by Ted Clifton
“No.”
“Tito, a couple of hours ago one of your bartenders was arrested for illegal possession of a controlled substance. The amount he had on him will place him in the dealer category, and he’s facing maybe twenty years in prison. He’s decided that you should go down with him. He’s given us a statement that implicates you in the distribution of drugs through your clubs. At this time I’m placing you under arrest for drug trafficking.”
“Damn bartenders. I always hated every wiseass, useless bartender who ever worked for me. Look Sheriff, maybe I was moving a little pot every now and then—but hell, that’s not a major crime.”
“Not the story we’re getting. It seems you’ve been distributing significant quantities of heroin and cocaine, both in Ruidoso and Albuquerque. We believe that, as we start to dig further, the bartender here is going to be just the first who’ll be willing to point the finger at you.”
“Look, shit, man. I need a deal. What kind of deal can I get?”
Ray had been waiting for this kind of opening.
“Tito, my name’s Ray Pacheco and this is my partner Tyee Chino.”
“Ah, yes, the fucking Indian who broke my bartender’s arm.”
“Actually, I believe it was only a dislocated shoulder.” Tyee couldn’t help himself, he smiled.
“Tito, we work for the Governor. He wants things cleaned up here in Ruidoso and we want to know who killed Marino, Rodriguez, and the racetrack stable man, Esparza. If you can help us the Governor will be grateful, and can help you a lot.”
“That’s just a bunch of fuckin’ talk. Tell me exactly what will happen if I give you the information—and I want it in writing.”
Asshole had suddenly turned into a lawyer. “Tito, I think you’re misunderstanding what’s happening here. If you decide not to give us information then what will happen is you’ll be charged with every crime we can think of, and with the help of your not-so-loyal employees you’ll be looking at forty plus years—and guess what, wiseass, at your age that’s very much like a life sentence. You’ve got about five minutes to make up your mind or there’s no deal.”
Ray turned and started to leave the room.
“Okay, hold on. I just need someone to give me their word that I won’t get more than five years. Hey, I’m going to give you the big guys—you’ve got to give me a break.”
“Tito, I’ll give you my word that I will—and the Governor will—work to get the best deal possible for you. We’ll go to bat for you as a cooperating witness. I can’t guarantee anything beyond that—the other option is we put you back on the street, where it looks like you’re at some risk of being shot again.”
“Fuck.”
“Is that some kind of answer, Tito?”
“Yeah. Okay I’ll tell you what I know. But look, I may not know what you think I know.”
“Do you know who killed Marino?”
“No. There were plenty of people who wanted him dead, and a bunch of them are here in Ruidoso. But I never heard anyone claim to have killed him, or even to know who did it. What I heard was thank god he was dead, but no bragging or anything. Most everyone thought it must have been someone from his past who found him here, shot him, and left.”
“Do you know who killed Rodriguez?”
“Jeez. Man I don’t know who killed anyone. Okay, I’m a small time drug dealer—I don’t know anything about killing.”
“Let me ask you again, do you know who shot you?”
“No. I was leaving my cabin and bam—I was shot. I didn’t see anything. Then I was on the ground and figured whoever did it would be there any minute to put a bullet in my head. Next thing I know my nosy neighbor, Mrs. Pratt, was screaming up a storm and running around yelling for help. I guess that scared off whoever shot me. Mrs. Pratt finally calmed down enough to call for help.”
“Okay, you don’t know who shot you. Who were you getting your drugs from?”
“Sheriff Rodriguez.”
“Sheriff Rodriguez was supplying you with drugs?”
“Well it was actually usually one of his deputies, but they worked for Rodriquez.”
“Did you ever have any personal contact with Rodriguez?”
“Sure. A lot of the time he’d be the one who collected the money. Plus, he’d come into the bar a lot. He was always acting like a big shot—most everyone in there hated his guts, but he thought he was something special.”
“Where was Rodriguez getting the drugs?”
“Never really knew, but almost had to be Mexico. Also had something to do with the racetrack.”
“What do you mean it had something to do with the racetrack?”
“A couple of times Rodriguez got drunk and said he had to go to Ruidoso Downs and pick up his shipment.”
“Did he mention anyone at the racetrack by name?”
“No, but I always thought it was the stable manager, Esparza, the one who got shot.”
“Was the police chief involved in any of this?”
“The police chief? You mean Nelson?”
“Yeah.”
“Nelson is a fucking joke—what would he be involved in?”
Sheriff James stepped in and started getting the names of the deputies involved and trying to pin down dates and how the quantities of drugs that were involved.
Ray and Tyee stepped out into the hallway.
“That didn’t go where I thought it would.” Ray was disappointed they hadn’t gotten more.
“No. Why is someone trying to kill Tito if that’s all he knows?”
“Yeah, good question. I’d say Tito is holding something back, maybe he’s trying to negotiate, or maybe he’s just plain stupid, but there’s no way we’re done with Tito.”
Dick Franklin
The next morning Ray and Tyee headed to the breakfast place next door, Bud’s—possibly the best reason to visit Ruidoso. The food was just amazing and they really appreciated the low-key atmosphere. When they walked in, Bud saw them and waved. They found an empty booth and seated themselves. The waitress brought menus and coffee and a beautiful smile. Ray decided she must be Mrs. Bud. They placed their orders.
“I guess one approach might be just to wait until everyone gets killed and there is only one person left standing—must be the killer.” Tyee always took the direct and simple path to a solution.
“The, we-have-no-idea-what-to-do-next approach.”
“Exactly.”
“First thing is our schedule. I have no idea what might happen today, but I think we need to leave tomorrow morning. Obviously we would both rather be at home, but also I’d like for you to spend more time on the Internet getting as many details as you can on all of our players.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Their food was served and their attention shifted to the delicious-smelling offering. This was one great place to eat breakfast.
After their meal they headed down to the sheriff’s office to check in with Sheriff James. Ray thought that after visiting with the Sheriff they should go to the racetrack and see if Dick Franklin was available for some additional questions. Sometimes the only thing you can do in an investigation, when there’s no clear path ahead, is to keep poking the various parties until something pops.
Sheriff James seemed glad to see them, but was obviously much more focused on the day-to-day operation of the department. He didn’t show a great deal of interest in the Marino matter, but he was concerned about the shooting at the racetrack and the Tito ambush.
“We found casings at the Tito cabin, just like at the racetrack. Somebody is being very sloppy to leave those behind. We’ve sent them to the lab, but our initial examination seems to indicate that they came from the same gun. Of course that doesn’t mean the same shooter, but that sure would be my guess right now. As soon as we know for sure it was the same rifle, we’ll let you know.”
“How’s Tito doing?”
“They released him from the hospital, so we have him in jail right now. The prosecutor is
working on the charges to be filed—and, yes, he heard from the governor’s office about going easy if Tito will give us something we can use. So far there hasn’t been a lot, although it does look like we’ll be able to charge a couple more of the old deputies based in his testimony.”
Ray and Tyee chatted with the sheriff about how things were going in general in Lincoln County. The sheriff was very upbeat about the overall reduction of criminal activity in the community and the type of support he was receiving from the citizens. He said that crime was way down, and he was very pleased to be a part of the team that had turned things around. He thought getting Tito behind bars was the last big step toward returning Ruidoso and the county to being a well-run, law-abiding community. Ray made a note to inform the governor once again about what a great job Sheriff James was doing.
Next stop was Ruidoso Downs and a visit with Dick Franklin. “Since Franklin admitted he was concerned about drugs being moved through the racetrack, do you think that eliminates him as part of the drug trafficking?” Tyee was driving while Ray rested his eyes.
“Don’t know Tyee. Franklin sure seems to be at the center of something. But if he was the drug dealer, why’d he bring that up to us—unless he thought it was coming out anyway and maybe it was a way to deflect the spotlight from him. Could the stable manager actually have run the racetrack operation without Franklin knowing?”
“I keep going back to when I knew him in school. It was obvious he could be less than honest, maybe even sneaky, but I just don’t think there was anyone who’d say the guy was a drug dealer type—and no way a killer. He just wasn’t that person.”
“Well people change.”
“Yep, they do.”
They parked in the track lot and went around back to the administrative offices. The doors were locked and there didn’t seem to be anyone around. They walked toward the stable area, looking for someone. In the back there were a couple of workers cleaning the barn area.
“We’re looking for Mr. Franklin. Have you seen him?”
Both men shrugged their shoulders and went back to work—apparently English wasn’t their first language. Ray attempted his embarrassing imitation of someone who could speak Spanish and just got smiles from the workers—he had no idea what he’d just said. He finished with “buenos dias,” and they left. He always regretted not making the effort to learn Spanish.
As they went behind the barn, they found another man working on a tractor that was apparently used to level the track area.
“Good morning.”
The man greeted Ray with a nod. “We’re looking for Mr. Franklin. Have you seen him today?”
“Not today. And that SOB better show up pretty soon, because we’re supposed to be paid. Plus we’ve got a ton of work to complete if we’re going to be ready to open the track next week, and Dick hasn’t been around the last two days. This time of year he’d normally have hired ten or more extra hands to help us get ready. I have no idea what the hell is going on. Do you know where he is?”
“Have you tried his house?” For this obvious question Tyee received a hard look from the worker.
“Hell yes. I’ve tried everywhere—even in Tularosa. They say he’s not there and then just hang up. If he doesn’t show up in the next hour, we’re going to walk and this track isn’t going to open on time.”
They left the unhappy worker and went back to the Jeep. Taking their own advice, they decided to swing by Franklin’s house. As soon as they pulled up, they could see that more than likely nobody was home, and probably hadn’t been in days. There were newspapers on the driveway and the mailbox appeared to be full. Just in case, they parked and went to the front door and rang the bell. No answer.
“Looks like Franklin has flown the coop.”
“Or maybe the guy with the .30-30 got him.”
“Guess we better look around the house.” They did, but found nothing.
They drove down the hill to a service station, and while Tyee filled up the tank Ray called Sheriff James. He filled him in on what they’d found that morning and said that it appeared that Franklin had left, although it was also possible that he was another shooting victim. The sheriff said he’d send a patrol car to the house to search the outside again—he was reluctant to push too fast, what with Franklin being a leading citizen, but he said he’d ask a judge to give them permission to enter the house later today if nothing changed, for a welfare check. Ray thought he should just bust the door in and see if anyone was there—but Ray wasn’t the sheriff of Lincoln County.
“What now, oh noble leader?”
“I think we should go to Tularosa and see if we can visit with Dick or Isabella Franklin.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They were on the right side of town for it, so they were quickly out of Ruidoso and headed toward Tularosa, about forty minutes down the mountain. They had passed through this area on each of their trips without paying too much attention to it. The highway went through some commercial areas, but didn’t approach the neighborhood where the Ortega hacienda was located. They had gotten directions from the sheriff when they’d considered stopping there on their previous trip.
They turned off of the main highway and headed into the foothills. After about two miles, they found the entrance to the estate. The driveway was very long and climbed high into the foothills. The entire property became more lush and manicured as they went. Climbing over a small rise, they could see the house—it was almost unbelievable. Located in this remote area was a huge Spanish hacienda with amazing plants and flowers, looking for all the world like something from a Hollywood movie.
“Wow. That has to be worth millions even here in the back waters of New Mexico. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You never knew this was here when you lived in Mescalero?”
“Never. I didn’t live far from here but the res was like another world—we didn’t socialize outside of our designated place.”
They pulled up in front of the house. The place looked abandoned, but within a short time armed guards appeared carrying semiautomatic weapons. One of the guards came over to the Jeep and opened the door.
“Maybe you didn’t see the private property signs.”
“We are here to see Dick or Isabella Franklin—we’re officials with the governor’s office.”
The guard gave a snort. “Who gives a fuck—I said turn around and get out of here,” he said in a very unpleasant voice.
“I think you should tell someone that we’re here before you threaten us.”
“Listen you dumb shit . . .”
“Stop. I’ll handle this.” This came from an elderly man who had the bearing of a king—or maybe a god. But he also had an odd cast to him that gave the impression that he wasn’t fully aware of where he was.
All the guards backed away as the old man walked down the stairs toward the Jeep. Ray and Tyee remained sitting in the vehicle.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Ray Pacheco and this is Tyee Chino. We work for the governor and would like to speak to Dick or Isabella Franklin.”
“I have met your governor—he’s a buffoon. What does the governor want with Dick Franklin or my daughter?”
“Some people have been killed in Ruidoso and there’s some reason to believe it’s related to drug operations that are using the Ruidoso Downs racetrack as their delivery point. We’d like to discuss this with Dick Franklin. We wanted to talk to your daughter to confirm some earlier statements Franklin made regarding his whereabouts when one of these killings took place.”
“My daughter is divorcing Dick Franklin because he’s weak. Franklin isn’t here. You should leave before you offend me and I have these men kill you.” He turned, as if dismissing a pair of stray dogs, and returned to his magnificent abode.
Ray eyed the guards and realized there was no doubt that with nothing more than the flick of the old guy’s wrist these men would kill them. He started the Jeep and gradually left. It seeme
d to take a long time to finally reach the highway and get headed back to Ruidoso.
“You know, I had the feeling that for no reason at all that old man might have had us killed.”
“Yeah. I had the same feeling. Not very comfortable to be around someone who’d do that on the slightest impulse. That’s one very frightening guy.”
“Do you think Dick or Isabella were there?”
“Tyee, I have a bad feeling about Dick Franklin. After meeting Isabella’s father, I think this isn’t a family that would have a friendly divorce. I have no idea about Isabella. All I’ve heard about her is how beautiful she is, but if she inherited anything from her father she could be trouble. What did you think of her in school?”
“I didn’t know her at all. I saw her a few times with Dick, and there is no question she was a knockout. Most people described her as cold and a little scary, but I don’t remember ever talking to her.”
They headed back to Ruidoso and went to the sheriff’s office.
“Do you want to file charges against them Ray?” Sheriff James had listened to their story and was amazed there could be such an armed camp in his county.
“No, I don’t think that would move things forward. But if you ever have to go in there, you better be prepared. These are very bad people with lots of weapons.”
“I think it’s time we head to the Franklin house and get inside.”
Ray and Tyee followed the three patrol cars back to Franklin’s house. They stayed in the Jeep as the deputies busted in, then almost immediately came back out and got on the radio. Ray and Tyee stepped out of the Jeep and waited.
“Well, we’ve got another body. Dick Franklin is dead inside—probably since some time yesterday. It’s either a suicide or someone made it look like a suicide. There’s a note. You and Tyee can go in if you want and take a quick look. We can meet at the office and go over the note.”
Ray and Tyee agreed. They entered the house. Franklin was sitting at a large desk in a home office. He’d been shot in the right temple and had a large part of his skull missing. It was obvious he’d been dead for hours. The gun, a .38 special, was on the ground by the desk. They examined the area around the desk and the rest of the room, but didn’t see anything significant. They left for the sheriff’s office as the deputies went about their crime scene responsibilities.
