by Don Bullis
―Ok, Parker. You win on the judge selection deal. You've pulled of a stall.‖
―I resent your implication, Don. I told you more than two months ago, on October 2nd to be exact, that I'd disqualify Judge McManus. Any delay here can be laid at your door.‖
―I'm not going to argue the point with you, Park. We'll go along with Ziram.‖
―I also told you two months ago that I had some reservations about Judge Ziram. We could have avoided all this if you'd bothered to discuss the matter with me a month ago.‖
―I don't have to discuss anything with you. We had a perfectly acceptable jurist in McManus to preside and you disqualified him. Now we have another. I've talked to Ziram, and he agreed to preside. I've talked to Noble and he agreed to appoint Ziram. You disqualify Ziram and you're just stalling. I may raise that point with Noble.‖
―You want to give me grounds for an appeal even before we get into the courtroom, you go ahead and do that. The defendant has a right to participate in the decision making process. That's why we have disqualification. You want to go to trial with a judge the defendant finds unacceptable, go ahead. It'll give me a safety net, you might call it.‖
―What do you want, Parker?‖ Wilcoxson's voice and gaze were cold as the winter wind.
―As it turns out, Don, Judge Ziram is acceptable to the defendant. I've even prepared a memo to you that says as much.‖
―Why the hell didn't you say so to begin with?‖
―I was too busy enjoying the threats you were making.‖
―Very funny. You be ready to go to trial in March?‖
―Sure. I was ready to go to trial in February, but not with Judge McManus. You should know, though, that we'll need a full half day for motions.‖
―What in the hell for? What kind of a dodge is this?‖
―We'll move to exclude testimony from Flossie, especially testimony in which she specifically identifies my client as the perpetrator.‖
―On what goddamn grounds?!‖
―The hypnotism, Don. It taints anything she says by way of identification.‖
―That's bullshit, Park. You got any case law?‖
―Seventy years of it.‖
―What other little surprises you gonna drop on me?‖
―No surprises. Just good defense for my client. Would you expect anything less? We'll ask the state to pay for psychiatric examination of my client and for a narcosis, and/or a lie detector test. I expect to put an investigator to work on the case in a week or so, and the state can pay for that, too. You have the State Police, the Albuquerque Police, and the FBI. I should be allowed one investigator. You have any objection?‖
―Damn right I do. You have all the police reports. No reason for you to waste the public's money on some sleazy gumshoe.‖
―I only have your word that I‘ve received all the reports. The newspapers say there were upwards of fifty police officers in Budville on the night of the murders and yet I have only five reports and most of them pertain to the early investigation, and Larry Bunting. Where are the rest of them? I only have one report that has anything to do with Billy Ray White.‖
―You have all the reports you need. The rest of them are not germane.‖
―It's up to me make that determination. If I don't receive the rest of the reports, and certification from you that I have them all, I'll ask the Judge to intercede. And even so, I still want my own investigator.‖ You're determined to get this maggot off the hook, aren't you?‖ ―I‘m not sure he did it, Don.‖
―To each his own, Parker. To each his own.‖
Pratt had an unlikely man in mind to serve as his ―private investigator.‖ John Cook was born into a mining family near the western New Mexico community of Ambrosia Lake. An intellectual cut above many of those in his working-class world, he attended the New Mexico School of Mines at Socorro and at age twenty-five received a masters degree in mining engineering and immediately went to work for the school as an instructor. Cook looked like a mining man. He stood six feet four inches tall and weighed two hundred and twenty pounds. He wore thick, shaggy, sideburns and a long bushy mustache.
His judgment in women was as bad as his intellect was good. By the time he reached thirty-five he'd been married twice, and divorced twice, and fathered a son by each woman, both of whom despised him thoroughly. Cook threatened to kick one of his ex-wives in the ass over the issue of visitation rights, and he did it in a letter. She had him arrested for issuing threats by mail. Parker Pratt represented Cook in both divorces and in the criminal matter which resulted in three years of federal probation and cost Cook his teaching position. By 1967, Cook was doing free-lance consulting for several Albuquerque engineering firms, when he felt like it, and when he wasn't hanging around female graduate students and the University of New Mexico. He also spent considerable time drinking beer in the bars along Central Avenue that catered to the college crowd as well as other free thinkers and dope dealers. In early December, Cook's mother died and John dropped by to ask Pratt to handle the probate.
―What're you doing for yourself these days, John?‖ the lawyer asked.
―Hanging around. Chasing women. Tryin' to stay out of jail. Hell, Park, I gotta be good. I can't afford you.‖
―How would you like to do a little work for me?‖
―You find some gold you need mined?‖
―No. In fact I'll lose money on this case. What I'd like you to do is some legwork. Talk to some witnesses. See what you can dig up on a client of mine and the state's witnesses. You interested?‖
―You bet. I'd be a private detective like Joe Mannix. Does this mean I get to have a good lookin' Black secretary, and I get beat up and knocked out by the bad guys two or three times a week?‖
―No to the first question and I hope not to the second.‖
―When do I start?‖
Pratt handed Cook a half dozen file folders. ―Take these home and read them over. Think about the questions you'd like to ask Billy Ray White. Come back in the morning and we'll talk it over.‖
Cook was waiting in Parker‘s outer office when the lawyer got to work the next morning. ―I can see lots of things I could do with the matter of Billy Ray White. When do I start my career as at a PI? That‘s what the cops call private investigators, you know.‖
―I know, John. Come on in. I‘ve got a letter for you.‖
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
This is to certify that John Cook is authorized as my agent for the purpose of conducting any investigation pertaining to the defense of Billy Ray White on the charges of murder arising out of the shooting of Bud Rice and Blanche Brown in Budville, New Mexico, November 18, 1967.
I would appreciate any cooperation which might be given to Mr. Cook.
Very truly yours,
Parker Pratt
Attorney at Law
Cook folded the paper and put it into his pocket. ―By the way, Park, does this gig pay anything?‖
―I don't know, John. Maybe. Keep track of your time, just in case. If it turns out it doesn‘t, you‘ll have a lot of credit built up with me for the next time one of your ex-wives takes umbrage with you.‖
CHAPTER XII
On Christmas eve, 1968, the State Police dispatcher in Albuquerque received an unusual telephone call. A feminine voice, creaking with age and broken with uncertainty, asked to speak to Doctor Scurbock. With no small effort, the dispatcher at last determined the caller wanted to speak with Doc Spurlock.
―Agent Spurlock is not assigned to this office. Can someone else help you?‖
―They was a Mexican ... boy with the doctor ... sometimes ... can I talk to him?‖
―That would probably be Agent Valverde.‖
―Maybe ... can I talk to him?‖
―He's on annual leave until January 6,‖ the dispatcher said. ―Can I
ask what this is in reference to?‖
―Just some things ... out to Budville he should ... know about ... I guess it don't matter.‖
The dispatcher sensed the caller was about to hang up. ―Wait. Could I have your name, please?‖
―What for?‖
―I could leave a message for Agent Valverde to call you back, or maybe even Captain Torrez.‖
―That's the Mexican boy ... Torrez ... can I talk to him?‖
―He isn't here, but he calls just about every day. Can I have him call you back?‖
―Nobody can ... call me ... you can tell him ... I called up ... if you want to. Nettie Buckley.‖ The line went dead.
Mateo Torrez died at about two p.m. Christmas Day, 1968, when a west bound freight train collided with his state car near McCarty's Village on the Acoma Reservation. Investigators at the scene reported the view of the railroad tracks unobstructed for nearly a half mile in both directions and the weather clear and dry. The train‘s engineer said he saw the car drive onto the grade crossing only seconds before the collision. Traveling at sixty miles per hour, he had no time to apply the brakes before the crash occurred. The huge diesel engine crushed the car and then bounced it along like a crumpled wad of tinfoil for two hundred yards before it cast the wreckage aside.
―That guy never knew what hit him,‖ the engineer said.
Officer Troy McGee arrived first on the scene. He didn‘t have to touch Mat to know he was dead. Half covered with a disarray of file folders and police reports on the passenger side of the front seat floorboards was a pint Smirnof vodka bottle. Empty. McGee removed it and never mentioned it to anyone. McGee also found a newspaper clipping in the captain's hand. The dateline was Fishguard, Wales.
State Police Chief Sam Black was out of state and Deputy Chief Charles Scarberry responded to the scene in the State Police helicopter. He took charge of the investigation.
―This was an accident, pure and simple, and a sad one, too,‖ the deputy chief told the press. ―Mat Torrez was one of the finest officers I ever had the privilege of working with and he was one of my closest friends. The New Mexico State Police and I will miss him greatly.‖
Captain Mateo Torrez‘s funeral at Queen of Heaven church in Albuquerque was the largest in the history of the State Police. A cadre of criminal agents served as pallbearers.
The Grants Beacon for January 3, 1969, carried the following obituary:
BUCKLEY—Nettie Buckley, 54, valued friend, died on New Year's Eve at Grants Memorial Hospital after a long struggle with diabetes. Nettie lived in the Budville area for the past ten years after having lived in Grants for several years before that. She was preceded in death by her husband, Harry Buckley, who died in 1959. She leaves no survivors. The body has been cremated and the ashes scattered. No services will be held.
CHAPTER XIII
John Cook and Parker Pratt ate breakfast together at Monroe‘s Mexican Steak House during the second week in January.
―I‘m hungry this morning,‖ Parker said to the waitress. ―I‘ll have steak and eggs, hash browns, toast and orange juice.‖
"I'm a little esurient myself,‖ Cook said. ―I‘ll have two of everything my friend just ordered, plus a cup of black coffee.‖
―Esurient, John?‖
―Esurient. I know some big words but I‘m not often in the company of anyone who‘d understand them, especially someone who‘s buying my breakfast. I‘ve got a couple of things on the White deal.‖
―Good.‖
―I picked up a few more files. State Police reports, mostly. Nothing new in any of them that I could find, but you might want to look them over.‖
―Is that all of them?‖
―Oh hell no. I doubt we‘ll ever have them all. Wilcoxson acts like he owns ‗em; like they‘re his own personal property. His trick is that he‘ll only give us exactly what we ask for. The cops are a mixed bag. Guy named Valverde, stationed here in Albuquerque is helpful. So far he‘s told me everything I‘ve asked. The main investigator was this Doc Spurlock. He‘s stationed out in Gallup and kind of hard to get ahold of. Seems like he‘s mostly off the case. He‘s the one that damn near got fired for drinking on the job last spring.‖
―I remember,‖ Pratt said. ―An APD officer was involved, too.‖
―Yeah. Herman Budwister. He‘s since quit APD and moved to Georgia. Sometime last fall, I understand. The State Police lieutenant is a horse‘s ass named Finch. He just smirks whenever I ask him a question. I can tell you one thing; Valverde and Spurlock got no love at all for Wilcoxson.‖
―Don is a difficult man to like.‖
Breakfast served, Cook dug in. ―Yeah,‖ he said between bites. ―He likes himself pretty well. I looked into the drug deal Bud testified on the week before he died. Valverde told me it was a minor deal, that Bud only testified as to chain of possession of some evidence. That‘s true as far as it goes, but it turns out the evidence, a lot of heroin, has turned up missing. State cops don‘t have it and neither do the feds.‖
―Very interesting.‖
―Now, there‘s nothing to indicate that Rice ended up with the dope, but a friend of mine who knows about such things tells me there was some heavy-duty muscle in town in the fall of 1967; real bad guys from Dallas. He says they were looking for the dope and there was some sizable amount of cash money missing, too. He doesn‘t know whether the bad guys found either one, but his recollection is that they left town before Thanksgiving. May be a coincidence. I don‘t know.‖
―Any way we can check that out?‖
―Not that I know of, unless you can get Wilcoxson to free up some police intelligence reports, assuming they even knew about these guys being here in the first place.‖
―I think I‘ll pass the information along to Wilcoxson just the same. He won‘t do anything that might help White, but at least he won‘t be able to accuse us of withholding information. What else?‖
―You ever hear of a guy named Pete Garza?‖
―Not that I recall.‖
―No reason you should, I guess. He‘s a heroin dealer and a junkie himself. I‘ve run across him a few times in my somewhat erratic existence. I talked to him the other day. He‘s well acquainted with the state‘s witnesses: Joe Peters, Dave Sipe and Joe Cato. In fact, Cato‘s his cousin.‖
―What does he have to say about his friends and relatives?‖
―He told me that as he recalls it, Billy Ray was in Albuquerque in the late summer and early fall, hanging around with Cato mostly, but Sipe too. Pete says he met Billy a couple times at the Liberty Bar and other places. Most important, though, is that he says Sipe took Billy Ray to Oklahoma City well before Thanksgiving in 1967.‖
―How sure of that is he?‖
―Pretty sure. He remembers Sipe bragging about some whore he claims he shacked-up with in Oklahoma City, and he says that was the week before the killings at Budville.‖
―What kind of a criminal record does Mr. Garza have?‖
―I didn‘t look it up, but I‘m sure it‘s extensive. Like I said, I‘ve known him off and on for quite a while, and he‘s always been a junkie. People like him don‘t go unnoticed by the constabulary.‖
―So we‘d have one more criminal testifying against other criminals, assuming he‘d be willing to testify.‖
―He‘d testify, if we asked him. He hates Joe Peters with a purple passion. Calls him rata. Squealer.‖
―We‘ll put him on the witness list, just in case we need him.‖ Parker Pratt sipped his orange juice. ―Two steaks, four eggs. Did you get enough to eat, John? It‘d grieve me to think of you going hungry.‖
―Had enough to last me until noon. Anything in particular you want me to do?‖
―You seem to be doing pretty well on your own. There are a couple of things I‘d like you to look into, though. See if you can find out what kind of life insurance Bud carried on himself, and related to that, just how well Bud and Flossie got along. My understanding is that Bud wasn‘t too popular in and around Budville. You shouldn‘t have any trouble getting the neighbors to talk to you.‖
―You got it, Parker. Thanks for the breakf
ast. By the way, have you figured out whether I get paid or not?‖
―Motions hearing is next month. We‘ll know then.‖
CHAPTER XIV
A lean and trim middle aged man, Judge Frank Ziram sported a full head of well-groomed iron-gray hair, a healthy ruddy complexion and a pleasant, but commanding, face. After serving twenty years in the U. S. Army's Judge Advocate's Corps, he retired as a bird colonel in 1959 and won election to the Gallup District Court bench in 1960.
Chief Justice M. E. Noble called Judge Ziram on Friday, January 3rd, and said the attorneys agreed on him to preside in the White case. On Tuesday the 7th, Ziram sent a Notice of Hearing to Wilcoxson and Pratt in which he set March 3rd, 1969 as the trial date. He also set Thursday, February 13th as the date when he‘d hear all motions. Chief Justice Noble's official designation of Ziram as trial judge wasn‘t dated until January 9th.
The motions hearing began promptly at 2:00 p.m. on February 13th at the Valencia County Courthouse in Los Lunas. The courtroom appeared as something from a 1940s western movie. The furnishings, obviously old, glistened from furniture polish and elbow grease. A low railing and a gate with a new spring separated the spectator area from the rest of the courtroom. The gate slammed loudly as it closed behind bailiff and witness alike. Floorboards creaked and squeaked as lawyers paced and pontificated.
―All right, let's proceed,‖ Judge Ziram said and tapped his gavel once lightly on his desktop. ―I note that neither of you have practiced in my court before, although I'm sure you‘ve both talked to lawyers who have. Otherwise you wouldn't have agreed on me to preside. Let me tell you how I run things. You have no doubt heard that in some quarters I am considered a hanging judge. True enough. I have no reluctance to punish those convicted in my court to the full measure allowed by law, up to and including the death sentence should that ever become appropriate.
―At the same time, I am very demanding when it comes to the quality of evidence admitted at trial. I want evidence to be hard, germane and relevant to the case at hand. Nothing flashy. I don‘t like theatrics. Nothing soft. And while we‘re on the subject of what I don‘t like, I don‘t like lawyer tricks. I don‘t like lawyers who slip in asides to the jury then withdraw them before I can sustain an objection. I don‘t like speeches to the jury in the guise of questions during direct or cross-examination.
