Kate.
“I’ll talk to Geronimo Star in the Night. He keeps a very close eye on what’s going on up on Mount Graham.”
“Great. Anything you can find out will be helpful, but I’m not exactly sure what we’re looking for.”
As Kate pulled in front of the tribal hall, she softly touched Eskadi on the hand.
“Will I see you soon?” he asked.
“I hope so.”
Deputy Steele left the reservation and drove directly to Jake Dablo’s trailer. A mangy puppy with a white spot on its forehead ran to greet her.
“Maybe he recognizes you.” Jake’s voice startled Kate.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. He sure is a friendly pup. What’s his name?”
“Sirius.”
“Serious? What an odd name.”
“No,” laughed Jake. “Sirius. S-I-R-I-U-S, the Dog Star. It’s the brightest star in the constellation Canis Major.”
Jake motioned to a sun-weathered table and chairs sitting under a plastic umbrella in front of the trailer.
“Have a seat. Coffee?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“What have you heard about Delbert? Anything new?” asked Jake.
“We are still waiting to hear from the Carondelet Neurological Institute in Tucson.”
“Let’s hope they can figure it out,” replied Jake.
A momentary quietness hung between them like an unspoken, common prayer for a good friend. Jake broke the silence.
“I don’t suppose the reason you came out this far was to talk about Delbert. What can I do you for?”
“Jake, I need your help. I think you might have some information that could be valuable to me.”
Jake rubbed his knotted fingers against his forehead and grinned.
“Zeb told me you were a straight shooter. I like that. What do you need to know?”
“It’s about the land deals on Mount Graham.”
Jake reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an unopened pack of cigarettes. Slowly removing the cellophane, he tapped the fresh package against the table to draw the tobacco tight against the filter. Pulling the aluminized paper cover to one side, he lightly snapped one finger against the bottom of the package until a single cigarette popped up.
“Smoke?”
Kate eyed the cigarette. Jake eyed Kate. The temptation she was feeling was tangible. Jake could practically see the years of anti-smoking propaganda racing through her mind. He also understood that she knew a cigarette might build a bridge of camaraderie between them. Jake’s gentlemanly nature offered her an easy out.
“It’s not for everybody.”
Kate chose to build the bridge.
“What the hell. I’ll try one just to see if they taste the way I remember.”
A jaunty smile appeared on Jake’s lips. Kate Steele was a gamer. He handed her a cigarette and a wooden match.
“You were asking about the land deals up on Mount Graham,” said Jake. “What is it you think I might know that you don’t?”
Deputy Steele scraped the match head across the tabletop. It flared up wildly as she brought it to the tip of her smoke. Orange-red heat pulsated on the tobacco as she drew down. She coughed against the first inhalation.
“Excuse me,” she said. “They’re rougher than I remembered.”
“I wish I was so out of practice,” said Jake. “Now what are you looking for?”
“I know you wanted Sheriff Hanks to act as a witness for you at a county planning commission meeting a while ago.”
Jake took a deep drag on his cigarette. Leaning back in his chair he said nothing. Kate watched curiously as his tongue rolled across the inside of his lower lip.
“He said you had a hunch,” said Kate.
“He told you that?”
“I hear things.”
“Helen Nazelrod by any chance?” asked Jake.
“I like to keep my sources confidential,” replied Kate.
Jake felt the magnetism of a like-minded soul stirring the chemistry of his brain.
“Of course. The importance of confidants in the business of law can’t be overstated,” he said. “Always keep that in mind. Now what is it you want to know?”
Deputy Steele rested her cigarette with its long pale ash hanging over the edge of the table. She removed a small notebook from her shirt pocket.
“John Farrell,” she said. “Are you suspicious of him?”
“Suspicious?”
“Let me rephrase that. Is it possible that Farrell is making some land deals to benefit himself? Or, perhaps someone close to him?”
“That’s a tough one to answer. On one hand I wouldn’t put it past him. On the other he may just be a dupe.”
Deputy Steele picked up her cigarette and tapped the ashes to the ground. She replaced it on the edge of the table without taking a second puff.
“That tells me a whole lot of nothing, Jake. Would you mind breaking it down a little further for me?”
Jake inhaled deeply. He exhaled a pair of smoke rings. They formed a set of angel wings before dissipating into the thin desert air.
“Farrell makes a lot of money.”
“There’s no law against that,” said Kate.
“Not as long as it’s made legally. Farrell has been slowly and continually making small land purchases on the mountain. I checked records at the Office of the Registrar of Deeds. They clearly show the properties involved passed through several different corporate entities before being combined into a single property.”
“Seems like a lot of extra paperwork,” said Kate.
“Farrell had his reasons.”
“How do you know that?”
“Three times he has brought plans before the commission to have combined parcels of non-profit land trusts designated as open-deeded properties,” explained Jake.
“I don’t follow.”
“It means the land, which in this case is held in a non-profit land trust by a foreign corporation, could be switched at any time out of the trust to anyone.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“You ever hear of the game called Three Card Monte?”
“Sure, it’s a slight of hand game where the dealer shows a player three cards, then turns them face down, moves them around and the player has to guess the position of a particular card. It’s a shell game.”
“I think Farrell might just be the pigeon. Trouble is I don’t know who’s running the con.”
“Is it illegal to set up a land trust that can move land around between different people?” asked Kate.
“Not necessarily, but the company holding the land is a shell corporation. It’s only holding is the land on Mount Graham.”
“Are you talking about the AIMGO Corporation?”
“Good work, Deputy. Might I ask how you knew that?” asked Jake.
“Like I said, I like to keep my sources confidential.”
“Touché.”
“So what exactly do you think is wrong with the whole picture?” asked Kate.
“I suspect the corporation is either a land swindle…”
“With the Catholic Church involved?”
“Or Farrell. Inadvertently or not he may be helping someone who has plans to change the face of Mount Graham.”
“Someone? Who?”
“I don’t know, b
ut there is something real odd going on here.”
“Land swindles in Arizona are as common as cactus needles.”
“But there isn’t enough land involved to make anybody really rich,” said Jake. “So there has to be a motive other than money.”
Kate rapped her fingers on the table, knocking the cigarette to the ground. Jake’s foot slid over and crushed it out. She knew Jake was not telling her all he knew. She did not hesitate to play a card of her own.
“Did you know shortly before Father McNamara died he went out to the reservation to see if Beulah Trees would sell her land on Mount Graham to the church?” asked Kate.
“No, I didn’t. How’d you come by that information?”
“I talked with Beulah today.”
“By any chance did Farrell accompany Father McNamara on his visit?” asked Jake.
“No, but he wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by the scientist who is working for the forest service up on Mount Graham. I am fairly certain that it was…”
“Doctor Bede?”
“Yes, that’s right. I understand you know him,” said Kate.
“Yes, I do. So does Sheriff Hanks,” said Jake.
“Any ideas what Doctor Bede was doing out at the reservation with Father McNamara?”
“Maybe he was just along for the ride. From what he says he likes to get involved with local community activities wherever he does his work. I remember Bede mentioning he was a Catholic. It’s not much of a stretch to assume Bede met Father McNamara after a church service. Maybe with Doctor Bede working up on Graham, he and Father McNamara got to talking about the land Beulah Trees had up there. Who knows?”
“How would Father McNamara know Beulah had land up there to begin with?” asked Kate.
“That’s a question to look into. I don’t know how it all fits together. And, even if it does, does it make any difference? All I know is something is going on up on the mountain. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel right to me. But, like you said, it’s only a hunch.”
Jake lit another cigarette. He left the pack on the table.
“Jake, it’s obvious law enforcement is never far from your mind. Mind if I ask you a personal question.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you miss being Sheriff of Graham County?”
Deputy Steele’s question blind-sided Jake like a sucker punch. People who knew him steered clear of the touchy subject fearing it might bring to the surface emotions he was assumed to have long since buried. The question seemed innocent coming from Kate. He felt a sense of relief that someone had finally asked him.
“I suppose I could say hell no. I had my time being the law in these parts and that never again, not in a million years, would I do such a job’. But that would be a big, bad lie. The truth is I do miss it. I miss being the one person people have when they’ve got no one else to turn to. I miss keeping the county safe for all the people, good and bad folks alike.”
Jake ground his cigarette butt into the bottom of the ashtray.
“Any more questions, Deputy?”
“Not for now.”
“Anything I can do to be of help, just ask.”
Deputy Steele reached out to shake hands with Jake. His soft blue eyes were surrounded by roughened, age-wrinkled skin like the aura of a seasoned cowboy. A seasoned cowboy, she reckoned, who may have been put out to pasture a little too soon.
Chapter Fifteen
The ladies from the Superstition Springs Mineral Baths and Spa, a bathhouse with a colorful past that had served the restorative needs of miners for a hundred years, were having their monthly staff meeting at the Town Talk. The owner, Mabel Larson, a gossipy but staunch upright Mormon, and her daughter, Edna Speers, a woman with a heart of gold and tongue of silver, were the only employees. So the meeting was really just an excuse to go out for breakfast and catch up on additional local gossip. They chose a booth right next to Sheriff Zeb Hanks and Deputy Kate Steele’s table.
“Hello gals, coffee?” asked Doreen who filled two cups before they had a chance to answer. In a split second she turned and filled Zeb and Kate’s cups.
“Sheriff,” said Edna. “I understand Delbert might be coming home soon.”
“Where’d you hear that? I only found out this morning myself.”
“Ike Svensendorfer was in early this morning for a rub down. That skinny old goat knew all about it.”
“There ain’t no secrets in this town,” exclaimed Doreen.
“You can say that again. We hear more gossip in the Town Talk in one day than fall on a priest’s ears in a month’s worth of confessions,” replied Edna.
The ladies burst into a group giggle. It was a hilarious line coming from the mouth of a Mormon to the ears of Doreen and Kate, former Catholic schoolgirls.
“As long as we aren’t hiding any secrets…Sheriff, is it true what we’ve heard about your department investigating Father McNamara’s so-called suicide?”
“What?” exclaimed Doreen, sitting up quickly. “I’ve knowed all along that Father McNamara’s death wasn’t a suicide. Zeb, why didn’t you tell me? Kate, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Edna, there is no official ongoing investigation of his death,” said Zeb. “What have you heard?”
“Nearly every single day we hear talk that the death of Father McNamara was no accident,” said Edna.
“You’re right about that,” said Kate. “Unfortunately, it was no accident. It was ruled a suicide.”
“That’s not the word we hear,” said Edna. “Word around the spa is...”
“Edna, you know what you heard is just rumors and nothing more,” interrupted Mabel. “When you hear something, you have to consider the source. And you should think before you go talking in front of people who were close to him.”
“I sure am sorry about your priest, Doe. I know you had been spending some time over there, but I’ve heard things from more than one place and lots of people are talking,” said Edna.
“Go ahead, tell me what you been hearin’. It can’t be no worse than hearin’ everyone say he killed himself.”
“Just the same, Edna’s got to be careful what she says in front of a sheriff and a sheriff’s deputy. Isn’t that right, Sheriff?”
“If you have some information, you should share it,” replied the sheriff.
“Go on now, Edna,” urged Doreen.
“I’m sorry to say it in front of you, Doe, but word is Father McNamara had quite a drinking problem. And there were money problems over at Saint Barnabus.”
The room became quiet as a Thursday morning church.
“You sure it’s okay with you that I go on, Doreen. It doesn’t get any better.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take it. I know Father McNamara did like a taste of bug juice now and again. I don’t think that’s any big secret around this town. I’ve tipped one back with him myself.”
“Word is that he was arrested up in Phoenix on a DUI and had to spend a night in the hoosegow.”
“That was two years ago,” said Doreen. “He went through treatment.”
“Is the other part true?”
“What other part?” asked Doreen.
“About when he got picked up by the cops…”
“Edna, what else did you hear?” asked Doreen.
“I heard he had gambling problems too. He owed a lot of money to the Mafioso up in Phoenix.”
“Now, Edna, where did you hear that?” asked Mabel.
“I heard it from the housekeeper over at the church. She told Millie Schumpert over at the bakery there were lots of papers from a law firm up in Phoenix. She happened to glance at one of them when she was straightening up. She could tell right off they had to do with some company in Italy. That’s how she knew it was the mob.”
“Well, now that makes sense. The Mafioso’s got all that money to launder and they do it by setting up legitimate businesses. It only seems reasonable they send some of the money back to Italy. That’s where the mob is from, you know. T
here and New Jersey,” Mabel asserted with extreme authority in her voice.
“The Catholic church sent in their investigators. What were their names again? A guy and a gal…”
Everyone in the room knew that the Church had sent in its own team to investigate. In two days they had covered everyone who knew Father McNamara well. No one was privy to their conclusions, but obviously everyone had their own ideas. The usually happy expression on Doreen’s face turned sour as the ladies gave the priest a good going over. The tension could have been cut with a knife. Everyone but Edna got the message.
“Here’s how I got it figured,” continued Edna, “Father McNamara got drunk and lost a ton of money gambling. When he sobered up, he found himself owing the Mafia big time. The Mafia controls all that stuff; gambling, prostitution. And don’t forget Father McNamara had a prostitute with him when he was arrested.”
“That ain’t true,” said Doreen angrily.
“It’s the word that’s going around,” said Edna
“The Mafia even own a law firm up in Phoenix, you know,” said Mabel.
“I even heard they run the state legislature,” added Edna.
“Some say the Governor’s office, too.”
“President Kennedy, God rest his soul, had Mafia connections. I read that in the Global Inquirer, so I know it’s true,” said Mabel.
“Wouldn’t surprise me one bit,” said Edna.
Sheriff Hanks got a first-hand view of how quickly half-truths could escalate into full-blown beliefs. Facts had little relevance.
“I suppose when he didn’t pay up, the Mafia had him killed. They made it look like a suicide. They know how to do that.”
“I wonder how much Father McNamara could have owed the mob?” pondered Edna.
“Father McNamara may not have been perfect, but as to the women and gambling, I think I’ve heard just about enough,” said Doreen.
“Doc Yackley said it was a suicide,” said Sheriff Hanks firmly. “I was at the scene. From all the evidence we found, I have no doubt Father McNamara decided to end his own life. I’m truly sorry, Doe.”
His words brought a momentary uncomfortable air of silence to the room. Mabel wouldn’t let it rest.