'I've got all that.'
'I've heard very little dirt or gossip about him. There was word of a DWI that got buried by a former Santa Fe county sheriff some years back, but I never could confirm it.'
'Which sheriff?' Kerney asked.
'Mike Olivera.'
'Did you hear any specifics about the incident?'
'Just that during Norvell's first term in office, he took out a mailbox driving some woman home from a party.'
'Who was your source?' Kerney asked.
'A state police officer who stopped to offer the deputy assistance. He said Norvell failed the field sobriety test, but was never booked into jail.'
'Did you get an ID on the woman?'
'No.'
'Who was the state cop?'
'Nick Salas. He passed the information on to me while he was assigned to security during a legislative session.'
'How did Norvell get elected to his first term?'
Ellsworth rubbed his fingers together. 'Money and influence. He outspent his opponents three to one in both the primary and the general election. And he got endorsements and personal appearances during the campaign from two old college chums who'd already been elected to the legislature, Silva in the senate and Barrett in the house. All three are still serving.'
'Who would know the most about Norvell's college years?'
'Locally? Probably Mark Shuler,' Ellsworth answered. 'He was the editor of the university newspaper back when Norvell and his buddies were in college and law school together. He runs a political research and polling outfit here in Santa Fe. He's very liberal and very much opposed to Norvell's conservative agenda.'
'Where did Norvell get his money?' Kerney asked.
'My understanding is that he was a successful commodities broker in Colorado.'
Kerney renewed his promise to give Ellsworth first crack at any story and left, puzzling about why four informants would all have different impressions of how Norvell got rich. As he walked through the empty rotunda he called Sal Molina on his cell phone and asked him to have someone start digging into the source of Norvell's wealth.
Running over the high points in his mind, Clayton left the team meeting Sheriff Hewitt had convened. Because of a significant lack of progress in the case, Quinones and Dillingham were back on patrol duty effective immediately. Clayton was now a homicide task force of one, but at least he wasn't spinning his wheels anymore.
The autopsy and forensic reports had arrived, showing that Ulibarri had a high level of alcohol and painkillers in his bloodstream, which meant he'd most likely been strangled while unconscious. The medicine was identical to Humphrey's prescription.
Indentation marks around the neck suggested the murderer was male. Partial fingerprints had been lifted, enough for a match. But a computer data search had failed to identify a suspect. Blond hairs combed from Ulibarri's groin area confirmed Ulibarri had engaged in sexual intercourse sometime prior to his murder.
Clayton's query to the FBI about other homicides with similar signatures had come back negative. There was nothing in the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program data bank that correlated to other murders with a similar or identical staged placement of the body.
The DA wanted Harry Staggs found and held as a material witness, so with a search warrant in hand, Quinones and Dillingham had scoured every inch of Casey's Cozy Cabins, looking for personal papers and financial records that could give them a line on Staggs's whereabouts. The exercise failed, as did a canvass of area financial institutions, banks, and government offices. Apparently, Staggs was a man who'd worked hard at not leaving behind a paper trail. He'd paid his property taxes, utilities, and living expenses with cash or by money order, and had no known bank accounts or credit cards.
Finding Staggs wasn't going to be easy, but Hewitt had added that task to Clayton's already full plate anyway. With instructions from the sheriff to dig deeper into Luis Rojas and his girlfriend, Clayton was headed back to El Paso. But first, he needed to make a couple of detours.
He stopped first at Warren Tredwell's office in Ruidoso. The lawyer sat behind an old library table that served as his desk. With a foot propped on his knee, brushing his bushy mustache with a finger, he didn't bother with a greeting or make an attempt to be civil. Clayton's aversion to the man rose up like a tight knot in his stomach.
'I honestly don't know where my client is,' Tredwell replied in answer to Clayton's question.
'He's wanted for questioning as a material witness,' Clayton said.
'I know that,' Tredwell said tersely, leaning back in his chair. 'I spoke to the DA earlier today about the matter. But I can't inform my client until he contacts me.'
'Has he left town permanently?'
'You could assume that,' Tredwell replied.
'And why should I assume that?'
'Good question,' Tredwell said sarcastically.
'Answer it,' Clayton said. He hated the snippy little word games so many Anglos liked to play. His sharpness with Tredwell earned him a serious look.
'He put his property up for sale and gave me a power of attorney to handle the transaction,' Tredwell said.
'How do you contact him?'
'I don't,' Tredwell answered. 'He said he would call once he got settled.'
'And you haven't heard from him?'
'If I had, I would have told the district attorney.'
'Where did he go?'
'He didn't say.'
'Not even a hint?'
'South,' Tredwell replied. 'He said he would be traveling south.'
There was a casino outside of El Paso and a racetrack nearby, just inside the New Mexico state line. It made sense that Staggs would want to relocate close to the action, where he could set up shop and draw business.
'Did he mention any plans to visit El Paso?' Clayton asked.
'No, he did not.'
'How did Staggs pay your fee?' Clayton asked.
'That's none of your business,' Tredwell replied.
Clayton smiled. 'If he paid in cash, I'm sure you won't forget to report it to the IRS.'
'We're done here,' Tredwell said, unwinding himself from the chair.
Clayton nodded in agreement, left, and paused to see Grace at work to tell her he would be gone overnight. Her classroom was filled with happy, noisy children who were finger painting on large sheets of newsprint spread out on low tables. From the doorway Clayton caught Grace's eye and motioned for her to approach. The room fell silent as the children watched as Grace came close and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Several children giggled. He told her what was up.
'You promised Wendell and Hannah a phone call to Kerney tonight,' Grace said.
'It can wait for a day or two.'
'That's not fair,' Grace replied. 'It may not be a big deal to you, but it is to them.'
'You can call Kerney. It doesn't have to be me.'
'I'd prefer if you did it,' Grace said.
'Not tonight,' Clayton said with a shake of his head.
'You can't keep running away from the fact that Kerney is your father,' Grace said.
'I'm not. Tell him I wanted to call but couldn't.'
'Do you mean that?' Grace asked.
'Half and half,' Clayton replied with a weak smile. 'He's not an easy man to talk to.'
