Bloodville

by Don Bullis

  ―You seem to have that all down pat.‖

  ―You asked me to tell you.‖

  ―Yes I did. So, you‘re sayin' they didn't leave here at all from six on Saturday evenin' until eight on Sunday evenin'?‖

  ―If Larry or his wife would have left, I would know because their little baby cries when they are not there. The baby is very close to her mother.‖

  ―Can you tell us what kind of a car they were drivin'?‖

  ―It was small and blue. I don't know what kind of license it had. The last time I knew, they had an Oregon license, but now since they been in Chicago and other places, I don't know.‖

  ―How long have you known Larry Bunting, Mrs. Concho?‖

  ―Since he married my sister-in-law in Texas.‖

  ―I don't mean to argue with you, ma'am, but I was under the impression that Larry and Darlene was married up in Washington State.‖

  ―Oh. Maybe it was. I don't remember about things like that real well. Washington. Maybe it was.‖

  ―Thank you Mrs. Concho. We'll get your statement typed up, and your husband's too, and then we'll stop by and get you to read them over and sign them. Be all right with you?‖

  ―Yes, officer.‖

  ―Oh, one other thing. How much did Austin have to drink on Saturday evening.‖

  ―Maybe a six-pack. Maybe more. He drinks a lot.‖

  ―What about Larry? Was he drinking too?‖

  ―Oh, no. Larry don't drink.‖

  ―Larry doesn't drink what?‖

  ―You know, beer. Wine.‖

  ―Not at all?‖

  ―I never seen him, and Darlene says he don't. I think it makes him sick or something.‖

  ―Thanks again, Mrs. Concho.‖

  The officers drove to the Village Inn Pancake House for coffee.

  ―I don't think she helped our boy too much,‖ Vee said.

  ―She corroborated what Austin said, for whatever that's worth.‖

  ―Not much, I'd say. If she can't tell the difference between Texas and Washington, a good prosecutor is going make her testimony look thin as toilet paper. And what was that about Larry being in Chicago? I don't recall any reference to Chicago, do you?‖

  ―No, but maybe he went through basic at Great Lakes. That's just north of Chicago. 'Course, that'd be a while back. You're right. It don't add much, does it?‖

    

  Mat sat on the side of his bed in room seven of the Villa de Cubero Motel after the meeting with the Acoma Governor. At least, he thought, things were in motion. Spurlock and Vee were in Albuquerque working on Bunting's alibi. Elkins and Mitchell were handling the search at McCarty's Village. Madison and Wilcoxson were in charge of the physical evidence, what little there was. Mat swallowed three fingers of vodka and chased it with a warm Coke before he took a nap.

  A loud knock at the door awakened him. Wally Gunn had a phone call for him in the store. Torrez listened as Doc reported on the interviews with Austin and Charlotte Concho.

  ―So I gather, Doc, you don‘t think the Concho‘s statements provide much of an alibi.‖

  ―Not by theirselves I don‘t think so.‖

  ―Ok. I want you to canvass Concho's neighbors. See if any of them remembers Bunting being around there on Saturday evening. Stop by the car wash, too, and see if anyone there remembers Bunting, or his car.‖

  ―Sure thing, Cap. Then what?‖

  ―Write up your reports. Take your time and do it right. Meet me at the district office in Albuquerque at thirteen hundred hours on Thursday, and bring it all with you: reports, statements, everything. We need to take a look around and see where we are. Tell Vee to get his reports caught up, too.‖

  ―You sure you want to meet on Thursday, Cap? That's Thanksgivin‘ Day.‖

  ―I must be tired. Thanksgiving. Right. Make it mid-morning on Friday.‖

  ―10-4. Mitchell do any good at McCarty's Village?‖

  ―Don't know. I haven't talked to him.‖

  ―Maybe I'll stop in Grants tonight.‖

  ―Do that, Doc. Thanks.‖

  ―Ok, Cap. See you Friday. Have a good Thanksgivin'.‖ Mat walked back across the road to the cafe and ordered a hamburger with the works, to go. He used the pay phone to call Nita while he waited. He told her he'd be striking camp in Villa de Cubero and be back at home on Wednesday afternoon. She agreed with her father that Monroe's Mexican Steak House would be a great place to have Thanksgiving dinner and she promised to make reservations.

  Back in his room, he ate his burger and sipped vodka as he listened to the radio. A KOB-AM newsman reported a large gathering at a memorial service for Bud Rice. Twenty-five uniformed State Police officers, led by Chief Sam Black, Deputy Chief Charles Scarberry and a captain from Española named Martín Vigil, served as honor guards and honorary pallbearers. Torrez could think of police officers who wouldn‘t get as much attention in death. Bud's will ordered his body cremated with the ashes scattered along the Old Road from Budville to Villa de Cubero.

  Ignatz Brown, the reporter said, claimed the body of his sister, Blanche, and returned it to Rising Sun, Maryland, her place of birth. She hadn‘t lived there for more than half a century. Interesting, Torrez thought, that a person would spend a lifetime on an Indian reservation doing something as important as teaching school and then be shipped back east in death. It didn't make much sense, but then it didn't really matter much, either. Juan Posey told him later that Miss Brown held an honored place in tribal lore for what she did for the Acoma Indian people, not for where her bones moldered back into mother earth.

  The radio newsman also reported that Larry Bunting remained in the Valencia County jail, held without bond. Judge Paul Tackett had appointed attorney Parker Pratt to defend the accused double murderer, the reporter said. Mat had never heard of Parker Pratt.

  By eight o'clock Tuesday evening, Torrez, showered and shaved, drove east toward Dixie‘s Place. He changed his mind and parked in front of the Budville Trading Post. An unfamiliar car with Arizona plates occupied a spot on the opposite side of the pumps, as if waiting for service. The store windows were dark.

  Gutierrez got out of the police car he‘d parked in front of Bud‘s garage doors.

  ―¿Cómo está, Bobby?‖ Mat asked.

  ― Muy bien, capitán. I'm thinking about changing my mailing address to this parking lot.‖

  ―How‘s Mrs. Rice today?‖

  ―A whole bunch of people followed her back out here after the funeral. Ten or twelve cars full of people and some of the Santa Fe brass was here, too. They all left but that one.‖

  ―Hang in there, Bobby. It‘s important you stay on the job here for a few more days.‖

  Nettie opened the door to Mat‘s knock and he followed her through the store and into the kitchen. A young couple sat at the table with Flossie, coffee cups before them.

  ―Captain Torrez,‖ Flossie said, without standing. ―This is Frances and Clive Cardiff. Frances is Bud's daughter. They live over in St. Johns, in Arizona. Clive is with the Arizona police. Captain Torrez is with the New Mexico State Police.‖

  ―Arizona Highway Patrol?‖ Mat asked.

  ―Yes sir.‖ Clive Cardiff, tall, blonde, and sturdy with a sun reddened faced, stood and extended his hand. ―Stationed out of Springerville. I‘d surely like to thank you for putting the grab on Bud's killer quick as you did. It don't bring Bud back, but it helps to know.‖

  ―We were just lucky.‖

  ―Thanks anyway.‖

  Frances Cardiff stood. ―Pleasure to meet you, Captain, but we really need to get on toward home, Flossie. It's getting late. The children are expecting us. We don't leave them often, you know?‖

  Flossie stood, too, and Mat felt uncomfortable witnessing what should have been a family ritual.

  ―Flossie,‖ Frances said, and embraced her stepmother, ―you let us know, you need anything. Anything at all. We're close as your telephone, and you know it. We can be up here in a couple hours.‖


  The three of them disappeared into the store. Flossie soon returned to the kitchen.

  ―Bud‘s people are nice, even if they are hickory Mormons. Is this an official visit, Captain?‖

  ―No ma'am. I just wanted to see how you were getting along.‖

  ―You wasn't ever around here much, was you?‖

  ―No. I was never stationed in this part of the state. Las Cruces, Albuquerque, Santa Fe or Española. Right along the Rio Grande corridor, as they call it.‖

  ―I didn't think so. You still staying at Gunn‘s place?‖

  ―Until tomorrow. I‘m going back to Albuquerque for Thanksgiving. We‘ll leave an officer on duty here, though.‖

  ―You want a cup of coffee?‖

  ―Sure. Thank you.‖

  She poured and they both sat down at the kitchen table. Flossie sipped her coffee.

  ―What do you think you‘ll do now, Mrs. Rice?‖

  ―Stay here. That's all I can do, and I wouldn't want to go anywhere anyhow. This place is all I've known for twenty years. That's a long time. Nearly half my life. Bud left me comfortable, if you know what I mean.‖

  ―You plan to keep the store open, and everything?‖

  ―Sure, but it won't be the same now, once that Interstate road opens up. All the traffic on 66‘ll be gone. But I'll keep busy. Me and Nettie. Shoot, I know how to operate the wreckers just like Bud did. Used to go out to the wrecks and help him. I might have to find some help, though.‖ She seemed to be talking to herself. ―They's a nigger man from over in St. Johns that's been after Bud to wreck out some of them old cars out in the back. Maybe I'll get him to go ahead. I won't be needin' all that junk. Bring in some cash. Maybe I'll get rid of that big wrecker, too. Do you know that thing's worth about forty thousand dollars. Forty thousand. Funny thinking about stuff like that, you know, with Bud's ashes in that jar over there.‖ She nodded toward the urn on the counter beside the sink. ―Guess I'll scatter ‗em tomorrow.‖

  ―You seem to have things under control.‖

  ―That's the way Bud was. So that's the way I'll be. You know, Bud was one cussed man, but he took good care of me. I miss him, I can tell you that for sure. By the way, that one officer said he found six or seven hundred dollars in Bud‘s pocket. He said I could have it back. When do you think that might be?‖

  ―Soon, I‘d think. We need to hold it for evidence, but I can have headquarters cut you a check within the next few days.‖

  ―It is my money, you know.‖

  ―Yes ma‘am. About the guy we have in custody, Mrs. Rice, Larry Bunting. How do you feel about your identification of him?‖

  ―What do you mean?‖

  ―You feel certain he's the one that, well, did everything?‖

  ―I think he's the one. He sure looks like him. Same clothes and shoes. Clean hands. I‘m pretty sure he's the right one.‖

  ―He is claiming an alibi, you know?‖

  ―You'd expect that, wouldn't you?‖

  ―We would, and we're checking it out. I just wanted to see if you were comfortable with the identification. I'm glad you are. We are going ahead like he's the killer based on your ID. So far the case looks very good. Muy bien.‖

  Flossie suddenly stood. ―Nettie. Nettie. Bring the cards. Let's play a few hands of rummy. How about you, Captain?‖

  Nettie appeared at the table almost instantly and took a seat.

  ―No, thank you. I need to be getting along. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Rice, and if you need anything, just tell the officer outside and he'll see you get it.‖ Mat stood up.

  ―You be real careful of that Karen McBride,‖ Flossie said with a wink. She turned her back on the State Police officer and sat down and picked up the cards Nettie had dealt. ―Look at that,‖ she said, ―a flush. All diamonds.‖ Nettie hadn‘t bothered to shuffle the new deck.

  Mat Torrez spent the remainder of the evening with Karen McBride, and the night, too. He was very careful of her.

  CHAPTER IX

  Larry Bunting claimed his navy pay—less than five hundred dollars per month—made him indigent. A form he filled out for Judge Tackett‘s office showed financial obligations to support a wife, two young children and a teenage brother-in-law. He reported that what he had left of his two navy pay advances for travel from Massachusetts to California was less than twenty-five dollars: enough for gas and Cokes between Albuquerque and San Diego.

  Parker Pratt, the attorney Tackett appointed to represent the sailor, had been practicing law since 1958. A broad-faced man who smiled quickly and easily, he dressed conservatively except for an everpresent straw cowboy hat that made him look older than his years. His strong voice and articulate manner, along with the easy way he maintained eye contact as he spoke, inspired confidence in his abilities. Over the years he'd acquired considerable experience and a good reputation in criminal law by scouting the courthouses of the Second Judicial District—Albuquerque and Los Lunas—for cases he handled pro bono publico. Pratt and Don Wilcoxson had faced each other in court before and they were not fond of one another.

  Wilcoxson held a strong prejudice against criminal defense lawyers as a lower class of animal: carrion eaters, he called them. He didn't view Parker Pratt as an adversary in an adversarial system but as an enemy devoted to protecting the guilty from punishment. Pratt, for his part, considered Wilcoxson smug and annoyingly selfrighteous about prosecuting criminals, not to mention lacking when it came to the rule of law. The two lawyers got together on Tuesday afternoon, November 21st, to discuss the Larry Bunting case. As a strict, practicing Mormon, Pratt declined when Wilcoxson's secretary offered him a cup of coffee. She closed the door as she left the ADA's office.

  ―What can I do for you, Parker?‖

  ―I think you're way off base on this Bunting case, Don. I don't believe he had a thing in the world to do with the murders of Bud Rice and Blanche Brown.‖

  ―You'd say that even if I had a photograph of the son-of-a-bitch as he pulled the goddamned trigger. We got this asshole cold, Park. He's just as guilty as Herod Agrippa was of beheading John the Baptist.‖ Wilcoxson enjoyed swearing when he talked to Pratt because he knew the man objected to it. Pratt, for his part, refused to react to Wilcoxson's bad manners.

  ―Herod Antipas ordered the execution of John the Baptist. Not Herod Agrippa. Matthew. Chapter 14. Verse 10 or 11, I believe,‖ Pratt said.

  ―Whatever.‖

  ―What makes you so sure Bunting did it?‖

  ―We've got two witnesses who place him at the scene of the crime and five more who can place him in or near Budville within minutes of the time the crime was committed. We've got a match on the clothing description, even the shoes, and the physical description.‖

  ―And the motive was robbery?‖

  ―The motive was robbery. Everyone from Albuquerque to Gallup heard the rumors about all the money old Bud kept on hand. Bunting was short on cash—one of his own witnesses admits as much—so he figured he'd do a quick robbery and get his ass on to California and hide-out in Uncle Sam's Navy.‖

  ―That doesn't explain why he killed two people. Robbery is one thing. Murder is another.‖

  ―Who knows? Maybe Rice put up such a fight and he felt like he had to do it. Hell, I can come up with a half dozen scenarios.‖

  ―Bunting says he was in Albuquerque at the time of the killings, and he can prove it. Your officers looking into his alibi?‖

  ―Sure they are.‖

  ―And?‖

  ―The brother-in-law, Austin Concho, he supports Bunting's story and so does the wife. So what?‖

  ―Doesn't that create any doubt in your mind?‖

  ―Hell no. They're related to him by marriage and they're Indians. I'd take them apart on the stand.‖

  ―Corroboration?‖

  ―We're checking it out.‖

  ―Fingerprints?‖

  ―Dwayne Madison sent them off to the FBI lab in Washington.‖

  ―Do you mean to say that no one in New Mexico
can look for a match between the latents found at the scene and Bunting's prints?‖

  ―Of course there are. We just want to make absolutely sure.‖

  ―Sure of what? Did you find a match on any of them?‖

  ―No. We didn't.‖

  ―I see. And you're taking extraordinary measures to double check. Is that right?‖

  ―Standard procedure.‖

  ―Come on Don. I don't know of you doing it before, but ok; it'll probably help us in the long run. How about the identification? You think Mrs. Rice's ID will stand? I mean, from what Larry tells me, they just shined a light in his face and she said he was the one. Is that pretty much it?‖

  ―She'd only seen him a few hours before.‖

  ―More than twenty-seven hours, during which time she was under considerable emotional stress, and during which she had little or no sleep. I can make a good argument that she hadn't slept in more than forty hours by the time she pointed her finger at Larry Bunting.‖

  ―She's my witness, Park. Let me worry about it. Besides, she picked Bunting out of a lineup the next day, too.‖

  ―Your lineup, Don. Larry wasn't represented by counsel. Making him participate is a violation of the Fifth Amendment. I think most judges would agree.‖

  ―There's case law that says you're wrong. Making someone stand in a lineup doesn't violate the Fifth. I can look it up if you like.‖

  ―If this thing ever goes to trial,‖ Pratt said, ―you might have to. Is there anything else I should have or do I have to make a discovery motion?‖

  ―No, no. You've got it all. Captain Torrez has orders to give you anything you want. I don't want anything to go wrong in this case. No grounds for appeal.‖

  ―I'll take your word for it, Don, but Larry tells me there were fifteen or twenty officers at Budville after he was arrested. I‘m wondering where their reports are.‖

  ―Not all of them would write reports, you know.‖

  ―I suppose not. Any possibility of a bond discussion?‖

  ―Not with me. You can talk to Judge Tackett, but I'll oppose. The man has no ties to New Mexico.‖

  ―His wife's family lives here.‖