He pulled out a roster of the police personnel and stopped at the name of Joseph Montoya. Jeff called him and asked him if he could come to his office for a few minutes. He said he needed his Native American expertise. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and then a handsome man with jet black hair, high cheek bones, and light brown skin walked into his office.
“I’m Joseph Montoya, Detective Combs. How can I help you?”
“Joseph, please take a seat.” He smiled at the young man. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. I’d like to pick your brain about a case I’m working on. I know you’re Native American. May I ask if you’re a member of a tribe, and if so, which one is it?”
“Yes.” Joseph sat on the other side of Jeff’s neat desk. “I’m a member of the Agua Caliente tribe here in Palm Springs. You’ve probably seen the tribe’s resort with its spa and casino. It’s been here since 2001.”
“Of course I’ve seen it. I understand that your tribe is the biggest landowner in Palm Springs, and that the members of the tribe are very wealthy because of the casino.”
“That’s true. My sister and I are one-half Native American. My mother was a full member of the tribe. She married my father, and they lived on the reservation. Prior to the resort and casino opening, our tribe was poor. Because of the casino, the two hundred or so members of our tribe are now very wealthy.” He looked down at his hands. “Many of our members have chosen not to work, but I always wanted to be a policeman. I know some people think it’s crazy to do what I do, but I love it.”
“I admire you for doing that, Joseph. I’m sure a lot of people wouldn’t care to join our profession if they could choose not to work. Here’s my question, or a couple of questions. Can you tell me what you know about the Whitewater River tribe? Do you know the chairman, Adam Navarro? And if so, what can you tell me about him? Lastly, do any of the local tribes still use bows and arrows?”
“Let me start by answering your first question about the Whitewater River tribe. Yes, I know of them. My mother’s aunt married into the tribe. They are very poor. I think my mother sent her money for a few years after our casino was built, but like so many Native Americans, she was cursed by alcohol. Some members of our tribe have been affected that way too, but it really has decimated the Whitewater River tribe.”
“I’ve read that alcoholism is the scourge of the Native American population, not just here in California, but everywhere.”
“Whatever you read about it is probably true. As to Adam, yes, I know him, and I have to say, he’s about the most honorable person I’ve ever met. He has done his best to take care of his tribe. They have no natural resources on their reservation, and no means to make money. I’ve heard rumors that Adam has been approached by some money men from Las Vegas who want to help his tribe buy some land that the tribe was originally on and build a casino there. It would be a lucrative opportunity for everyone involved.”
“Yes, I understand that he’s in escrow for a piece of property near the junction of Highway 111 and Interstate 10,” Jeff said.
“I hope they get the land. That tribe has been dirt poor for so long. They really have nothing, and if Adam can negotiate the deal, I’ll admire him even more.”
“Joseph, you said Adam was an honorable man, what did you mean by that?”
“He’s over one-quarter Native American, so he was eligible for a scholarship from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. He went to the University of California at Riverside for four years and got a degree in Business Administration. He couldn’t afford to live on campus, so he commuted. I can’t imagine how he did it in his old rundown truck, but he did. Anyway, he could apply for a job with almost any company. Being Native American and with that degree, he’d be hired instantly. The big corporations would love to have a minority like him on their staff.”
“Why didn’t he?” Jeff asked.
“Because he feels like his tribe is more important to him than just about anything else but his children. His wife left Adam and their children, and he’s raised them alone. He felt he and the children should stay on the reservation so they would be familiar with their Native American heritage.”
“You’re convincing me,” Jeff said. Maybe Marty was right about this Navarro guy after all.
Joseph hesitated for a moment before continuing. “As to your last question regarding bows and arrows. Can you tell me why you want to know?”
“Yes. You probably heard about the murder of Camille Borden. That’s the main case I’m working on right now. Anyway, I received a call from the county coroner last night, and his preliminary report indicates she was murdered by some type of knife or arrow. As far as a motive, Adam has one – to get the casino built so the members of his tribe can reap the economic benefits it will bring them. In other words, since Camille was in escrow for the property, the only way Adam’s tribe could get the property was if something happened to Camille, and it fell out of escrow.”
Joseph was quiet for a few moments and then said, “Detective, even though I’m a part of a tribe who owns one of the most successful gambling casinos in the United States, I don’t gamble. What I will tell you is that I would bet everything I have, and trust me, it’s considerable, that Adam Navarro had nothing to do with her murder. I am that certain of it.”
He leaned forward and continued to address Jeff in earnest. “Additionally, all of the tribes in this area originally used bows and arrows for hunting wild game, but I don’t know of any tribe that still uses bows and arrows. Hate to say it, but the white man’s guns replaced them. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bow and arrow, other than in a museum, in my lifetime. Plus, the Whitewater River tribe’s main source of protein has always been fish, and you don’t use a bow and arrow to catch fish. Hooks, lines, and sinkers, yes. Bows and arrows, no.”
They were both quiet for several long moments and then Jeff said, “Based on our conversation, even if the coroner’s report does come back that the murder weapon is an arrow, I better still keep looking. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes sir, I am.” Joseph’s response was emphatic. “Something else just occurred to me. Could Adam have been set up? In other words, if someone knew he and his tribe were next in line to go into escrow for the land, and that person wanted the land, maybe they set him up for the fall. If he couldn’t complete the escrow, the next person after him could. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, a lot of sense, and I do have another name I want to research. Actually, how’s your day looking?”
“I have a few things to do, but there’s nothing real pressing. What would you like me to do, sir?”
“There is a man named Marc Katz. He’s a developer, and I understand he’s next in line for that particular piece of property if the Whitewater River tribe doesn’t complete the escrow. He wants to build a mega resort on it. You know, the glitzy type of place that catches people’s attention as they drive into Palm Springs.” Jeff checked his notes in the front of the manila folder on his desk. “I’ve also heard that some of his backers are probably not Wall Street types. I’ve gotten the sense that they may have Mafia ties, and if that’s true, possibly a professional hit is involved. I have nothing to base that on, just sheer speculation.”
“Because the Agua Caliente casino has been such a huge success and generates millions of dollars in revenue annually, I’ve heard that the Mafia has developed quite an interest in Palm Springs,” Joseph said. “On that basis, your speculation may be correct.”
“Here’s what I’d like you to do,” Jeff went on. “Call people at City Hall and see if they know anything. Talk to the police chief and see if we have any moles in the Mafia. Dig around and see what you can find out.”
“Actually, sir, there is man who has approached me a number of times. He’s from Chicago and is very interested in getting a foothold in a casino operation here in Palm Springs. He told me he has a number of investors who would like to finance an expansion of our Agua Caliente casino. It would
be a small world if he knew Marc Katz, but maybe their investors are the same. I’m sure I’m not the only one he’s approached, but the fact I got a call from him yesterday tells me he’s still interested. Let me see what I come up with, and I’ll get back to you later today.”
They both stood up. Jeff put out his hand and said, “Thanks for the information, Joseph. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
CHAPTER 21
Marty spent most of the morning researching the different pieces that Camille had listed in the catalogue of her collection. From the brief walk-through Marty and Carl had taken of the collection, she knew there were hundreds more items in the house than there were in the catalogue. The next few days promised to be grueling.
Additionally, she was having a problem with Patron. There was something about the catalogue he didn’t like. Laura was certain that he possessed paranormal senses, and as much as she was cynical about some of Laura’s woo-woo, Marty was inclined to agree with her. He would stand up with his paws on her desk and growl at the catalogue. She’d make him get down, and he would be quiet for a while, and then it would start all over again. She made a note to herself to tell Laura about it the next time she saw her.
Later in the morning, Marty decided to go to the Hi-Lo Drugstore and pick up some photographs of an appraisal she’d done last week from Lucy, the loveable quirky head of the photo department. Marty grinned just thinking about her. Then she remembered she’d wanted to see if she could meet Violet Smythe and find out anything from her. She looked at her watch and figured she could squeeze both of them in before she had to pick up Carl.
She walked the dogs and left a note for Les about her leaving. She thought about her recent conversation with Laura regarding Patron and taking him with her to the appraisal. Since she was going to be in the house all day and Camille was already dead, there didn’t seem to be much point in taking him.
Patron had other ideas. When she said goodbye to Duke and Patron, Duke dutifully laid down in front of the gate as he usually did. Patron pressed against her legs and began to bark and growl. She tried to calm him down, but to no avail. Laura was on the same wave length with him and could get him to settle down instantly, but Marty was having no luck.
After several minutes, she thought to ask, “Do you want to go with me to the appraisal?”
He instantly stopped barking and growling, walked over to the gate, and turned around and looked at her as if to say, “Glad you figured it out. Let’s go.” She quickly texted Les and told him that she was taking Patron with her, so he would know Duke would be alone in the compound.
A few minutes later she pulled up in front of the Hi-Lo Drugstore. She got out of her car, opened the back door for Patron, and the two of them walked towards the front door.
Marty had just put her hand on the door to open it when a blond woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a bright red blouse and jeans that matched her nail polish and lips, threw open the door. “Woo hoo! Ya’ done brought the new member of the compound in. Well, come here l’il guy. I was thinkin’ I weren’t never gonna’ get to meet ya’,” Lucy said as she bent down to pet Patron.
Marty stared in amazement as the big white psychic boxer dog began to curl into Lucy and shower her with kisses. She could hardly believe that this gooey big lovebug was the same dog that had been growling and barking nonstop only a few minutes earlier.
“Lucy, this is Patron. Patron, this is Lucy.” Just as Marty had taught him, he held up one of his paws and shook hands with Lucy.
“Man, Marty, he’s a real cutie. Almost as sweet as my dog Killer. Tell ya’ what. I keep a coupla’ dog treats behind my counter in case the ol’ man brings Killer in. Mind if I give him one?” Lucy asked.
“No, I’m sure he’d love it, and I think you have a new friend.” She watched the big dog delicately take the dog treat from Lucy’s hand, eat it, then licked her hand in thanks. She shook her head in disbelief.
“Lucy, I’m here to get those photos from the appraisal I did last week. I’m starting a new one this afternoon, so I thought I better get these before I’m too bogged down to get in here.”
“Sure thing. Here they are. Pulled ‘em out when I saw yer’ car pullin’ in the lot. So yer’ gonna’ be doin’ that rich woman’s things who got offed the other day, huh?” Lucy pushed the packet across the counter.
“Lucy, you know I can’t discuss my clients with you, but what would make you say that?”
“Funny thing. Her son was in here the other day. He comes in once and a while. His wife drives him here, and he meets somebody in the parkin’ lot. Ain’t gonna’ tell you what I think’s goin’ down. Anyway, he and some sleazy lookin’ guy were talkin’ ‘bout his mother when they came in to buy some smokes.
“Other guy said he’d heard his mother was gonna’ give everthin’ she had to a museum she was buildin’. Said it must be a hard thing to take. Son said naw, ain’t gonna’ happen. She’s jes’ getting it ready to give it to me. Matter of fact, gonna’ have some appraisal done on it. That’s about it, girlfriend. They done left and haven’t seen ‘em since, but that’s fine with me.”
“Why do you say that, Lucy?”
“That one guy’s mother may be rich, but he’s just trailer trash, jes’ suckin’ what he can outta’ her. And when he was talkin’ ‘bout a rich lady’s appraisal, figured you was the one. Can’t wait to see them purty pics.”
“I’ve never met him. You said his wife drives him here. I wonder why he doesn’t drive himself?”
“Girl, I hope ya’ never grow up. Usually means a guy lost his license. Ain’t sayin’ it’s so, but five’ll get ya’ ten it’s from drugs. Probably got busted. Bettin’ that’s why she drives. He can’t.”
Marty flashed back to the exchange between Austin and Leticia and mentally bet Lucy she was right. “Lucy, I have to go see someone, so I better get going.”
“Where ya’ goin’?” Lucy asked in a conversational tone as she reached under the counter for her purse.
“There’s a woman who’s known to be an expert in desert tortoises. Jeff and I were talking about them the other day, and I thought I’d try to learn more about them.”
“Girl, if yer’ talkin’ about the Tortoise Lady, she’s a trip. My ol’ man used to have one, and we’d take the durned thing in to her when we had a problem with it. Matter of fact he’d had that thing since he was a kid. Sad day when Henry died, I’ll tell ya’ that.” Her face brightened. “Course if he still had Henry probably wouldna’ been too big on gettin’ Killer.”
“Kind of one of those all’s well that ends well things, right?” Marty said.
“Yup. Gotta’ tell ya’ that Tortoise Lady is strange. Her whole life is all ‘bout helpin’ and protectin’ desert tortoises. She works with ‘em all week and then on the weekends she conducts tours of the desert floor and shows ‘em to people so they can understan’ ‘bout ‘em. Wants ‘em to donate to somethin’ or other for ‘em. She’s a weird one, she is.”
Marty stepped towards the door. “Thanks for the information, Lucy. I really do need to go.”
“Wait jes’ one sec. Wanna’ share my thought for the day with ya’,” she said as she reached into her purse and pulled out a slip of paper. “This is pretty ‘propos, jes’ like we was talkin’ ‘bout.”
“Lucy, think the word is á propos. It means at the right time, and I think that’s where you were going with it.”
“Sure was.” Lucy beamed. “Here ‘tis: If You Are Working on Something That You Really Care About, You Don’t Have to Be Pushed. The Vision Pulls You. Steve Jobs said that. Kinda’ sounds like the Tortoise Lady. Don’tcha know it, jes’ takes all kinds.”
“That it does, Lucy, that it does. See you in a couple of days.”
“Tol’ ya’ when I seen the photo of Patron, that he got the eye. Dog knows things. Ya’ keep him with ya’ wherever ya’ go. Hear me?”
“Yes, Lucy, and thanks.”
Swell, she thought, now Lucy’
s become a psychic. Laura, Patron, and Lucy. How did I get so lucky?
CHAPTER 22
Marty and Patron drove through the entrance to the veterinarian clinic and then on towards the back to a building with the words “Tortoise Home” on it. It was noon and there was a handwritten sign on the door indicating it was closed for lunch. Even though the day was cool, Marty rolled the windows down, so there was no chance Patron would get overheated.
She knocked on the door and in a few moments it was opened by a woman who was as plain and drab as anyone Marty had ever seen in the Palm Springs area. This was an area where women flouted their clothes, jewelry, and surgically augmented perfect bodies. Not this woman. She was devoid of makeup and jewelry. Her mousy brown hair was cropped close to her head in a cut Marty thought of as being a “helmet style” and she wore nondescript rimless eyeglass that were perched far down her nose.
“Hi, I’m looking for Violet Smythe,” she said to the woman.
“That’s me, but it’s my lunch hour. Come back at 1:00, and I’ll see if I can squeeze you in this afternoon.”
Marty’s face fell. “Oh dear. I drove quite a distance to talk to you. I’m so upset. I just heard that the property near Highway 111 and Interstate 10 is going to be developed. I have several desert tortoises, and it hurts me to think about how many of the tortoises living on that property will be uprooted because of the building that’s going to take place. I wish I could do something. I thought you, being the Tortoise Lady, might know something about it.”
“Well, come in for just a moment.” Violet stood back to allow Marty to enter.
“Actually, the problem has gone away,” Violet said when Marty was inside. A medicinal smell permeated the air, and a half-eaten sandwich sat on the countertop alongside an open copy of that day’s newspaper.
Murder and the Museum Page 9
