bridge spanning the canyon. He was amazed to see that the ends of the bridge seemed to be suspended in midair, the center piece still missing between both sides of the gorge. He guessed the span was about 600 feet. Pretty trick engineering, he thought, wondering how the steel girders bore the weight, cantilevered like they were over the canyon.
The detective pulled off the highway at a point that appeared to be the main entrance, and followed the winding dirt road to the bottom of the canyon. He came to a stop next to a trailer that looked like an office. He noted with interest that several of the crewmembers were busily preparing to lift a huge girder off a flatbed diesel truck.
Near this swirl of activity, he spotted a large man fitting the description of the subject. He reviewed his notes, and the suspect’s description was identical to the man standing in the middle of the yard. The suspect wore a denim jacket over a red plaid shirt, a workman’s customary Levi’s, work boots, and the white, telltale hard hat that signaled this guy was the boss on the job site. The oversized man had every appearance of being in charge- his body language conveyed authority, and even from a distance Detective Westbrook could tell that this was the suspect he had been sent to arrest.
Westbrook watched the suspect for a moment. He was standing next to a service truck with a logo picturing a crane lifting a large I-beam. The caption Levitation Solutions, Inc. appeared beneath the logo. The suspect was in discussion with another man; they studied a set of plans that was rolled out on the tailgate of the truck. Westbrook figured he’d introduce himself, and ask the two men for identification. Shouldn’t pose any problem, he mused.
“Good morning, gentlemen. I’m Detective Raymond Westbrook from the Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Department,” he said, showing them his badge as he approached. Both men turned, annoyed by the conspicuously overdressed man in a sport coat and tie interrupting their business. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay.”
“Sure…what can we do for you, Officer?” Corky Chalmers hesitantly replied. “You’re a long way from Bernalillo County. What brings you out to the gorge?”
“I’ve been asked to locate Ryan Marshall for questioning about a private matter. Can you tell me where I can locate him?” Westbrook asked, wanting to avoid alarming the men.
Ryan responded firmly, “I’m Ryan Marshall,” his husky voice reverberating caution, wondering what private matter would necessitate questioning from a detective over 200 miles outside his jurisdiction.
“Thank you, sir. I’d like you to accompany me to Pilar. There are questions regarding an ongoing investigation you may be able to help us with,” he said, wanting to get him out of the construction yard before he divulged too much information.
“Anything you have to say can be said in front of my foreman, Detective,” Ryan replied. There was no mistaking the concern in his voice. “I regret I’m unable to accompany you anywhere at the moment. Ask your questions, so we can get back to work.”
“I have the unfortunate duty to inform you that I have a warrant for your arrest in conjunction with your whereabouts on August 3,” Westbrook replied, sensing that the situation was getting out of hand. “There’s evidence suggesting that you might have been in California.”
“California? Now you wait just a goddamned minute, mister,” Ryan replied, angry that the officer’s presence was not merely a routine visit he could quickly dismiss. “I’ll answer your questions…but we’ll do it right here. I’ve got an expensive crew waiting on me.” Jutting out his jaw, he defiantly folded his arms across his chest.
“It’d be a lot better if you came peacefully, Mr. Marshall,” Westbrook replied. “I’ll need to properly record your answers. I’m sure this is just a routine matter and you’ll be back on the job in no time.”
“I don’t think you understood Mr. Marshall,” Corky Chalmers added. “We don’t take kindly to interruption from outsiders. It disturbs the guys, and when they’re disturbed…accidents can happen. So why don’t you just ask Mr. Marshall your questions and we’ll get back to work?” he said insolently, signaling a couple of the guys to join the brewing discussion.
“Okay, look,” Westbrook replied, remembering the gas station attendant’s warning that he not cross these men. “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. This wasn’t my intention. Maybe if you can tell me your whereabouts the past couple of days, we can quickly resolve the matter.”
Corky’s signal was like an alarm had gone off. The crew acted as if they had received an emergency signal. Everyone on the ground trotted over and, within moments, they completely encircled the truck, with the unknown intruder in the dark glasses held captive in the center. “What’s up, Corky?” several workmen asked in unison, each jostling for a position in the tightly forming circle.
“This yahoo thinks he’s taking Mr. Marshall to jail,” Corky responded. “I don’t know who he thinks he is…but on this job, everyone abides by the rules. What’s the first rule?” he asked, holding up a finger.
“ Nothing goes without the foreman’s approval,” the men shouted together.
Westbrook was feeling very uncomfortable. The situation was beyond his control. Pressing his authority would only further alienate this rowdy bunch. He decided the path of least resistance was to quickly remove himself from the knot of belligerent men, and return later with reinforcements.
“I hope you guys understand I’m only here to investigate Mr. Marshall’s whereabouts the past couple of days. It wasn’t my intent to upset anyone; I apologize for provoking you,” he said in a calm, reassuring voice. “We can discuss this another time.”
“Listen, Detective…Westbrook, is it?” Ryan said, before his men made the situation any worse. “I wasn’t in California the past month, let alone the past couple days. But before I say more, can you tell me where you think I might have been?”
“I’d really prefer to discuss this in private, Mr. Marshall,” Westbrook replied. “My questions could be personally damaging; you might not want anyone to know the nature of this business.”
“Enough of this hokey bullshit,” shouted a voice from the unruly crowd. They were tightening upon the detective standing next to Marshall at the center of the group.
“Throw his ass in the gorge,” yelled another antagonistic voice.
“Hey, mister, how’s ‘bout a firsthand look at what pissed-off iron workers can do to your sorry ass?” someone else shouted. There were loud shouts of agreement and many of the men began waving steel spud poles above their heads.
“Okay, okay,” shouted Ryan above the din of voices, raising his hands aloft, trying to calm his men. He appreciated their trying to intimidate the officer, but he didn’t figure obstruction of justice was the solution, either. “Let’s hear the man out.”
Westbrook waited for the tumult to quiet before he continued. “Mr. Marshall, you’re wanted for questioning in conjunction with a theft at the office of your cousin, Dr. Jarrod Conrad, at Stanford University on the night of August 3. There was a security guard fatally wounded in the building that same night. The Palo Alto detectives in charge of this investigation have found evidence at the scene that suggests you were in your cousin’s office. It’s the nature of the evidence that has brought me here today. I had hoped to talk to you about this privately…but obviously this has become impossible.”
“That son-of-a-bitch! ” Ryan yelled, the veins in his neck popping out, and his face flushed by the accusation from the officer. “Let me tell you something, Detective,” he shouted, moving closer, pointing his finger in Westbrook’s face, “there’s no way you’re going to arrest me on this trumped-up charge. This is bullshit! Earlier today we discovered that tower crane had been tampered with,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder at the crane. “It would have caused a terrible accident had we tried to lift that chunk of iron over there. I’ll bet anything my fucking cousin’s at the bottom of this whole mess. Now he’s made it look like I broke into his office. You’ve got to listen to me, Detective. Things aren’t what they appear. My cousin’s as twisted as anyone you’ve ever met. What exactly did you find that led you out here?”
“Look, let’s everyone just back it down a notch,” Westbrook pleaded, feeling even more threatened by Marshall’s outburst. He wished he hadn’t taken this assignment without proper backup. He also hadn’t followed the usual protocol of notifying the Taos County sheriff that he was in their jurisdiction. He was in big trouble; his only hope was to remain calm and hope to survive in one piece.
“Palo Alto PD found a crumpled piece of note paper with your company logo at the scene. We’ll need to do a handwriting analysis. I’m sure that once we get to the bottom of all the evidence, the facts will prove your innocence. But let’s not make this any harder by resisting arrest.”
Westbrook paused, trying to gauge Marshall’s response. From the enraged look on his face, he could only
