by Ted Clifton
“Grimes was a strange man with a strange sense of humor. I guess somehow in his mind he could have thought he owed half the business to his old partner, if Kee’s story was true. I can’t think of any other reason he’d leave it to him. As far as I know, they hadn’t talked in years. I really never heard Kee even mention Grimes after that night I took him to Shiprock.”
“But that doesn’t answer why Begay signed the contract for the stores on the reservation,” Tyee brought up. “Why did he do that?”
Watchman rubbed his face. “I’m not completely sure. I challenged him on it one day. He told me that Kee had told Grimes something that Grimes turned around and used to blackmail him. He said that on top of that, Grimes gave him fifty thousand dollars to sign the contract. He told me he needed the money to help his wife, and I knew something about that. She died about that time, of breast cancer. I know she spent her last months in a Houston hospital, and that had to be expensive. Also, Begay told me that Grimes used the same things to threaten him into signing those fake gas sales reports. He told me he didn’t get any more money from Grimes for doing that.”
Ray’s skepticism kicked in. “We’ve seen videos and audio recordings that would indicate otherwise. Didn’t you make those?”
“I did. That’s how I got Begay to tell me what was going on. That bag of money is a little deceptive. Grimes knew I was tracking him. He gave it to Begay and he’d told him to use it to buy me off, or he’d have me killed. I took that money from Begay. But I put it in a box, along with a note, and left it on Grimes’s front porch.”
“Any proof of that?”
“No.”
Ray nodded, but had something else. “Grimes was shot with a 30-30 rifle from long range. Whoever killed him either had a scope or was one hell of a marksman. Why do I think you’re someone who prides himself on being good with a rifle?”
Watchman grinned. “Probably because you’d like to go home, and arresting me wouldn’t ruffle any feathers in Farmington or Santa Fe.” The look on his face suggested he might have found pleasure in doing just what Ray asked about. Before he could go on, his mobile burbled and rattled on the table. “Yes.” He listened, and quickly disconnected. “Kee just died. He never came out of the coma.” Another pause. “If you decide you have to talk to Begay, I think I could talk him into meeting with you. Like I told you, he has done some things that are wrong, and maybe he should be punished for them. But I guarantee you, he did not kill anyone. Talking to him isn’t going to get you home any sooner.” Watchman stood, eyeing Tyee. “That was going to be one hell of a fight, if I’d lunged at you. I could see you were ready.” A quick smile crossed his face and he winked.
They kept their seats while he left. Tyee observed, “If everybody keeps dying, we won’t need to arrest anyone.”
Ray chuckled. “All’s well that ends well.” He sobered. “It’s hard not to feel for Kee. But I think I believe Watchman about him being involved in a murder. It just seems like something Grimes would have done—talk someone into doing his dirty work. And that Bill McCullum’s death was no coincidence. I’d bet Grimes had something to do with it. The strangest thing about all of this is him leaving Kee half his estate. He didn’t know Kee was going to die, so what did he think he’d do with it?”
“Maybe it was a way to punish Vickie?”
“That sounds like Grimes.” Ray took a slug of milkshake.
“What happens now to Kee’s half of the will?”
“Don’t know. We should find out.”
“Sounds like giddy-up time.”
“Just talked to Unger. He said the will has a survivorship period requirement written into it. Sort of scolded me, saying it’s very clearly set out in the will. Guess we should have read it before calling him. Anyway, if a beneficiary doesn’t live forty-five days past the death of the person who made the will, that portion of the estate goes to the other stated beneficiary, which in this case is Joyce Sanders.” Ray sat back and put his feet up on Trujillo’s desk—Trujillo not being in the room.
Tyee was frowning about something. “I guess that’s good. No feuds with Kee’s relatives, if he had any. Of course, now she’s the only one left to fight with the feds and the state to try to keep everything together.”
“I know you think I should get involved. But I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do.”
Tyee leaned forward. “Well you said the biggest problem was having the mystery of why half of the estate went to Kee, now that part’s solved. He died.”
“That’s kind of cold-hearted.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I don’t think Kee cared much anymore. And it does simplify things regarding who the new owner is.”
Ray was tired of almost everything and everyone to do with this case. “Is Joyce still in the hospital?”
“Trujillo told me she checked out and went back to her house. Must be kind of strange to be there.”
“Yeah. Let’s drive out there and talk to her.” Ray took his feet off the desk. He felt fidgety.
“Should we call first?”
“Nah. I need to get out of here, anyway. If she’s not there, or doesn’t want to see us, let’s just take it as a sign that we should move on to something else.”
“Divine intervention. I like it!” Tyee shook his fist at the ceiling.
There were no guards, and the house seemed smaller. It was obviously an illusion, but it was odd—somehow it had genuinely lost some of its grandeur.
“Considering we just told her someone could have been shooting at her when her husband was killed, you’d think she might have some security.”
“Maybe she didn’t believe us.”
“Tyee, everybody believes us, we’re the good guys.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.”
They rang the bell and soon Joyce answered the door, wearing sweatpants and an oversize hoodie—quite a contrast from her ensemble when they first met there. “Come in.” She stepped aside as Ray and Tyee entered the house. They noticed how empty it looked and felt.
“No servants?”
“Nah.” She shrugged. “They always made me nervous. I’m only going to be here a few more hours, myself. Until things get settled, I’m moving into one of the hotels downtown. Just getting some things packed.” She rubbed her arms like she felt a chill. “It just feels wrong to be here. Like I’m trespassing.”
Tyee nodded. “I understand that. The hotel will be better.”
Joyce smiled at him. Ray noticed how she seemed younger, and smaller. She was barefoot. Before, she always wore heels. “So. What brings you by?”
“Wanted to tell you about Chris Kee. You know he was elderly and in poor health. We just got word that he died.” Ray never enjoyed the notification part of being a sheriff. Even though Joyce had no connection to Kee, it still felt sad.
“Oh, my. And he just inherited all that money. He could have had a different life. That is so sad.” She walked into the living room to flop down on a sofa. “What happens to his part?”
“It now goes to you.”
“Not his next of kin?”
Ray explained how the conditions of the will made her the sole beneficiary.
“That still doesn’t seem right.” She looked up at them. “But why would Lewis leave half of everything to him in the first place? Was it something from way back?”
Ray hesitated, unsure of how much to share with her. What they really knew was next to nothing, all second-hand information mostly based on hearsay and the word of a drunk. But he decided she was entitled to at least some idea of why Grimes did what he did. “Maybe the only person who really knows why he did that is Grimes. What we’ve learned won’t hold up in court. It’s all based on bits and pieces of information we got from people who may or may not actually know, or even want to tell us everything.”
“It’s okay, counselor. I won’t hold you responsible.” She smiled. “Dish out the gossip.”
“When Grimes first moved to Farmington, he and Kee became drinking buddies. Apparentl
y, during this time, Grimes thought that Kee could help him get business on the reservation. The tricky part is that Kee indicated to one of our sources that he may have murdered a man who owned a business Grimes wanted to buy. And as a result of that man’s death, he was able to buy it, and it became Grimes Oil. Kee told at least one person, while he was drunk, that he killed that man. He also told that person that Grimes was going to give him half of everything as a sort of payment. But his life started to tumble down into a bottle, and soon he had nothing to do with Grimes. I guess it’s possible Grimes left him half the business because that was their deal. Or maybe he thought it was a joke, or it would make you miserable. We can’t know.”
Joyce laughed. “What a strange man Lewis was. But that fits. Even when he was causing someone pain he always kept his word. Isn’t that odd? Have you found out who shot him?”
“No. Kee was in no condition to do that, we don’t think. We’re investigating a lead as we speak, but I’m not able to give you any details.” Ray started pacing. “We should discuss what you want to do with the business, and whether you want to try to keep it running.”
She sat up. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t know anything about running a business, especially one with thousands of employees. If there was some way to deal with the fines and everything, I think I’d sell it to someone who knows what they’re doing.”
Ray nodded in approval. “I think that’s very smart. And it’s an approach that might work to your advantage. If there was a change of ownership, it might go a long way toward dealing with those problems. I’m sure neither the state nor the feds want to shut down Grimes Oil. But they probably feel obligated to take some action if anyone associated with Grimes was planning to keep it.” He stroked his chin. “Matter of fact, I think that is a great plan. Now we just need to find someone who might be interested in buying it.”
Joyce looked up. “Another thing I would like to do,” she said, “is to set up some way, legally, so half of everything would go into some kind of trust or something to benefit the Navajos in Chris Kee’s name. Maybe a program to fight alcohol abuse, or something.”
Ray and Tyee regarded her like they were seeing her for the first time. “That’s great,” Tyee responded at last. “Just great. That attorney Paul Unger, I bet could help you do that. He said that’s the kind of law he practices. That really is very thoughtful of you.”
“Hey, just because I’m a blonde bimbo doesn’t mean I’m not nice.” She smiled and giggled. She seemed pleased about her decisions.
The discussions seemed to go on for days. The state wanted one kind of assurances, the feds another. Paul Unger proved to be a very competent attorney and negotiator. And there proved to be an unexpected attraction between Joyce and Paul—love is a strange thing.
In the course of the discussions, the feds revealed that much of the money had been recovered. It had been traced to numerous banks, some overseas, but given the clout of the Treasury Department almost everyone had cooperated and returned the cash. There were still millions missing, but the majority of the stolen tax dollars had been found. Just to be sure, the FBI spent a considerable sum having the entire grounds of the Grimes estate dug up looking for the remaining millions, but to no avail. The rumor persisted in Farmington gossip, at hair salons and in bars, that the money was still buried there, but in such a way that the feds couldn’t locate it. This led to many schemes, concocted over whisky and beer, on ways to uncover the mysterious loot. The next owner of the Grimes mansion was going to need a very secure fence.
No purchaser of Grimes Oil had surfaced yet, but there was interest from several individuals and a couple of large corporations, all of whom were doing due diligence, so a sale seemed imminent. With the assistance of the now ever-present Paul Unger, Joyce hired a national CPA firm to provide a temporary CFO to run the business during the transition. Almost immediately, the business took on a new professionalism throughout its operation. With much of the craziness that had been interjected into operations by Grimes purged, policies and procedures were implemented that improved efficiency and profitability, all of which had a positive impact on the prospective buyers.
Ray had contacted Watchman and told him what Joyce wanted to do. He was pretty sure that Watchman had teared up a little—for sure he had trouble talking for a moment or two. After a pause, Watchman said he would talk to Begay and let Ray know what program they thought would benefit the most people.
Tyee climbed into the truck.
“Well, superman, looks like our work here is about done.”
“You really are annoying.”
“No, I’m not. Well, maybe a little.” Tyee was feeling good. They hadn’t arrested anyone for Grimes’s murder, but it was past time to head home—they would let Trujillo solve the murder and be the hero. “’Bout time to head home and finally get a good night’s sleep.”
“Yeah. I hate leaving without resolving everything, but maybe that’s our only choice.”
“Can’t fix every problem. I think we’ve done a good job. I know this latest little coup, keeping Grimes’s business operating, would please the governor.”
“Okay, one last thing, though. Let’s go to the office. I want an alert out on the mayor. He’s the loose end I can’t walk away from.”
Trujillo met Ray and Tyee at the door. “We’ve found him. He’s at the old schoolhouse on the north side of town. It’s been abandoned for years. The deputies say he’s drunk and he’s armed. He’s told them he’s got a 30-30, and he’s threatening to shoot them or himself. I told them to back off and wait.”
Ray told Trujillo to direct his men not to do anything. The last thing they wanted was a dead mayor. He and Tyee headed out.
“The mayor’s holed up with a 30-30 rifle,” Tyee noted. “You think we’ve found our shooter?”
“I know some things pointed his way.” He shook his head, eyes on the road. “But I’m having trouble with him being the shooter. It just doesn’t fit.” Ray frowned. The matter could end in another death, and still no complete answers.
“It sure fits a pattern,” Tyee countered. “Sex and money. Greed and lust. Human weakness strikes again.”
“Yeah. But I’m still uncomfortable with the whole thing. He just doesn’t fit as a killer. Especially one that would take a shot at Joyce. Can you see him doing that?”
“Crazy people do crazy things.”
“I know, that could be the answer. But it just feels so hollow.”
They pulled in near the small schoolhouse and saw the emergency lights of six patrol cars and two ambulances. “Sure hope he doesn’t try to run for it,” Tyee said. “He’ll be dead before he gets ten feet out the door.”
“Yeah. We need to defuse this before someone gets hurt.” Ray spotted Hoover. “Look, we need to calm everything down. I know he’s armed, but I think this is more a mental crisis. The more threatening we look, the more likely he’ll shoot. Take half the cars and deputies and move them back down the road. And have those ambulances move out of sight.”
The sergeant looked confused. “You know he threatened to shoot us, don’t you?”
“I do. And I don’t want that to happen. Do we have any way of communicating with him?”
“All we’ve been doing is yelling. We’ve had trouble hearing him.”
Tyee wondered, “Do you have a bullhorn?”
The sergeant held up a finger, dashed to his patrol car and back, and handed a shiny white bullhorn to Tyee.
Tyee quickly handed it to Ray.
Ray shrugged and turned the thing on. “Frank? This is Ray Pacheco. I want to talk to you. Will you please put down your firearm and come out so we can talk?”
No answer. Ray moved a little closer, careful to stay behind a broad-trunked tree. “Frank? Come on out, and nobody will be hurt. Frank? Can you hear me?”
Silence, then some movement. Ray spotted Frank standing behind the open front door. “I hear you. I’m drunk. I don’t want to die. I thought those deputies wer
e going to shoot me. I told them I’d shoot them because I was scared.”
Ray heard a tremble in his voice. “Frank, if you’ll put your gun down so I can see it, I’ll come in and walk out with you. You will not be hurt. Okay?”
A minute passed before Chavez slid the rifle onto the porch. Ray eased toward the door and went inside.
“You okay?”
“I think I’m going to throw up.” Which he did, all over the dirty tiled floor. Ray waited, then took him by the arm and walked out.
The drive back to the sheriff’s department passed mostly in silence. Two deputies had transported Frank Chavez. He was to be placed in the interrogation room. Ray and Tyee were already tired and they knew the day wasn’t over.
“You know it almost has to be him,” Tyee said after a long silence on the way back.
“I know. The rifle, his involvement with Martin, the likelihood Grimes killed Martin. Sure, all points to Chavez. But it still doesn’t seem right. Do you think he’s a killer?”
“I sure haven’t been doing this as long as you. But, you know what? I don’t see a pattern. Nice people kill, bad people turn out to be nice—it’s all confusing. I think all you can do is go where the evidence points. And it points to Mayor Chavez.”
Ray sighed deeply. “I know. We’ll get the ballistics on that rifle and if we have a match, we have our shooter. I know the motive is most likely revenge because of Martin, but it still doesn’t seem to fit. That was a very long shot. Maybe Chavez was the Boy Scout marksman of the year, or something like that, and he had the skills to make it—but if not, you don’t hit Grimes at that distance with a lucky shot. And the second shot? Why would Chavez want to hurt Joyce? Just because she was there?”
“Maybe the second shot wasn’t at Joyce. Maybe he took the first shot and didn’t know right away that he’d hit Grimes, so he let off another round, which missed because Grimes moved slightly when he was hit.”
“So, you’re saying Mayor Chavez is such an excellent marksman that he fired two unbelievable shots—remember, there was no scope on his rifle—in rapid succession, and hit one and barely missed the other.”
