by Don Bullis
CHAPTER II
Charles Scarberry thought seriously about moving into Sam Black's office on the second floor of the State Police headquarters complex while he served as acting chief. He decided against it based on appearances. He didn't want anyone to think he was too anxious to take over the chief's job permanently. He stayed in his old office on the first floor; the one with a door—always closed—to Deputy Chief Vigil's office. They rarely interacted but Scarberry summoned Vigil one day in early May.
―I hope this is important, Charlie. I've got work piled up to my culo.‖
―It's important, Martín. You and I need to contemplate our future, don't you think?‖
―My future involves getting some of this case work caught up. We've got too damn much to do and too damn few men to do it with.‖
―Same old story. Your problem is that you take it all too serious. What in particular‘s got your balls in an uproar this morning?‖
―Reyes López Tijerina, Eulogio Salazar, Bud Rice, Blanche Brown, not to mention about a thousand militants, black, brown, red, white and otherwise stirring shit at the University of New Mexico. There‘s a real unpopular war going on in Viet Nam, or don't you read the newspapers, Charlie? But you didn't call me in here to talk about pending cases and intelligence gathering.‖
―You're right. I didn't. I'm concerned about Sam. He's not a well man, you know. I'm wondering if he'll be able to come back to work any time soon.‖
―He'll be back in a week or so, I'm told.‖
―Even so, how long can he hang on. Here's the thing, Marty, Sam's days as chief are numbered and one of us—you or me—will be the next chief. I want it to be me. But I want you to know that your position as deputy is safe with me. Besides, I don't figure I'd stay on as chief for more than four or five, maybe six, years, then the job would be yours for the rest of your career.‖
―You never give up, do you Charlie? I think you have the wagon in front of the horse. In the first place, Sam‘ll be with us for a while. I guarantee you. But aside from that, Dave Cargo has an opponent in the Republican primary and he....‖
―Cliff Hawley couldn't get elected to school crossing guard.‖
―Your memory is short. Cargo only beat Hawley by fifteen hundred votes two years ago, and that was before the trouble in Rio Arriba County. But even if Cargo wins the primary, he'll likely be running against Fabian Chavez in November. Fab has a hell of a following. He might win. If that's the case, with the Democrats back in power, maybe neither one of us has a shot at chief. There are plenty of captains around with five years, or more, in grade that would love to move up to the second floor. Some would like to do it just so they could kick your ass.‖
―You're bein‘ a real pessimist, Marty.‖
―A realist, Charlie. A realist. Besides, I'm loyal to Sam. The man‘s been good to me. At this point, I'll just take my lead from him. And Governor Dave Cargo.‖
―You do what you think you have to do, careerwise, Marty, but keep in mind that I'm goin' for it. I should of had it back when Sam got it, and I won't let it slip past again. I plan to do whatever it takes.‖
―Is there some kind of threat buried in there, Charlie?‖
―Let me just say this: since I became acting chief, I've taken a careful look at the department's organization. Some changes need to be made around here, particularly in the Criminal Bureau.‖
―What is wrong with the Criminal Bureau?‖
―Why even ask the question? Two biggest profile cases we've had in years, and you can't get a handle on neither one of ‗em.‖
―You know damn well, Charlie, that....‖
―It don't matter what I think. It's what the public thinks, and right now they're thinkin' that people are gettin‘ shot around New Mexico, or beat to death, and the State Police don't seem to be doin' nothin‘ about it. All I'm saying is that one of these days, you and your asshole buddy Mat Torrez might look around and see a great big groundswell comin' right toward you. It might just be too late to get out of the way.‖
Vigil ceremoniously pulled his socks up over the calves of his legs as he listened. Then he stood. ―Charlie, when I see it coming, that groundswell of yours, I'll know you're right behind it and you‘d better keep your head down. Otherwise I'll pick you off like a prairie dog sniffing the wind.‖ He left the room without another word.
Criminal agent Doc Spurlock sat uncomfortably in an unpadded, straight-backed chair across a gray metal desk from Captain Mat Torrez in the Albuquerque State Police office. Torrez, an open manila file-folder in front of him, turned pages with one hand while he rubbed his temples with the thumb and index finger of the other.
―Damn it, Doc. I wish you hadn't done this.‖ He leaned back in his chair. ―I'm afraid I can't do too much to help you but the deputy chief is going to try. Just what the hell happened, anyway?‖
―Herm bought a couple six-packs and him and Peters drank it along the way. That's all there was to it. I didn't do no drinkin‘.‖
―And that might save you. Budwister was emphatic that you didn‘t drink a drop.‖ Torrez turned a couple of pages. ―Here is the drill, Doc: for the time being, you‘re fired. Go on back to the ranch for now and we‘ll see what we can do. I want you back in the department and Marty Vigil and I are not without our own political contacts. Shouldn‘t be more than a couple of weeks. A month at the most.‖
Doc refused to react to the bad news.
―There is another matter involved here besides your California trip. It‘s been reported that you have been drinking beer and then driving your state car. Is there any truth to that?‖
―Old suck-ass Freddy Finch been at it again, ain't he?‖
―He has. Yes. I told you to watch out for him.‖
―You did for a fact, Cap. I thought I had. Hell, I ain't even seen him in a month of Sundays.‖
―He‘s seen you. Whether you know it or not, he followed you and Budwister all the way to California and back. Even if Peters hadn't mouthed-off, you were caught anyway.‖
―Damn!‖
―Yes damn. He also followed you around town.‖ The captain turned another page and told Doc the dates and times he drank beer with Budwister in the Wine Cellar.
―Hell, Cap, everyone does it. You and me had a couple beers a while back. Over in Gallup. And I don't know one damn narc that don't drink and drive every day of the week.‖
―And I'll tell you for a fact,‖ the Captain said, ―that Sam Black, Charlie Scarberry and Marty Vigil have done it, too. But no one was spying on them and reporting to an acting chief who wants them gone.‖ Torrez rubbed his eyes. ―We‘ll try to get you reinstated with back pay, Doc. That should help a little bit.‖
―It will for a fact.‖
CHAPTER III
It took Capt. Torrez and Deputy Chief Vigil, through the good offices of Chief Sam Black, and ultimately Governor Dave Cargo, nearly two weeks to reverse Scarberry‘s termination order on Spurlock. Even though Scarberry prevailed to the extent that Doc did not recover two weeks of lost pay, the deputy chief didn‘t take the matter well, and railed loudly to Freddy Finch about the chickenshit bastards who ran the State Police. But he took comfort in the fact that while Sam Black was back in charge, the Chief‘s health was obviously not good. Scarberry figured that Black would be dead in less than a year. He didn‘t think the Spurlock deal would hurt his chances of becoming chief.
Freddy Finch had resumed his surveillance the day Doc reported back to work. He'd grown tired of the chore but gaining lieutenant's bars and becoming assistant commander of the Criminal Investigation Bureau appealed to him greatly.
Doc walked the straight and narrow for nearly two weeks. He drove his department car into Albuquerque from Gallup and if he stayed over—which he did more often than not since Patsy stayed in Roswell when Doc returned to duty—he left it parked at the Crossroads Motel and rode a taxi when he went out in the evening, even if just for a meal. Sometimes Vee or Budwister would pick him up in their personal
cars and they would go have a beer or two at various bars. No infraction there.
Late on Friday afternoon, April 26, Freddy followed as Doc drove from the State Police office on Carlisle Boulevard to Albuquerque Police Headquarters on Second Street. A short time later Doc and Herman Budwister emerged and got into an unmarked gray Ford Albuquerque police car. Herman drove. Freddy followed at a discrete distance. They drove to a small one-story apartment complex on Chama Street in the southeast part of town. They parked and went into the manager's office. Freddy knew from reading the reports that suspect Billy Ray White had lived there during his stay in Albuquerque the previous year. The officers left eight minutes later and stopped and drank coffee at the Village Inn Pancake House on West Central Avenue for half an hour before they drove into the north valley area of town. They stopped abruptly across the street from an attractive white frame two-story house. Freddy was close enough behind them that he had to hurry on past or be recognized. He'd never driven the blue Olds before and he didn't think they spotted him. He drove on for three blocks, circled a block and parked where he could see Herman's car through the spears of a huge yucca plant in a citizen's front yard. Freddy noted that Doc and Herman parked across the street from the residence of David Sipe, another principal in the Rice murder case.
―You ever work with that dumb son-of-a-bitch?‖ Herman asked Doc as Freddy drove past them.
―Nope. He was in uniform up 'til about a year ago. District One in Santa Fe. He did world class suck-up to get into the Narcotics Bureau. Now he's Scarberry's golf caddie, gofer and main love interest. Freddy's livin' proof that if you can keep your ass assigned to headquarters, you can make rank no matter who you are.‖
―I guess every department's got some like that.‖
Freddy followed Herman and Doc from the Sipe residence to the Wine Cellar as darkness settled over the city. He parked so that he could clearly see the bar's front door and he waited. Freddy didn't like stakeouts any more than any other cop, but he'd learned that he had great patience and the ability to focus on the object of his surveillance and still think about other things. His radio on low was tuned to KRKE AM Rock and the sounds of the Rolling Stones filled his ears when the dome light illuminated the car's interior and his mind didn't seem able to grasp the notion that someone had opened his car's door. Hands grabbed him and he found himself on the blacktop between vehicles and then he was jerked to his feet and slammed against the side of a Volkswagen van. Two men he'd never seen before held him in place by his arms.
―You some kind of freak pervert sittin' out here waitin' for some little girl to happen by?‖ The voice seemed artificially coarse.
―I'm a police....‖
The blow felt to Freddy like he'd been hit in the sternum with a baseball bat and while he could still see, he couldn't move, couldn't make his arms or legs work together and he couldn't breathe. He didn't feel a thing when one of the men removed his wallet and badge case. The next blow took him in the solar plexus and Freddy was on the pavement, face down and vomiting. He heard liquid as it splashed around him and his back and ass felt wet. His distracted brain couldn't solve the riddle of what it all meant. Then there were red lights flashing in his face and two uniformed Albuquerque police officers jerked him to his feet. One of them patted him down.
―Look-a-here, Sonny, we got us a drunk packin' a rod.‖
―State Police officer,‖ Freddy croaked as he gasped for breath.
―Then show me some tin, asshole.‖
―In my pocket. Right hip pocket.‖
―There ain't nothin' in any of your pockets but two cents. You're under arrest.‖
The officer called Sonny bent Freddy over the hood of the police car and clasped handcuffs around his wrists and stood him back up. Freddy‘s breathing became nearly normal. ―Damnit, I'm a State Police sergeant.‖
―What's yer assignment, Sergeant?‖
―Fleet management, I'm also....‖
―You managin‘ the fleet out here in this parking lot, are you, with your pants full of piss and your gut full of whiskey?‖
―I was....‖
―We'll just take you on downtown and you can sort it out with Judge Tackett Monday morning.‖
An hour later, Doc and Herman walked out of the Wine Cellar and into the parking lot.
―Look there,‖ Doc said. ―Someone left their car door open and the interior light on.‖
―They did, didn't they?‖ Herman said. ―You know a thing like that could make a battery run down by morning.‖
CHAPTER IV
Mat Torrez became increasingly unhappy. He thought he'd suffered the worst day of his life when his wife died. He‘d deeply loved the woman and genuinely liked her, too; liked being with her, around her. He missed her every day of his life. But even so, Nita was his to love and care for and in years gone by he'd enjoyed his job for the most part. Nita and the State Police helped him over the rough places on life's landscape. Then Nita took herself out of his life. He called her apartment several times after she moved out of his house. Once or twice he got the hippie-boy roommate on the phone and Nita didn't call him back so he assumed she didn't get the messages. When he did reach Nita, she seemed inconvenienced and distracted. Mat found it difficult to deal with the notion that Nita‘d become an adult woman who‘d rather spend her time with another man, especially a dirty long-haired gringo from somewhere in the east. He began buying vodka by the fifth.
Every week or so, a postcard arrived from Karen. She spent most of her time touring Spain. Mat received cards postmarked in Madrid, Granada, Pamplona and Toledo. Each contained a brief note:
―Just thinking of you, my captain.‖
―Miss having you beside me, and ... me.‖
―Remembering the good times we had in room 7.‖
But rather than make him feel better, the cards added to his bluefunk mood. He wanted Karen with him, every day, not postcards. That confused him because he hadn't felt emotionally attached to anyone but Nita for ten years. He wondered if Karen McBride hadn't become a crutch, a substitute for Nita, but if she was, he didn't care. Pictures in his mind's eye alternated between the faces of the three women but the pictures seemed strangely flat, one dimensional and quite still as if the women had all abandoned him leaving only vague, blurred, memories behind. As much as he thought about it, Mat didn't know for certain how he would react to Karen when she returned. He remained angry over her sudden departure and he sometimes pondered scolding her for her lack of consideration of his feelings, of his inner conflicts. Other times he was sure he‘d rush her off to a padre before she got her bag unpacked.
And the job. Mat had served under five State Police chiefs: Joe Roach, A. P. Winston, K. K. Miller, Johnny Bradford and Sam Black. Sam Black's administration was the worst of the lot. Mat liked Sam personally, considered him a good man and good policeman, but the Chief just didn't seem able to get a handle on Charlie Scarberry and Scarberry wasn't giving anyone any peace. He never passed up an opportunity to gig Mat about the Rice/Brown and Eulogio Salazar murder cases. Even so, Mat's commitment remained strong and he spent twelve to fourteen hours per day doing work for the New Mexico State Police Department. Mat found excuses to travel around the state visiting State Police offices, criminal agents, and old friends. So seldom did he eat at home that he unplugged his refrigerator.
Mat Torrez ate supper with Mo Candelaria in Gallup on the last Friday in April. The lieutenant told the captain that Doc Spurlock returned to duty in Gallup from his stay in Roswell without his wife, Patsy. Mo said just about everything had been moved out of their mobile home and Doc, whenever he was in Gallup, slept on an old cot. Otherwise he only used the house trailer—which was up for sale—as a place to shower, shave and shine his boots.
―Chalk up one more for Old Gooseberry,‖ Candelaria said. ―Have you talked to Doc, Mo?‖
―I talked to him. You know Doc. He's not one to complain too
much. He said, ‗Lieutenant, the regulations say I g
ot to live where I'm assigned to, and I do. I ain't changed my address. Far's the rest of it's concerned, it ain't no goddamn business of the New Mexico State Police Department.‘‖
―I can understand his attitude,‖ the captain said.
―I can too,‖ Candelaria said. ―But let me tell you, Mat, I don't know what you're hearing, but I'm hearing there is a lot of unhappiness in Santa Fe. Old Gooseberry thinks he'll be the next chief, soon as Sam Black bails out or dies, but my primos tell me it will never happen. Some of the district captains have made some bridges to the Governor. Some of them threatened open revolt, and you know Dave Cargo. He's already got more troubles than he can take care of.‖
―I hope you're right. The day Scarberry becomes chief is the first day of my retirement.‖
―It won't happen, Mat. Take my word for it. But Marty Vigil isn't much better, in my opinion.‖
Mat stopped at the Gallup State Police office before he started back to Albuquerque on Saturday morning. Debbie Smith stopped him as he passed the communications room.
―Captain, I thought you might be interested. I just got a call from a friend of mine in Albuquerque. Sergeant Finch got arrested by the Albuquerque PD last night.‖
―Freddy Finch? Are you sure?‖
―That's what they said.‖
―What for?‖
―Something about drunk and a gun.‖
―I didn‘t think Freddy drank.‖
―I don‘t know about that.‖
―This wasn't official was it, what you heard?‖ Mat asked. ―Just a friend of mine. Sgt. Finch called Albuquerque dispatch to
find Chief Scarberry to vouch for him to get him out of jail.‖ ―Is Doc Spurlock 10-7 here in Gallup?‖
―No sir. He checked out last night at the Crossroads Motel in Albuquerque. He's on RDO.‖
