by Ted Clifton
“Why don’t they just send in the State Police and take the department over?”
“Indian very wise. I’m not sure why he’s asking us to look at this. If it’s as blatant as I’m hearing, I don’t understand why they’re hesitating. Tony and I have been friends since our days in Las Cruces. He was the County Attorney when I was the Sheriff and we worked together very well. He was smart, and aggressive on crime prosecutions, and one of the most honest men I’ve known. The other day when I talked to him about this assignment, I got an uneasy feeling he was holding back something.”
“Sounds like we could be riding into big pile of horse shit.”
“Is that an old Indian saying?”
“No, that’s just stating the obvious.”
The Village of Ruidoso
Ruidoso is a mountain resort town, sustained mostly by skiing and horse racing. The ski resort, Ski Apache, is owned by the Mescalero Apache Tribe. It’s located on Sierra Blanca, a 12,000-foot mountain. The other major attraction is the Ruidoso Downs racetrack.
Long before Ray reached the town limits he pulled off the highway at a sign indicating the turn for The Inn of the Mountain Gods. This is a resort located just outside Ruidoso, also owned by the Apache Tribe.
“Hope this is okay, I made arrangements to stay here before I realized it was owned by your tribe.”
“Sure, I always liked this place. Sometimes the tribe employs a lot of members and sometimes they just contract out the operation to professionals—not real sure how they’re running it now. Even if I see someone I know, generally they just ignore me—sort of like I’m dead.”
“I had some relatives that did that to me after I went into law enforcement.”
As they entered the grounds of the Inn it became obvious that this was a world-class resort. The landscaping was amazing. The backdrop of Sierra Blanca was like a living postcard. The main building had an impressive entrance that managed to capture the intimate feel of a log cabin, but on a grand scale.
Out of respect for the upscale surroundings, Ray found an out of the way parking spot for his reliable but ugly Jeep. Letting Happy out released a burst of energy from the dog, who’d been cooped up for longer than was normal for him. He sprinted around the lush grounds, inspecting everything in sight. He seemed to approve.
Attaching Happy’s leash, they entered the beautiful, massive lobby. There was an abundance of huge windows, which framed the mountains in such a way as to make them resemble a painting. Check-in was simple and quick. There were a few special instructions related to Happy, but he was welcome, as the staff had said he would be when Ray had called to make arrangements. There were rules about his activities, but none of them seemed unreasonable. The staff was very accommodating and made them feel like honored guests. They had two rooms, one for Ray and Happy and one for Tyee. They quickly unloaded the Jeep and inspected their rooms, Happy smelling every inch. Ray got Happy some food from his bags and some water in a bowl, resulting in much slurping and tail wagging. Soon they were all back in the Jeep, headed to the sheriff’s department in Ruidoso.
The drive into Ruidoso was only about ten minutes. They entered a resort mountain community with a main drag filled with tourist shops, bars, and restaurants. There were also ski rental outlets and various hotels, motels, and lodges. There was a busy quality to the downtown area, with a lot of tourists driving the streets and quite a few pedestrians. The sheriff’s department was not far from the main downtown area, just north of town.
“Hello, my name is Ray Pacheco and if possible I’d like to see Deputy Marino.”
“Sorry, Mr. Pacheco, Deputy Marino’s out of the office today. Would you like to make an appointment or maybe see someone else?”
“Hum, I guess I thought I had an appointment with the deputy this afternoon. Guess he forgot.”
“Maybe so, sir. He didn’t say anything to me about an appointment and I don’t show anything on the calendar.” This exchange was with a very serious looking young woman, probably in her first job. To Ray she seemed nervous, but that might just be her normal office manner. Ray told her he could be reached at the Inn of the Mountain Gods and asked if she’d have the deputy give him a call, then he and Tyee headed back outside.
“Sounds like Deputy Marino decided he didn’t want to talk to you.”
“Yeah. I just called out of the blue and made the appointment—told him I was the retired Sheriff from Dona Ana and was going to be in town and wanted to drop by. He seemed friendly enough—but something must have changed.”
“Well, what’s the plan now?”
“Some weeks ago a bookie from the racetrack was killed by a deputy in what was described as an accidental shooting in this guy’s auto body shop. The input I’m getting from a couple of people I’ve talked to is that it doesn’t smell right. The gossip is that Deputy Marino was getting some kind of kickback from this bookie and maybe they had a falling out, leading to this guy being shot. Thought I might let you out at the track and have you check out what people are saying about the guy’s death.”
“A day at the racetrack with an Apache Indian, sounds like some kind of strange tourist attraction.”
“Yeah, sounds strange alright. Don’t get too nosy and stir up anything until we can figure out what’s really going on. While you’re doing that, Happy and I’ll run over and talk to the police chief.”
“Do you think the chief’s involved in any of this strong-arm stuff?”
“Nah. I know this guy, Chief Nelson. He hasn’t done much of anything in fifteen years. It’s only a four man department and mostly takes care of parking and traffic issues in the downtown area. Any criminal activity gets turned over to the Sheriff’s department. But he’s a notorious gossip, so more than likely he knows everything that’s going on—whether or not he’ll share with me is another question.”
Ray drove down to the racetrack area and let Tyee out. “Remember, ask questions but be careful. Don’t get yourself shot.”
“White man leader offer good advice.” Tyee waved and headed into the track.
Police Chief Larry Nelson was older than Ray and should have retired ten years before. When he was hired as a Police Chief he was the only member of the Ruidoso Police Force. It was created by the town council because the downtown business leaders insisted that they needed a police presence to stop the hippies from smoking pot out in the open, right in front of their stores.
Chief Nelson had handled the hippie-shooing duties himself for a couple of years, but after one rather rowdy weekend he’d requested an additional officer to assist him. After a few years the department had grown to four, and then it stayed that size. Chief Nelson was diligent about having his men give enough tickets to cover most of the department’s overhead. The Chief was happy and the downtown merchants felt protected.
Ray parked his Jeep in front of the downtown storefront police department. He made sure Happy had air and was comfortable, with plenty of water.
“Sheriff Pacheco, son of a bitch. I thought you had died.” Chief Nelson enjoyed a good laugh at his own wiseass remark. The Chief had to be at least a hundred pounds overweight and puffed on an old cigar—if anyone in the room was going to die that day it was likely going to be him.
“Chief Nelson, good to see you too.”
“What brings you to my fair city?”
“An old friend asked me to look into the recent shooting death of Charles Jackson, who I believe owned an auto body shop and was also a part-time bookie.”
“Yeah, I’d heard you were now a private investigator. Matter of fact, I heard you had partnered up with an Indian and a disbarred attorney. Sounds like quite a group.”
“Well one of my partners is an Apache. He’s also my friend. You should meet him, he’s a great guy and a much better person than either one of us. He’s with me on this trip.” Ray was starting to remember why he had never liked the police chief.
“Yeah, whatever you say. I was a little surprised when I heard that you wer
e back in the game—figured you would have had enough of law enforcement.”
“No question I was tired of dealing with the local politics of running a sheriff’s department, but after a while of doing nothing but fishing I decided I better do something or I was going to rot.” They both nodded, with knowing chuckles.
“I know what you’re saying, Ray. Not sure I’d live long if I quit.”
“What do you know about the death of Charles Jackson?”
“Don’t quote me, but there’s no question that asshole Martin Marino had something to do with it. My guess would be that the piece of shit was the one who shot Charles and the deputy took the fall.”
“Are you saying it was an accident or something else?”
“Ray, this is the most evil person who ever lived. I’m saying he killed Charles Jackson and he’s getting away with it. Martin Marino needs to be dead!”
“I’d guess you don’t have any proof that he did it?”
“Right, he’s the goddamn sheriff. He’s the one who would investigate, and he’s saying it was an accident—bullshit. I’d also guess he has something to do with Sheriff Rodriguez being in the hospital. I can’t prove a goddamn thing, but let me tell you one thing: this man will continue to cause harm and create havoc in this town until he’s dead.”
“What do you know about Charles Jackson?”
“Not the brightest guy in town, but everybody liked him. He was big and friendly, liked to drink too much, and he’d occasionally run a few illegal games of chance—but he was born here and well liked. He didn’t deserve to die no matter what bullshit he was involved in with that bastard Marino.”
Ray thanked the chief and told him he’d stay in touch. The man had been very open about his hatred for Marino, and if Marino ever showed up dead the chief would be a prime suspect. Ray thought that his bluster was mostly show, with no substance, but he wasn’t real sure. And after all, the guy did carry a gun.
Ray decided to head back to the racetrack and locate Tyee. Something about his conversation with the chief was making him nervous. He sure the hell didn’t want to ignore the fact that there could be real danger in poking around asking about Jackson’s death.
The racetrack was impressive—its double-decker grandstand was the tallest structure you could see as you drove up. Ray parked and made sure that Happy was comfortable, then entered the general seating area, which was free. He looked around for Tyee. The man’s six-foot-four-inch frame should have stood out, but Ray didn’t see him. He wandered over to a snack bar and bought a hot dog—the perfect diet for an old man out in the sun without a hat.
“Hey, if Sue finds out you were eating a hot dog you won’t be allowed out on any more field trips.”
“You Indians sure know how to sneak up on people.”
They headed over to a quiet corner and took a seat. Ray continued to consume his tasty treat.
“Saw the Police Chief. He claims Deputy Marino is the devil himself.”
“Well he’s not the only one. Seems as though this guy has alienated half the town. I ran into a cousin of mine who’s still talking to me—he said the deputy acted like he owned the town. He also said that he was forcing almost every businessperson to pay him some kind of protection money. This Marino guy is apparently living in an old 1930s black and white crime movie taking place in New York City. The guy must be nuts to be doing what he’s doing—it’s going to get him killed or arrested.”
“Yeah, I know. It just seems so strange that the AG or governor hasn’t done something.”
“I know—it’s very weird. You’d think there’d be all kinds of state or federal law enforcement here putting a stop to this. By the way, I know the racetrack manager. His name’s Dick Franklin. I went to school with him at UNM. I’m sure he’d see us—you want to do that?”
“Sure.”
They headed off to find the track’s administrative offices.
“Tyee, it’s great to see you. I’d heard some pretty scary stuff about you after your divorce—I was worried about you. This is just great. You don’t know this but you were one of my heroes at school. You just seemed to have your act together about what you were going to do and everyone assumed you’d be a big success.”
“Well it’s good to see you too, Dick. And yeah, I kind of took a tumble after my divorce—fell into a whisky bottle for a few years. But now I’m working with Ray and we’ve started a PI business—everything’s a lot better for me.”
“I’m pleased. So what brings you to the track today—not just to look me up I’d assume?”
“We’re looking into the death of Charles Jackson.”
“Well, Tyee, if you can eliminate the scum who did this it would be a great service to mankind.”
“Are you saying you know who killed Charles Jackson?”
“That lowlife Deputy Marino is saying his deputy shot Jackson by mistake—that’s bullshit. Marino killed him or had him killed. I’m being robbed every day by that thug and I can’t get anyone to do anything about it. I talked to the Police Chief—what a joke he is. I’ve called the State Police and they said it’s not their jurisdiction. My god, the jurisdiction is the county sheriff’s and he’s the asshole robbing me—why they can’t see that as a problem beats the shit out of me.”
“Mr. Franklin, how is Marino robbing you?” This came from Ray.
“Please, call me Dick. He’s stealing a percentage of the net take every day. He’s threatened me in no uncertain terms that if I don’t pay his “fee” I’ll suffer consequences. He’s saying it’s a surcharge for additional services from the sheriff’s department—just complete bullshit. It’s robbery. I decided this morning I was going to contact the Feds and ask for help. If the state government won’t do something about this then I’ll move up the ladder until I find someone who will.”
“What are the other town officials saying?” Ray asked.
“Mostly they’re afraid of this goon. He’s evil—meaning he’ll kill you without hesitation. I have no idea how he thought he could carry on this way without some repercussions, but it’s quite possible that besides being evil he’s completely stupid.”
“Dick, Tyee and I have been asked by the AG’s office to look into what’s going on with the sheriff’s department. I don’t know why they’ve been slow to respond, but as of today the AG will be informed that crimes are potentially being committed by the sheriff’s department and that he needs to get enough state police officers up here to take over until it can be straightened out.”
“Well, that’d be great news. I just hope they listen to you, because if something isn’t done then someone will take action to stop this bastard.”
They thanked Dick Franklin for his time and headed back to the Inn. After letting Happy romp around a bit and take care of his business they headed towards Ray’s room to discuss what they knew and to make calls.
Ray called Tony Garcia, Attorney General of New Mexico, and got his voice mail. “Tony, you should know that there’s an explosion up here ready to happen. The acting Sheriff is running a crime syndicate or something, and half of the town is ready to start shooting. This is very serious. Unless you act at once by sending in a small fucking army to shut down the sheriff’s operation, you’re going to have another Lincoln County war on your hands—and trust me Tony, I’m not exaggerating.” Ray left his contact info at the Inn and hung up.
They agreed they’d meet for dinner in about an hour. Tyee went to his room to rest a bit and make a few calls. Ray lay down for just a while and tried to collect his thoughts. He’d never seen anything like what was going on in this little town. The bad guys had moved in and taken over—it was more like a B-grade western movie than anything else. The question was where in the hell were the good guys?
Ray left Happy asleep in the room and went to meet Tyee for dinner. They had a few beers and two of the best steaks either had ever tasted. Ray asked the waiter to ask the Chef what seasonings he had used on the steaks—he’d been handling much of
the cooking at home and was becoming a skilled amateur cook. The waiter returned with a written note that described the various ingredients the Chef used. Ray was pleased.
After dinner Ray decided to turn in—it had been a long day. They said their goodnights and agreed to meet in the morning for breakfast.
Sometime in the middle of the night the phone rang in Ray’s room.
“Yes.”
“Well, the bastard is dead. I mean really fucking dead—shot eight times, mostly in the head. He was in his patrol car parked in front of Tito’s Bar on Main Street. No one heard or saw anything. Do you and your Indian want to come down and take a look?”
“Yes. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Ray called Tyee and gave him the news. They met at the Jeep and headed to town. Happy was sound asleep and Ray decided to leave him in the room.
A Killing
“Yep, really fucking dead.”
They were on the main drag through town. All the lights and patrol cars had attracted a lot of attention. Most of the officers present, both police and deputies, were busy with crowd control. The situation felt close to being out of control. The police chief was there but not really doing anything.
“Chief, I’m taking charge of this crime scene. I’m acting on the authority of the Attorney General of New Mexico with the knowledge of the Governor. If you are anyone else has a problem with that they need to contact those gentlemen.”
Well fuck, he’d done it now. He was supposed to be an observer not a participant. But Ray couldn’t stand by and watch these morons screw up the investigation, especially since one of the logical suspects was the police chief himself.