There were cabins off the main roads in canyons sheltered by tall pines, cabins perched above the river, hillside cabins on stilts, cabins that hadn't yet opened for the season, and cabins sprinkled along and behind the main roads through the city. He stopped at property management firms, tracked down real estate people on their mobile phones, and met with resident condo and town-house managers.
After several hours, with most of his list checked off, Clayton called in. Dispatch passed along more lodging establishments Hewitt, Quinones, and Dillingham had been unable to reach by phone. One of them, Casey's Cozy Cabins, was close by Clayton's location.
At the bottom of a hill two blocks behind the main tourist strip, six rental units bordered a circular gravel driveway just off a paved street. Each cabin had a stone chimney; a covered porch; a shingled, pitched roof; and weathered wood siding. Old evergreen trees shaded the structures, and barbecue grills on steel posts were planted in front of every porch. All the parking spaces in front of the cabins were empty.
Clayton cruised by, parked on the shoulder of the road, and walked up to the compound. A hand-carved sign hanging from the porch on the cabin closest to the pavement announced the name of the business. On the porch railing were pots filled with ratty-looking artificial flowers.
Clayton knocked at the door and an older man, probably in his early sixties, opened up. He had a pasty gray complexion, watery eyes, and a heavily veined, pudgy nose.
'Are you Casey?' Clayton asked, showing his shield.
The man eyed Clayton suspiciously, stepped outside, and quickly closed his front door. 'He died five years ago. I bought the place from his widow and never got around to changing the name. What can I do for you?'
Before the door closed, Clayton caught a glimpse of several poker tables in the front room. Tribal gaming operations had wiped out a lot of the illegal poker parlors in Ruidoso, but not all of them. Some players still preferred private big stakes games, where none of the winnings went to the tax man.
'Who are you?' Clayton asked.
'Do we have a problem?' the man responded with a tinge of an East Coast accent.
'Let's see some ID.'
'Name's Harry Staggs,' the man said, reaching for his wallet. He held it out to Clayton. 'I run a quiet, family place here, deputy.'
'I'm sure you do,' Clayton said. 'Take your driver's license out of the wallet and hand it to me, please.'
Staggs did as he was told. Clayton copied down the information and handed back the license.
'What's this about?' Staggs asked.
'Do you have any guests?'
Staggs shrugged. 'Three cabins are rented, but I don't think anyone is here right now.'
'How about this man?' Clayton asked, holding up Ulibarri's photograph.
Staggs nodded in the direction of the cabins on the right side of the porch. 'Yeah, he's in cabin three, but like I said, nobody's here right now.'
'You're sure of that?' Clayton asked, stepping to one side so he could keep the cabin in view.
'Well, I haven't seen him all day, so I'm guessing he's out.'
'Did he check in alone?'
'Yeah.'
'Nobody was with him?'
'A man and a woman dropped him off, but they stayed in the car.'
'Are you sure he doesn't have company?'
'No, I'm not. I rent cabins. As long as my guests don't cause trouble or do damage, it doesn't much matter to me what they do or who visits them.'
'Did you get the names of the companions who dropped him off?'
'There was no need,' Staggs said. 'They waited while he registered, then he got his bag out of the car, and the people left.'
'Do you know either of them?'
'It was dark and I didn't get a good look,' Staggs replied. 'I just saw them sitting in the front seat.'
'But you could tell it was a man and a woman.'
'Yeah.'
'Describe the vehicle.'
'Late model Lincoln. Dark color. Maybe blue or black. I didn't pay any attention to the license plate.'
'Let's step inside,' Clayton said.
'You got no business in my home,' Staggs said, a worried look crossing his face.
'The guest in cabin three is a murder suspect,' Clayton said, 'and I need to use your phone. Either let me inside or I'll arrest you for refusing to assist an officer.'
Grudgingly Staggs opened the front door. Inside Clayton asked Staggs a few questions about cabin three and found out all the rental units were identical in layout. Standing at the side of the window with cabin three in view, he called Hewitt, gave him the news, and asked him to request SWAT assistance from the Ruidoso Police Department.
'You've got it,' Hewitt said. 'Give me specifics for deployment.'
'Cabin three is the target. It's in the center of the circular driveway, backed up against a hill. There's good cover if SWAT comes in from the rear. The only windows are one on each side of the cabin and a living-room window near the front door. There's a raised front porch that's high enough to conceal a crouching man.'
'No other exits?' Hewitt asked.
'Affirmative.'
'Are you under cover?'
'Affirmative.'
'I'm rolling. So are Quinones and Dillingham. Stay put and don't take action until SWAT arrives and sets up, unless you have to.'
'Ten-four,' Clayton said. 'I'll be on my handheld.' He hung up and looked around the room. It contained a fully stocked, built-in bar, two large poker tables, an assortment of straight-back chairs, a sagging daybed, and a sideboard that contained boxes of poker chips and stacks of unopened playing cards. 'Are all the cabins furnished like this one?' he asked.
Staggs said he liked to have his pals over once in a while for a friendly card game.
Clayton pointed at the poker table that gave a clear view out the window. 'Sit down.'
Staggs sat. Clayton read him his rights as he pushed him forward in the chair and handcuffed him behind the back.
'I want to call my lawyer,' Staggs said.
'That will have to wait. What time did the game break up last night?'
'I want to call my lawyer now.'
'Did the people who dropped Ulibarri off sit in on last night's game?'
'I'm not talking,' Staggs answered.
Clayton resumed his position at the window, switched his handheld radio to the Ruidoso PD frequency, waited, and listened. In twenty minutes SWAT arrived. He made contact with the SWAT commander and talked the team down the hill and into position. There was no discernible movement in cabin three.
Hewitt made contact by radio, reported his arrival, and gave his location. Quinones and Dillingham followed suit.
'SWAT goes in first,' Hewitt said. 'Sheriff personnel hold your positions.'
From their units, Dillingham and Quinones acknowledged the order.
'Roger that,' Clayton replied.
The SWAT commander cut in. 'We're ready.'
'It's your move,' Hewitt said.
Clayton watched it go down. Sharpshooters covered the windows. Three men hit the front door, two on either side, as one smashed it open at the lock set with a battering ram. They went in high and low, automatic weapons at the ready, while Clayton held his breath. Finally the radio hissed.
'Clear,' the SWAT commander said, 'but you might want to come and take a look-see.'
'What have you got?' Clayton asked.
