Dog Gone Lies (Pacheco & Chino Mysteries Book 1)
Page 9
“Eighty-six year old lady slashing tires—are you sure?”
“Not one-hundred percent, but I think you can be seventy percent sure she’s the one. Once you talk to the son you’ll realize that she was suffering some mental problems, probably Alzheimer’s disease. She had fixated on Ms. Jackson and was blaming her for everything, including her husband’s heart attack. I think the big questions now are where’s Monica Jackson and where’s Mrs. Richard’s car?”
“Do you think Jackson is alive?”
“My first guess was that we would find her body somewhere in the area of my cabin—because of the dog. Now, I’m beginning to think she’s alive and there was some kind of confrontation with Mrs. Richards. Looks to me like there are only two possibilities. The first is that Mrs. Richards had a confrontation with Ms. Jackson, which I would guess ended up being a kidnapping by Mrs. Richards. Then something happened and Mrs. Richards was shot. Why, how, by whom—I really don’t know. Monica panicked and took off in Mrs. Richards’ car, leaving the dog. So where would she go? I would think she’d either head back home to Albuquerque or she’d head to El Paso. I’ve talked to her husband and if she went back home I think she would have contacted him—and I don’t believe she has, so my guess is that she went to El Paso and is hiding. The second option is that there’s a third person involved and somehow Mrs. Richards got caught in the middle while she was stalking Ms. Jackson. Once again Mrs. Richards was shot by someone, and this third person took Ms. Jackson and is holding her somewhere for reasons I don’t know.”
During this discussion Sue had brought Ray his grilled cheese and poured Deputy Clayton a cup of coffee.
“Well, that sure makes sense Ray, based on what we do know. Are you investigating this matter for the ex-husband?”
“He asked me to, but I said no. Not sure our sheriff has any desire to cooperate with my independent investigation. I might still poke around a little, but officially I’m just a casual observer.”
“I wish you were investigating. The sheriff isn’t going to do anything. He’s sent me off to look into a campsite disturbance in the Gila Wilderness. That’ll keep me out of his hair for the rest of the day.”
“Sorry, deputy. All you can do right now is follow orders. Keep your people out there putting together more meetings and getting people registered. I have a feeling this will work out just fine.”
The deputy seemed pleased with the pep talk. He said he’d better get going and left.
Ray finished his lunch and lingered some. Sue came around and they talked. Ray told her about the phone and that he thought it might be working within a couple of weeks. She said that would be nice to be able to phone him. Ray finally decided he couldn’t just sit there, so he said goodbye and left. He stopped outside when he realized that he should have asked Sue if she wanted to have dinner or something, once again feeling like he wasn’t handling this Sue stuff very well. He had some goodies Sue had given him for Happy, so he opened the back and handed over the treats. As he was turning to get in the Jeep, Sue walked up.
“How about if I come by your place a little later and we have dinner together?”
“That would be great, Sue.”
“See you later.” She went back into the café. Why was this so easy for her and so hard for him? He had no idea.
Ray headed back toward his cabin, then decided to take a quick trip by Big Jack’s and see if Tyee was there. He parked in front and let Happy out. Happy headed around to the dock to find his favorite spot in the sun. Big Jack was helping a customer as Ray walked in—they waved and Ray went into the computer room.
“Hello, Ray. How was lunch at the Lone Post Café?”
“You think you’re being wise, but I consider it nosy.”
“Oh, a little sensitive today.”
“Not really. Lunch was fine. Saw Clayton and he said they identified the body as Mrs. Richards.”
Ray filled Tyee in on his speculation about what might have happened. Tyee agreed that the possibilities they’d outlined made sense. He also told Ray that he’d found the Dog Shows of America. They were located in Phoenix and he had their phone number.
They discussed when Ray wanted to go fishing again and agreed on Thursday morning. Ray was starting to regret agreeing to compete in the tournament. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but now there was just too much going on.
Ray called the number for Dog Shows of America and asked to speak to Nathan Young.
“Hello, this is Nathan Young.”
“Mr. Young, my name is Ray Pacheco. I’m working with the sheriff’s department looking into the disappearance of Monica Jackson—do you have some time to answer a few questions?”
“Of course. I’m so worried about her. Do you have any idea about what has happened?”
“No, sir. At this point we’re just trying to contact as many people as we can and see where it takes us. We really have no solid leads on what might’ve happened or where she might be. Do you know Ms. Jackson well?”
“Oh, sure. Monica’s been a part of our organization for years, both as a breeder and as a dog show participant. We’re a full service organization, offering all types of training and certifications for breeders, as well as being a dog show sponsor. Monica’s been one of our most enthusiastic participants in many of the programs we put on. I just can’t believe that she’s missing.”
“When was the last time you saw her or talked to her?”
“I would say it was on the phone about two weeks before the El Paso show, so I guess that’s more than three weeks ago. She called to ask me about another member and whether I thought he was going to show his dog in El Paso—they had kind of an intense rivalry going.”
“What’s his name?”
“Well, I’m sure he has nothing to do with this mess with Monica. They have dogs in the same class and they’re usually the one and two finishers. Sometimes he would win and sometimes Monica would. Over the last year or so it had become a little personal and they’d exchanged some unfortunate words at the last show—but it was just the competitive juices flowing—nothing sinister.”
“I’m sure that’s true, Mr. Young. Still, I’ll need to check it out. What’s the man’s name?”
“Nate Carter.”
“Do you know where he lives, and do you have a phone number for him?”
“Sure. He lives in Dallas, I’ll have to look up his number.”
“That’s fine I can get that in a minute. We’re also looking for someone connected to the El Paso show named Betty. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Of course. That’s Monica’s best friend, Betty Adams. She and Monica always spent a lot of time together during the shows.”
Ray explained that he would need to know where Betty lived, too, and her phone number if Nate had it. Carter put Ray on hold to get the information. He came back on the line and gave Ray both addresses and phone numbers.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Young. This should help us get some more information. Were Betty and Nate both at the El Paso show?”
“Sure. Nate won again easily since Monica didn’t show up. I saw Betty on Saturday morning and then she abruptly checked out and I guess went home. That was after it turned out that Monica wasn’t going to be there, so I figured she was upset about that and decided to go home early.”
“Were you aware of a problem Ms. Jackson had with a customer of hers named Richards?”
“Yeah, I was. Monica called me several times about the problem with that customer. She even faxed me the breeding papers to look at to see if I could see anything wrong. As I told Monica at the time, they looked okay to me, but forgeries aren’t unheard of in the breeding business and I’m not an expert in forged documents. I asked her who she purchased the dogs from, but she never gave me an answer. I think she was really worried that there was something wrong.”
“I think that’s all I have right now, Mr. Young. Let me give you my private number in case something comes up.”
Tyee had stepped out of the storeroom while Ray was on the phone—he came back in with a diet Coke.
“Got some complete names now and addresses.”
Ray gave Tyee the information. “Now we should be able to track them down.”
“Ray, there was a message for you from Mike Jackson. He sounded very upset and said he wanted you to call him right away. Not sure, but it sounded like some kind of emergency.”
Ray took the note with Mike’s number and once again got on the phone. He sure hoped they ran that new phone line soon or Big Jack was going to have another fit.
“Hello.”
“Mike, this is Ray. Is something wrong?”
“Oh Ray, I’m so glad you called. Everything is wrong. I just can’t believe it—it’s horrible. What am I going to do?”
“Mike, slow down. What’s wrong?”
“My son’s dead—my son Ed. The police called this morning. They found him in his car out in the desert—he’d been shot. My god, Ray, what in the hell is happening?”
Ray was stunned. He didn’t know Mike’s son, but first his ex-wife goes missing and then their son is shot? What was going on?
“Mike, did the police tell you anything?”
“They said it looked like a professional hit—whatever in the hell that means. I mean my son was a loser, but he wasn’t involved in any sort of gang or the mafia or anything like that. What are they talking about?”
“Mike, I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to remain calm. I’ll help you. I’ll drive up tomorrow morning and go see the police—give me any contact information they left with you. Also, you and I can meet once I see the police and talk about this—and about Monica. I have a very uncomfortable feeling that this is all connected. Are you okay to be alone right now?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. My other son, Luke, is coming over in a minute and picking me up. I’m going to go to his house.”
Ray took down the contact information for the police and for Luke, as well as Luke’s address. He told Mike he would call him sometime the next morning and then they could meet to discuss whatever he’d learned. He hung up.
Ray filled Tyee in on the latest events and asked if he wanted to drive up to Albuquerque in the morning. They agreed that they’d meet at Big Jack’s so Tyee could leave his boat at the dock. They set a time and Ray said goodbye. Leaving the store, Ray stepped out onto the dock. Big Jack was petting Happy and getting a lot of dog love in return.
“I think that dog is spoiled.”
“Maybe or maybe he’s spoiled me.” Little chuckle this time, not the huge Big Jack laugh.
“Tyee and I are headed up to Albuquerque in the morning. There’s been a development in Ms. Jackson’s disappearance.”
Big Jack was very attentive as Ray described the latest news.
“I guess you know this forgery business out of Mexico is huge. Had some dealings with some of this in my L.A. days. All we hear about is drugs coming out of Mexico, but forged documents of all kinds amount to millions, hell, maybe billions of dollars. I think it started out as a business supplying illegals with forged papers, but it’s branched out into almost anything you can think of. Some of the really big bucks involve forged collectable documents, from sports memorabilia to civil war documents. If the son was involved in this stuff with people in Mexico, you need to be really careful. These are not nice people—just think of them the same way you would drug dealers. They kill to make a point.”
Ray noticed a different edge to Big Jack’s voice. He still had a lot to learn about his new partner.
“Thanks for the warning. Guess I hadn’t thought too much about the forgery business. But the son being executed within a few days of his mother disappearing can’t be just a coincidence. I think they’re connected, and if Monica’s still alive—which is a big if—then she’s in danger.”
Ray told Big Jack about their plans for the next day and left him with various contact numbers in Albuquerque. He also gave Big Jack the personal information he’d need to complete the application form for their PI license. Jack said he’d been working on the legal documents and he hoped to have everything finished sometime that day.
Ray said his goodbyes and headed off with Happy. The drive to the cabin was short and very bumpy. When he arrived, he was thrilled to see Sue’s car out front.
Wednesday
Ray and Tyee were on the road to Albuquerque by seven the next morning. Happy was left with Big Jack, which seemed to please both of them. It was about a two hour drive. When they got there they were hoping to be able to see the detective in charge first, then go by and visit with Mike.
Ray had also talked with Big Jack, who had told him that the incorporation papers for Pacheco and Chino, Private Investigations, Inc. were done and he’d sent them to the Secretary of State’s office. He’d also completed the forms for a PI license for the firm, as well as individual licenses for Ray and Tyee, although getting information out of Tyee had been a challenge. All of this had been accomplished the day before, and very soon they would officially be in business.
“So are you looking forward to being Tyee Chino, PI?”
“I think so Ray. Although this isn’t a path I’d ever thought about. Kind of thought I would just do a little fishing and drinking and not much else. I hope I can be useful.”
“My god, what’s this—a fucking humble Apache? Come on, where are the fuck-you-white-man jabs?”
“Well, maybe I’m mellowing. Finding harmony with my inner self.”
“Not sure I can handle this new spiritual Indian. I think I like the fuck-you-white-man guy better.”
“Well, in that case: fuck you white man. Maybe it’s time Indian get to drive car—why are you always the leader?”
Ray glanced at Tyee to make sure he wasn’t serious, but he could never quite tell. He saw a travel center up ahead and took the exit. “Think I need some coffee.”
They pulled into the travel center and Ray gave Tyee the keys. He went inside and got two travel cups of coffee, then got back in on the passenger side. “And don’t let me hear you complaining about the Indian always being the chauffeur.”
New Mexico was a big state and had a lot of variety in terrain. There were mountain ranges on both sides of the I-25 as they headed north to Albuquerque. The mountains on the west side had a lot more trees, as well as huge mesas. Ray wasn’t sure what caused these formations, but was always amazed at how flat their tops were—it was as if a mountain had risen up and then someone had come along and sliced off the top. He knew that if you actually climbed a mesa the terrain wasn’t as flat as it looked from a distance, but from the highway they looked as if they’d been cut with a knife.
As they got closer to Albuquerque, the traffic started to increase. They hadn’t seen many buildings along the road, mostly because much of the land right off the highway was owned by the government, so any developments weren’t visible from the road. As they entered the Albuquerque area, it was as if all of a sudden an abundance of civilization had sprung up out of nothing. Coming in from the south the area was fairly barren, and then suddenly it was urban. They quickly came up on the exit that would take them downtown. Tyee seemed to know his way around Albuquerque and didn’t make any wrong turns.
They exited onto Central Avenue, then turned onto another street that took them to Roma Avenue NW. Tyee found the headquarters, and they entered the parking garage. They found the elevators, went to the fifth floor, and found themselves in a reception area. The officer behind the counter asked who they were looking for, and Ray gave her the detective’s name. She asked them to have a seat.
It wasn’t long before Detective Taylor came out and introduced himself, asking what their visit was about. Ray told him, and he escorted them back to his office. Ray could tell that the detective was mostly payi
ng attention to Tyee. Ray had become used to Tyee, but he knew that he was a pretty imposing figure. Plus he had on his Indian-hate-all-white-man face. The detective wasn’t going to turn his back on this angry mountain of a man.
“Appreciate you seeing us. As I said, we’re here about Ed Jackson. I’m a friend of Mike Jackson, Ed’s father. Mike’s understandably very upset about his son’s murder and asked if I could help him find out more about what happened. And we wanted to let you know that Mike is staying with his other son, Luke, for the moment. I have the address and phone number in case you need to get in touch with him.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not much more than I told the father when I notified him of his son’s death. I know this sort of thing is terrible on the family, but it looks like his son was involved with some pretty bad people. The families always want to believe that their son or daughter was innocent and can’t understand how something like this could happen. Obviously there’s no question that Ed shouldn’t have been killed, but our guess is that this was a direct result of his contact with people engaged in criminal activity.”
Something about this detective was rubbing Ray the wrong way. Hell, all he has to do is tell us what he knows—we don’t need a fucking lecture about it being the victim’s fault.
“Well yeah, I think we all know, including his father, that Ed was doing things he shouldn’t have been doing. We’re just looking for any information you might have to help us better understand what happened.”
“Well to tell you the truth, Ed wasn’t exactly on our radar. He was picked up because of a request from a task force that was being headed up by the FBI. I think it had something to do with fake documents being sold to illegals or something—anyway this was a task force of several federal agencies. He was arrested at a trade show at the convention center and charged with possession of forged collectable documents—once again not my specialty, so I don’t know much about it. What I heard is this was a ‘tip of the iceberg’ sort of thing and involved millions of dollars. Anyway, he was questioned by the FBI, who no doubt were trying to get him to cooperate with them to find the bigger guys, but he refused. He was bailed out by his father and twelve hours later he’s dead. Executed with a small caliber weapon—shot between the eyes. We have no weapon, no evidence at all really, and no suspects—if this gets solved, it’ll more than likely be by the FBI.”