by Don Bullis
―Oh.‖ Bunting wiped sweat off his forehead with his index finger. ―To McCarty's Village. To Darlene's aunt's house.‖
―So you're telling me that you've been in and around McCarty's Village, and Budville, for the better part of a week, but at the precise time that Bud Rice and Blanche Brown were slaughtered like Christian martyrs, you were fifty, sixty miles away, with a bunch of people willing to provide you with an alibi.‖
―That's the way it was, sir.‖
Wilcoxson stood and leaned across the desk. He spat his words at Bunting's face. ―Flossie Rice said she saw you kill her husband and her best friend. You! She saw you shoot them down! Now who in the hell do you think I'm going to believe? Her, or you and a bunch of goddamn drunk Indians? You can figure that out, can't you?‖ ―But I didn't....‖
The ADA stood and turned his back on the suspect. ―Go ahead and book him, Morris. Be sure and get a good set of prints so we can match them up with the ones we got in the store and take a half dozen Polaroids of him. I expect your criminal agents‘ll want mug shots to shore up the ID on this bastard. Charge him with two open counts of murder. Make that first degree. With aggravation. I'm going home to bed. I'll have to be back out here in the morning for arraignment.‖
―You gonna need me for that, Don?‖ Candelaria asked.
―No. Jack and I can handle it. Thanks for your help, Mo. Be seeing you.‖
CHAPTER VII
Doc Spurlock arrived in Villa de Cubero on Monday at 4:00 a.m. on the dot. He thought Mat Torrez showed signs of a shortage of sleep. Dark bags under the captain‘s eyes made him look older than his years. Doc poured them each a cup of coffee. Mat would like to have laced it with vodka, but he wouldn‘t do it in front of Doc.
―I got more coffee in the car, Cap. Stole my kid's Flash Gordon thermos bottle.‖
―Muchisimas gracias, Doc. Gunn‘s Cafe doesn't open until six. I would have died and gone to hell by then without some coffee.‖
―So, Cap, they got the guy, right?‖
―They got a guy. Flossie seems to think he is the one.‖ ―If that's the case, and I don't mean no disrespect, what in the hell
do you need of me out here in the middle of the night?‖
―Believe me when I tell you that I‘d much rather be at home in my own bed than holed-up in this basudero, but there‘s a lot of work to be done. We‘ve got to confirm the identification and get statements from some others who claim this hombre was around here just before the killings. We need to do a job in searching the suspect's car. He didn't have a gun on him, but he might have hidden it in the car. We need it bad because I don't see any physical evidence otherwise. If we don't find it in the car, we'll probably need to get warrants for wherever he has been staying around here.‖
―Correct me if I'm wrong, Cap, but it sounds to me like you ain't completely sold on the suspect. What's his name?‖
―Bunting. Larry Bunting. Let's just say I want to be ready. We have one, maybe two eyewitnesses, and I am not sure how well they‘ll stand up in court. All the rest of it is purely circumstantial and remember, we haven‘t heard the suspect's side of the story, either. A lot of work, Doc.‖
―What's wrong with the eyewitnesses?‖
―In my opinion the ID is questionable. Ok?‖
Doc opened the door to Virgil Vee‘s knock. ―Morning, gents,‖ Vee
said. ―Notice I didn't say good morning.‖
―Morning Virgil,‖ Mat Torrez said. ―You get the pictures?‖ ―No sir, I didn't.‖
―Why not?‖ He said it more sharply than he intended. He rubbed
his temples with thumb and middle finger.
―Not my fault, Captain. Jack Elkins said Lt. Candelaria took the pictures with him. All he had was one each, front and side, for the booking file.‖
―Where‘s Candelaria?‖
―I don't know,‖ Vee said, pouring himself a cup of coffee from his own thermos. ―Jack said he left a half hour before I got there. I tried to raise him on the radio. Negative contact. What can I say?‖
―Must of stopped to get something to eat, Cap.‖
―Probably. Well, if we have to go to Gallup in the morning to get the pictures from him, that is what we‘ll do. Damn. You‘d think one thing could go right.‖ The Captain drank some hot coffee and opened his eyes wide as if so show that he was wide-awake. ―Now, here‘s our plan of action. Doc, you‘re in charge of fieldwork and Vee, you‘re his right arm for now. You boys answer to me only.‖
―Now, Cap, that can be a real hard thing....‖
―Anyone tries to interfere with what you‘re doing, or anyone refuses to cooperate, you let me know. I'll have Chief Sam Black on them real fast. I'll try and build a fire under some of the guys who were out here and get some reports for you, but you know how that goes. It will probably be a week. With a suspect in custody, no one will think there‘s any hurry. In the meantime....‖
Two knocks on the door and Morris Candelaria stepped inside. ―Debbie Smith told me where you were, Mat. Hope you don't mind?‖
―No, Mo, not a bit. Cup of coffee?‖
―No thanks. Just had breakfast in Albuquerque. Like to get some sleep when I get home. Wanted to drop off the pictures. No one said anything so I figured I was supposed to give ‗em to you.‖
He handed Doc a manila envelope. ―Thanks, Lieutenant.‖
―Don't envy you on this one, Mat.‖
―I am not real fond of it myself, Mo, but what is your main problem with it?‖
―That identification. You saw it. Fregado Freddy Finch shines a flashlight into a man's face for a few seconds and Flossie says he's the killer. Hell, I'm not sure I'd recognize my mother-in-law under such circumstances, and she lives with me. Good defense lawyer will eat our lunch on an ID like that.‖
―It was less than ideal, Mo, and that is a fact.‖
―More than that, though. Something is real wrong with this whole deal. I mean, we grab this man, and we don't give him a chance to say nothing. Old Gooseberry slam-bangs him around and we lock him up for murder. He told us he has an alibi.‖
―Who did?‖
―Bunting did. He claims he was in Albuquerque at the time of the killings, and he claims to have alibi witnesses.‖
Torrez began rubbing his temple again. ―Maybe it'll be caca.‖
―Maybe, Mat, maybe, but I'll say one other thing. I‘ve arrested more than a few felons in my career, but never have I arrested one who was traveling with a wife and two children, babies, really, and a teenage brother-in-law. Also two cats, a dog and a turtle in the car. If all of that's a disguise, then it's a pretty damn good one, you ask me.‖
―All of them animals was in the car, Lieutenant?‖ Doc asked.
―Wait 'til you see it,‖ Candelaria said. It‘s jammed with luggage, hanging clothes, a baby basket. Hardly room for three adults and two little kids. Doesn't strike me as a getaway car. Gentlemen, I‘m tired and I'm going home to bed. Call Gallup if you need me.‖ The lieutenant stood up, saluted with two fingers and left.
―What‘d you reckon, Cap?‖ Doc said as the door closed.
Torrez, elbows on knees, rested his chin on his folded fingers. ―Doesn't change anything except we'll have to check out the alibi on top of everything else. Tomorrow or next week. Here is what we do today. I'll get ahold of Don Wilcoxson and see if he can arrange a lineup for this afternoon. I want you to get those Fernandez people to confirm these photos and then get them to Los Lunas for the lineup. Threaten to close up the bar and arrest them for aggravated mopery if they balk. See if you can find some other witnesses who saw Bunting in the bar Saturday evening and get those people to Los Lunas, too.
―I'll also get ahold of Jim Mitchell and get him working on a search warrant for Bunting's car. He should have it by tomorrow at the latest. That's your next chore. I want that car inventoried down to the pennies in the seat cushions.‖
―Again, Cap, and meaning no disrespect, what's the big hurry on all this? The guy is in the
slam. He ain't going nowhere. We could do the lineup tomorrow, and search the car the next day.‖
―Doc, I'm tired. You're tired and so is Vee. But I want a wrap on this case just as soon as we can, for two reasons the first of which is that I need to get back to that mess up in Tierra Amarilla. The second is that I want Scarberry off my back. I want to eat my Thanksgiving dinner with Nita. In peace.‖
―10-4, Cap. We'll get right after it. Where you gonna be?‖
―Right here. I'll keep the room for a couple days. Close to the scene of the crime, and all that.‖ The two officers stood up to go. ―Friday after Thanksgiving, go back to your regular work shifts. We should have what we need to hang this hombreby then.‖
―Ok, Cap. Be seein' ya.‖
Mat waited until he heard both cars drive away before he took a pint flask of vodka from under the mattress. He drank deeply before he laid back and closed his eyes; but sleep wouldn‘t come.
Doc's watch read 5:05 a.m. The two criminal agents drove into Grants and ate breakfast before they went back to Los Cerritos and got Frank and Delfina Fernandez out of bed.
Col. Charles Scarberry listened intently to the report Captain Mat Torrez made to him by phone from the general store in Villa de Cubero at 5:30 on the afternoon of Monday, November 20. Torrez said Frank and Delfina Fernandez confirmed that the person in the photograph of Larry E. Bunting was the same person who drank Wild Turkey whiskey in Los Cerritos Bar at about seven-thirty on Saturday evening, November 18th. Not only that, but Frank and Delfina provided agents Spurlock and Valverde with the names of four other women who were in the bar when the suspect was there. Three of them were able to make positive identifications from mug shots of Bunting as the man in the bar. The fourth one said all gringos looked alike to her. State Police criminal agents transported the witnesses to Los Lunas and all five picked Bunting out of a lineup arranged by Don Wilcoxson. Flossie Rice and Nettie Buckley also identified Bunting as the killer.
And there was more. Doc took Bunting's shoes back to Budville and showed them to Flossie. Her identification of them was not positive but she confirmed that they were identical to the type of shoes worn by the killer. Nettie agreed.
―What about the gun, Torrez? You find the gun?‖
―No sir. Troy McGee was out with a couple of Boy Scout troops and some Job Corps people walking the roads in every direction. They didn't find anything.‖
―You search the car? You know I want that car searched from bumper to bumper.‖
―We didn't search it yet.‖
―Why not? Goddamnit, I told you….‖
―I talked to Jim Mitchell half an hour ago. He just then had got the warrant signed. We'll search it first thing in the morning.‖
―What the hell‘s Mitchell got to do with you doin' your job?‖
―Wilcoxson said he wanted a warrant before we touched the car. Jim got a warrant from the J. P. there in Grants. That's all.‖
―You don't work for District Attorney, Torrez. You work for me and I told you I wanted that goddamn car searched and it don't require no approval from Wilcoxson, Mitchell, or anyone else. Now I want that fuckin' car searched, and yet tonight. Is that clear?‖
―Can't do it, Chief.‖
―Why the hell not?‖ Scarberry yelled.
In his mind's eye, Mat could see Scarberry's face turn red and beads of sweat pop out on his bald head. He saw the muscles in the colonel's face and neck tighten and his eyes squint down to threadthin lines. The captain smiled to himself. ―Mitchell has the warrant in his pocket and he is on his way to Albuquerque. He won't be back until morning. He said he‘d meet Spurlock, Vee and me in Grants at eight o'clock in the a.m.‖
―I just told you that I don't give a good goddamn about Mitchell and his warrant. I want that car searched, and I don't mean tomorrow morning, either. I mean yet tonight!‖
―I guess, Colonel, that I'll just wait and do it like the DA said, and that's what I‘ll report to Chief Black when I talk to him in about five minutes from now.‖
―What are you doin' talking to the chief?‖
―I got a message to call him. Just following orders is all.‖
―Just get the goddamn job done, Captain,‖ Scarberry said through clenched teeth and he slammed down the telephone.
Mat purchased a new pint of vodka before he returned to his room. He half filled a plastic cup with coffee from Spurlock's Flash Gordon thermos bottle and started to add vodka. He changed his mind and poured the coffee back into the thermos and stashed the booze under the mattress beside an empty bottle. He got into his car and drove east on the Old Road past the Budville Trading Company before he made a U turn and parked in front of the Dixie‘s Place. His day's work completed he felt as though he deserved a nice cold bottle of beer. Or two. All he ever drank in public was beer. Sundown an hour gone left behind a cool evening of clean mountain air. Mat had no need to call Sam Black. The chief hadn't left any message but Scarberry didn't know it and wouldn't ask. Dixie‘s Place was empty except for the old lady, Kathryn McBride, who ran the place.
In years long gone by, Dixie‘s Place had been one of the flashiest tourist traps on Route 66 between Chicago and Los Angeles. The long, low, pink-colored building, decorated with what White people considered Indian symbols, was home to armadillos, Gila monsters, rattlesnakes, scorpions and tarantulas, all kept in glass cages surrounded by shelves of gee-gaws that tourists incredibly bought for souvenirs: tin ash trays and copper trinkets, plastic bows and arrows, imitation deerskin moccasins and brightly colored picture post cards, all of it emblazoned with Zia Indian sun signs or caricatures of roadrunners, both popular symbols of the state of New Mexico.
Several years before 1967, absentee owners allowed the place to deteriorate and tourists stopped stopping. Soon it went on the market block and Bud Rice bought it. He set the snakes, scorpions and tarantulas free—Virgil Vee told Spurlock he thought Bud did it out of professional courtesy—and closed the souvenir shop. He closed the restaurant too and boarded up the west end of the building. Bud kept the liquor license and bar and leased them to an old horse trader named Jess Ross who housed a half dozen thoroughbreds in some old mule barns out behind the main building. Ross hired old man Teodoro Tafoya to mind the horses, sweep out the place and tend the bar as needed. Ross spent most of his time sitting on a particular bar stool drinking tumblers of straight bourbon whiskey. One morning Tafoya found Ross with his head down on the bar, his face in his own vomit. The old man thought Ross had passed out. It had happened before. But he wasn't just unconscious. He was dead.
Kathryn McBride and her twenty-five year old granddaughter, Karen, arrived a day or two later with deputy sheriff Lupe Soto in tow. The elder McBride announced that the thoroughbreds actually belonged to her and Deputy Soto produced official looking paperwork to prove it. Jess Ross also owed Mrs. McBride a considerable sum of money and she could prove that, too. She told Bud that she and Karen would take over Jess‘ liquor inventory and lease. Bud agreed. He didn't care who operated the bar as long as he got his rent on time. Mrs. McBride did nothing to improve the place and spent her days puttering around the bar, serving drinks, in her blue nightgown and pink housecoat. Karen McBride tended the horses.
While Joe Garcia‘s saloon a quarter mile west did about ninety percent of Budville‘s booze business, Dixie‘s Place was sometimes busy, especially on those evenings when tall, very attractive and very blond, Karen tended bar. The young woman felt comfortable in a 36 D cup bra, when she wore one. With her western-cut shirt, open by three or four snaps, she sometimes favored male customers with a stingy glimpse of what made her shirt pook out in front the way it did.
Mat didn‘t know any of that when he mounted a stool and leaned his elbows on the bar. Small and unattractive, the saloon had an Lshaped bar with the short end, which would accommodate five stools, just inside the door to the right while the long side extended along the far wall. The end of the room to the left was closed off from the rest of the building b
y some old bed sheets pinned together and strung up on a length of clothesline. Patrons were obliged to pass through the sheets to get to the rest rooms. The whole place was musty and motheaten. Mat put a dollar bill on the bar and ordered a bottle of Hamm's beer.
―You one of the cops working on Bud's murder, are you?‖
―Yes ma'am. State Police. Criminal Bureau.‖ He took a long pull on the bottle.
―I didn't know cops could drink when they worked.‖ Mrs. McBride wasn't rude and she made the remark as if she had a genuine interest in cops drinking on duty.
―I'll tell you, señora, I've been on this case for close to forty-eight hours straight, but I‘m not working now. I am off duty. ¿Esta bien?‖
―Fine with me. Beer's on the house. Keep your money.‖
―Thank you.‖
―That guy was in here, you know.‖
―What guy?‖
―The one that killed Bud and Blanche. Right over in that booth there.‖ She pointed to the middle one of three red, plasticupholstered, booths arranged along the wall adjacent to the front door.
Torrez took one of the Polaroids of Bunting out of his shirt pocket. ―Him?‖
―That's him. Looks just like that drawing the other cop showed us. It's him all right.‖
―When would that have been?‖
―Why, Saturday afternoon, of course. Not long before he went over there and killed Bud and Blanche.‖
―Was he alone?‖
―Oh, no. He was with the Indian woman. And an Indian boy.‖
―What did he have to drink?‖
―Beer, I guess. She's the one came up to the bar and got the drinks. I don't do table service, you know. She got two beers and an orange soda. I remember that. She had on a red car coat. She did it twice. I thought the beer was for him and her and the orange for the boy. I couldn't swear to it, though. A lot of the Indians let their kids drink beer, you know.‖
―No whiskey? You didn't serve them any liquor?‖
―No. I'd remember that.‖
―And what time would it have been?‖
―Oh, I don't know. Five o'clock. Maybe six. I don't pay that much attention to the time. No real purpose to it out here in this forsaken desert. Hour to hour, day to day, it‘s all pretty much the same, but I do remember November 18. At least something happened around here on that date.‖
