“Lieutenant…” I began.
“Call me Sam. You’re going to see a lot of me until this mess gets cleaned up.”
“Okay, Sam,” I said. “About that gold. I have no idea if it exists or where it could possibly be.”
“That all you’re willing to tell me?”
“Look, let’s quit wasting time. Have you found Carmen—Officer Flores—yet?”
“Not yet. We will. What was she doing out in Catron County with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. Why was she out there?”
“You ought to know. You put her on the Ramos case.”
The door opened. A square-shouldered, silver-haired nurse entered and scowled at Archuleta. “Lieutenant, you either put that cigarette out, or I’ll have you put out. This isn’t the first time you’ve been told.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He snubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the table and dropped it into his coffee cup.
She held out her hand.
Archuleta sighed, reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat, and handed her his pack of Camels. The nurse held it like a piece of medical waste, pinched between her right thumb and forefinger as she left the room.
“Tobacco Nazi.” The lieutenant waited about five seconds before he pulled a fresh pack from the left hip pocket of his suit coat. He unwrapped it and tossed the cellophane into the wastebasket, then stashed the new pack in his breast pocket.
“For the record, Professor, it wasn’t my idea to put Officer Flores on your case. She insisted. Nagged me for days, in fact. Flores has little or no experience in criminal investigation. She’s traffic detail, special events, or works at the precinct. If we weren’t shorthanded right now, that’s where she would have stayed. Officer Flores told me she was a close friend of yours and asked to help. I instructed her to keep me informed if she learned anything from you. It was all very unofficial.”
I tried to think of a reason why Carmen might have misled me. Perhaps I had misunderstood her. “I don’t get it.”
“Maybe she’s got a personal interest? I notice you’re not wearing a wedding ring. You’re showing a band of pale skin around your ring finger. Recently divorced?”
“Widowed.” I didn’t care to share anything more about Holly, my past, or my private life. “Anyway, Carmen is married.”
“If that’s what you want to call it. Her husband moved out on her a couple of years ago. Split for California, I think. At least he left her their house up in the Northeast Heights. I dropped her off once. Nice place.”
“What are you talking about? She’s my next-door neighbor in the North Valley.”
“She must have moved.” Archuleta took the fresh pack from his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and caressed it between his fingers. “Anyway, let’s put that aside for now. You have another problem.”
“What?”
The lieutenant looked toward the door, listening. He broke the unlit cigarette in two, and flipped it into the wastebasket. “Ten o’clock last night the alarm at your house went off. Your security company called in the alert. Our first officer on the scene found a jimmied window.”
“That all?”
“No. There was one pissed-off cat in your library.” He half-smiled. “You aren’t hiding any gold there, are you?”
“Of course not. But I think I know what they might have been after.”
“Oh?”
“Documents from James A. McKenna, my great-grand uncle. His Will, some letters he wrote to his niece, my great-aunt Nellie, and a hand-written journal about his prospecting days. Whoever broke in wouldn’t have found them. I locked everything in a safe deposit box at my bank late last week.”
“Who knows about all this stuff?” Archuleta’s eyes fixed on me.
“Other than me? Just Carmen—Officer Flores—and most likely the law firm that handled James McKenna’s estate back in 1941. They’d know about his Will, at least. Aunt Nellie’s lawyers might know some of it. I can’t say for sure. And if he’s still alive, there’s the person who witnessed the original signing of James McKenna’s Will back in 1935.” I paused and stared at him. “A guy named Archuleta, as I recall.”
“You don’t say?” He didn’t even blink.
“Emilio Archuleta. Ring any bells?”
“Can’t say that it does. My family is all over the place. That it?”
“No. There’s one more. A friend of mine, Curtis Jester, owner of C.J.’s Barbeque.”
“Jester? How do you know him?”
I told the lieutenant of my past as an amateur boxer, that I’d trained with C.J. and fought him once in the ring. I explained how we’d renewed our friendship when I dropped into his restaurant after noticing his name above the front door.
Archuleta scribbled in a little notebook before he looked up at me. “When was the last time you saw or spoke with Jester?”
“Couple of days ago. We had a drink together.”
I fidgeted in my chair. I’d told Archuleta more than I originally wanted to. I left out any mention of the phone calls C.J. and I received prior to the gazebo bombing. There might come a time to go into all of that. But not now.
Three short raps on the doorframe announced the return of our anti-smoking nurse. She gave Archuleta a look that made him hold his empty hands up to protest his innocence.
“Much better, Lieutenant.” She turned to me. “Your doctors have cleared you for discharge, Mr. McKenna. You can fill your prescription for painkillers at our pharmacy on the first floor.”
She extended a hand toward Archuleta. “Let me have those cigarettes in your pocket.”
He smiled. “You got a search warrant?”
She grunted something I didn’t catch, pivoted, and marched out of the room.
“I’ll drive you home,” Archuleta said, more as an order than a friendly gesture. He stood to indicate our interview was over.
“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. I can call a cab.”
I must have looked less than enthused. “Humor me,” he said.
I sat up front in his car. The ashtray was open. Butts overflowed onto the floor. The vehicle smelled like a tobacconist’s shop after floodwaters had receded. The notion of a hot shower entered my mind.
We didn’t talk much on the way home. I thought of Carmen and everything Archuleta had told me about her. Nothing added up: her marriage, the disappearance of her husband, how she’d finagled her way onto my case, even the feelings between us.
Sam pulled up behind a squad car in my driveway. A young officer sprang from the rocking chair on my porch as we came up the walk.
“You can go back to work on your tan as soon as we leave, Peralta.” Archuleta and I stepped onto the front porch. “This is Professor McKenna. He lives here. If you disturb him, it’d better be important.”
“Yessir.”
I unlocked the door and waved the lieutenant in ahead of me. A quick check of the alarm box showed it had been tripped and reset. “Which window was damaged in yesterday’s break-in?” I asked.
“Around the side.” He pointed to his left.
The library window again.
I examined the window from inside. Its glass was intact, but the casement showed damage along its bottom and both sides. Perhaps a crowbar had been used. The window had been lifted only far enough to trip the alarm. My security system had paid its first dividend.
“Check to see if anything is missing, or out of place,” Sam said. “See if anything was left behind that isn’t yours.”
“I don’t think they even got inside.”
“Maybe not. Or maybe they didn’t lower the window all the way on their way out. Check anyway.” He stubbed his foot against the antique cuspidor on the floor next to my desk and took that as an invitation to light up. I tried to lift the window higher and let some fresh air into the room. It wouldn’t budge.
“Lieutenant, can you do me a favor?”
He frowned. “I doubt it. And it’s Sam, rem
ember?”
“I want to check out some things. Online things. Arrest records and court records are public, that’s no problem. But I want access to more prison and police records. Can you get me entrée to that kind of data? I know it’s a lot to ask. If you’ll give me a chance—”
“No.” He took another puff on his Camel. “I have to admit, Professor, you’ve got a brass pair.” He looked at his watch and then pointed to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “You better get that thing fixed too,” he said. “You’re two minutes slow.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
Sam gave me a nod, walked to the front door and opened it. He flicked his half-smoked cigarette onto the pathway and crushed it as he walked past. I followed and stepped on it just to make sure.
Before he settled into his car, Sam shook my hand. “Professor, you need to slow down. Get some rest. Do whatever retired professors do—write a book, whatever. Leave the police work to us. I’ll keep in touch.”
After he drove away, I walked back up the driveway and kicked the gravel. A headache was on its way.
The young cop on the porch came up to me as I approached. “Any word on Officer Flores yet?” He sounded quite concerned.
“You’d have to ask Lieutenant Archuleta.”
“I hope she’s all right.”
“You and Officer Flores close?”
He shook his head a little too forcefully, like he’d said too much. His tan turned a shade of red. “We’ve worked together a lot.”
On traffic duty, no doubt.
“If you need anything, I’ll be here until I get relieved at six-thirty.” He tipped his cap and stepped back to clear my path.
“Am I under surveillance?”
“No sir,” Peralta said. “We’re just watching the house, 24/7.”
“For how long?”
He shrugged and adjusted his sunglasses.
I stepped past him and entered the house. I washed down a painkiller at the kitchen sink. I filled the cat’s water and food bowls and then realized I’d had nothing to eat since Carmen and I shared a couple of lousy sandwiches in the Land Cruiser. The only thing in my refrigerator was half a bag of English muffins and a stick of butter.
The doorbell rang.
Now what do the cops want? I stomped to the door and opened it. A teenage delivery boy held out a familiar red, white and blue paper bag. “Your dinner,” he said, “compliments of C.J.’s.”
Angels assume many forms. I took out my wallet and gave him a twenty. “Thank your boss for me.”
My first real meal in two days—pulled pork, a half-rack of baby backs, an ear of corn, and biscuits—disappeared faster than whiskey at an Irish wake. And a metal fork, no less. I phoned C.J.
“No problem, Gabe, happy to do it.”
“How did you know I was home?”
“Man, it’s been all over the news—the fire, the dead bodies, and your missing cop friend. I called the hospital and they told me you’d been discharged. Drove by your house. You got a cop car in your driveway.”
“My house is under police protection.”
“Don’t do hospitals or cops. I sent the kid.”
“It was great, just what I needed. Thanks.”
“When can we get together?”
“Give me a day or two. I’ll call you and we can meet somewhere.”
“Solid. And Gabe…”
“What?”
“Don’t lose that fork. Charmaine doesn’t know I took it.”
My bottle of Black Bush stood on the far side of the library desk, the only bottle left after I’d poured the other fifth down the back of my neck at the cabin. A terrible waste.
The glass in my right hand didn’t stay empty for long. Otis lay under the desk lamp with his eyes closed. The cherry wood grandfather clock in the corner chimed nine times, reminding me that time has a way of running out.
They had me on some big time painkillers, so I had to be careful with the whiskey. I leaned back in the desk chair, put my feet up, and slow-sipped my way through a review of the past two weeks.
Still more questions than answers.
One thing was clear: what little I did know pointed to the law firm of Chavez, Lujan, Vigil and, most especially, O’Connor. Only they had known in advance about my trip to Albuquerque.
I poured a bit more whiskey into my glass and thought about Carmen, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
April 16
Sunlight spilled through the library window. My headache had company now—sharp pain across my brow had teamed up with a lower back that barked like a Doberman in a junkyard. I’d slept in my clothes. I needed a shave, a hot shower, and another painkiller.
Otis lay asleep beneath the desk lamp, next to my fifth of Black Bush. Somehow, the bottle was two-thirds empty. A thin, golden glaze covered the bottom of my nearby glass.
A single sheet of paper sat on the desk. I’d made a list, numbered one through twelve, under the heading Twelve Steps to Getting Out of This Mess. Interesting reading. I stopped by the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine on my way to the shower.
After my first shave in three days, I did as much stretching as my aching ribs and back permitted. I put on my sweats and running shoes and poured a cup of coffee. Back at my desk, I checked off the first of my twelve steps: Online Research. Before the computer finished booting up, my doorbell rang.
Archuleta held out a hand, the one without the unlit cigarette. I shook it. “Come on in, Sam. What a pleasant surprise.”
“It’s too early for sarcasm, Professor. Besides, you might be interested in what I have to tell you.”
“You found Carmen?”
“Not yet. But I did give some thought to your request and ran it by my boss. We’ll go part way for you, but only until we locate Officer Flores. You want to check court and criminal records? Do it online and on your own time. Send everything you find to my office for evaluation.”
“Go on.”
“I mean everything.” The unlit cigarette slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. “No freelancing, no amateur sleuthing. Don’t misrepresent yourself to anyone as working for the A.P.D.”
“Why this change of heart, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“My department is over-extended. So snoop around online all you want. You turn up anything relevant, it comes to me, and you let my office sift through it. We’ll decide what we can use.”
I thought Sam might have forgotten about his cigarette, but he stooped down and grabbed it. He lit up and paced back and forth, his free hand in constant, waving motion.
“I’m taking a chance on you, Professor. A.P.D. is stretched thin these days. There’s been a rash of killings, plus that bombing in Old Town—you hear about that?”
I nodded.
“The commissioner is riding my ass. Too many open cases.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t let me down or try anything foolish, or you’ll have one more guy to worry about.”
“I won’t let you down.”
“I’m assuming you have internet access?”
“Hi-speed broadband. Why?”
“I had an account and folder set up for you on our network. When you have something to pass along, you log in and upload it all to your folder. You won’t have access to any police files. What you’re looking for is out there somewhere. Find it and send it to me. Here’s your log-in info.”
He handed me a three-by-five index card. I checked both sides. “Funny guy.”
“Something wrong?” He blew a cloud of smoke my way.
“Noseyprofessor1?”
“Full disclosure, McKenna—once you log in, you’ll be on a monitored network. My office can even see what’s on your hard drive.”
“Working for the Feds now?”
“Can it. Your computer will be key-logged while you’re on our network. If you print something, we’ll know about that too. Just turn over everything you find that might be connected to
these murders. All printed information, file copies, newspaper accounts, blog entries. No porn. I’ll be grateful for any help you can provide.”
I walked him back to the front door. “Glad to help in any way I can. You won’t regret this.”
Archuleta pointed one finger at me. “Make sure I don’t.” He turned and left.
I suspected his “offer” might be a clumsy attempt by the A.P.D. to keep tabs on me. Given my circumstances, I figured to give it a try anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I poured a fresh cup of coffee and returned to the library as another phone call came in.
“Jack Case, Professor. Your Hudson will be ready early this afternoon.”
“Great! How’d you do it so fast?”
“I heard what happened to you and that lady cop. Figured it might cheer you up to get your car back earlier, so I moved you to the front of my line. It’ll be ready in a few hours. I’ll drive her over.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
The index card from Archuleta lay on the desktop. I typed in the web address he’d provided and bookmarked the site once it appeared on my screen. I could almost hear the Lieutenant laugh as I entered my username and the password and imagined alarm bells ringing down at headquarters. I located the folder they’d created for me, left a dummy text file, and logged out for now. I hoped to drop in over the next few days with useful information.
I opened a search engine and typed “Jason Damien.” Within an hour I’d made measurable progress.
Damien had an extensive police record. I opened a blank Word document and started to compile a portrait of a young man gone bad:
Jason Damien
– born 8/12/78 in Albuquerque, NM
Juvenile Record:
– arrested robbery 6/8/94
– arrested burglary 9/12/95 & 4/5/96
– arrested aggravated assault 7/31/95
– remanded to Bernalillo County Juvenile Detention Center in 1994 and 1995
– treated at BCJDC Mental Health Clinic 6/96
Adult Record:
– arrested 2nd degree murder 11/12/96 – for homicide death of Victor Martinez
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