Salgado ended his presentation by announcing that the autopsy on Denise Riley would be conducted in Albuquerque later in the afternoon. He turned the meeting over to Major Mielke, who passed out copies of an initial criminal investigation report of the murder of Deputy Tim Riley, prepared by Sergeant Clayton Istee of the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office.
Ramona read through the report, wondering how many people in the room other than herself knew that Clayton was Chief Kerney’s son. While it wasn’t a secret, it wasn’t common knowledge either.
She stopped speculating about it and returned her attention to the case. Mielke was warning the group not to let the investigation stall because there was no motive and no suspect.
“Don’t pin your hopes on forensic evidence solving this case,” he said as he leaned against the table, “and in spite of the different modus operandi, we agree with the Lincoln County S.O. that there is a strong likelihood that the murders are linked.”
One of the state police agents raised a hand. “What about this theory by the Lincoln County S.O. investigator that the killer is probably a male, approximately five-seven to five-eight in height, who wears a size eight shoe and knew his victim?” he asked in a smug, mildly skeptical tone. “Can we put any stock in it?”
The state cop’s attitude rankled Ramona. “I’ve worked with Sergeant Istee in the past,” she said before Mielke could reply, “and I wouldn’t bet against him. His analysis that these homicides are personal is right on, and I’m convinced that Denise Riley’s killer either redressed her or rearranged her clothing after she was dead. That makes both murders personal.”
The state cop threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just asking,” he said, but his eyes weren’t smiling.
“Sergeant Istee has given us a start on a profile for our perp,” Mielke said. “We need to use it when we’re out there asking questions.”
“The perp may also have more than a passing knowledge of computer technology,” Ramona added. “According to Detective Matt Chacon, whoever scoured the hard drives on the two computers removed from the Riley residence is not your typical personal computer user. Also, both the desktop and laptop had been wiped clean of prints.”
“Let’s add that to what we know and move on to assignments,” Mielke said. “Sheriff Salgado and Sheriff Hewitt out of Lincoln County have decided to consolidate the two murder cases into one shared investigation. Myself and Sergeant Istee will serve as case supervisors, and we will both, I repeat
Mielke looked directly at every officer in the room. “Are there any questions about that? Good. Our starting point is an in-depth look at our victims. The question I want answered is why these persons were murdered. We’ll use the FBI crime classification protocols for violent crimes.”
Mielke went over the protocols item by item, handed out assignments, and fielded some questions.
“Before we mount up, there’s one more thing,” he said. “In a few days, we’ll be burying Deputy Tim Riley and his wife, Denise. Most of us in this room knew Tim, worked with him, liked him, and liked his wife. They were family to us.”
He paused and scanned every face in the room. “I don’t expect a miracle between now and the funeral, but I want to see steady progress on this investigation every single day. We are going to grind it out until we catch this killer.”
After most of the officers had filed out of the conference room, Ramona approached Mielke and asked to take a look at the evidence inventory. He took her to his office, which was adjacent to the suite that housed the sheriff and his chief deputy, and had her sit while he thumbed through the stacks of paper on his desk.
Mielke was middle-aged but looked older than his years. Tall with slightly stooped shoulders, he had a slim build, a narrow chest, and a gaunt face that gave him an emaciated look. Although his eyes were clear and his hands steady, Mielke was known to be a binge drinker, who’d been on some legendary benders at the Fraternal Order of Police bar on Airport Road.
Ramona hoped the major would stay sober until the case was closed, but if he blew it, at least she knew she could count on Clayton Istee to hang tough.
He fished out a file and handed it across the desk to Ramona. “What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Zip drives, floppy disks, compact disks, and any software programs found at the Riley residence,” Ramona replied as she flipped through the inventory forms.
“We didn’t find any of that stuff,” Mielke said.
“I’d like to go out and take another look,” Ramona said.
“Suit yourself, but if you find anything bring it here and log it in with our evidence custodian. In fact, have Matt Chacon drop off those computers to us so we can keep the chain of evidence intact.”
“Ten-four,” Ramona replied.
Mielke looked at his watch. “I need to get down to Albuquerque for the autopsies. The chief medical investigator and his senior pathologist are personally doing both Riley and his wife.”
Outside Mielke’s office, Ramona found her two detectives waiting in the break room. At the meeting, Mielke had assigned Ramona and her people the task of learning what Tim and Denise Riley’s Canoncito neighbors knew about the couple. It was just one piece of what cops did to develop a victimology, a cop shop word for an exhaustive, comprehensive, up-to-the-minute history of a crime victim’s life. When completed, everything that could be known about an individual would be, in the hopes that it would lead to the killer.
During the process of collecting information, officers would delve into every aspect of the victim’s life, review in minute detail the elements of the crime, analyze the crime scene, pore over the forensic findings, locate and interview witnesses, family members, past and present associates, and friends, serve search warrants, and scrutinize autopsy results.
Sometimes the technique worked and sometimes it didn’t. Ramona and the detectives divided up the list of neighbors and drove out to Canoncito in their separate vehicles to start the interviews. From experience, Ramona knew that the process might not put a killer in their sights, but it rarely failed to reveal a victim’s secrets.
Chapter Four
At daybreak Clayton Istee entered the sheriff’s office in the Lincoln County Courthouse to find Paul Hewitt at his desk reviewing the previous day’s logs, field narratives, lead sheets, witness statements, and supplemental reports that had been turned in by the investigative team. Successful homicide investigations often hinged on not letting minor questions go unanswered. And in order to know what questions needed to be asked, it was necessary to stay on top of the volume of information that continued to accumulate.
Clayton was grateful to have the sheriff lend another pair of eyes and his superior cop instincts to the pile of paperwork. At home, over his first and only cup of coffee for the day, he had prepared an updated officer assignment sheet. He handed it to Hewitt.
The sheriff gestured at an empty chair as he looked over the assignment sheet. Clayton hadn’t designated a second in command to run the show while he attended the autopsy in Albuquerque and then went to Santa Fe to meet with the team investigating Denise Riley’s murder.
He drained his coffee, put the empty mug on the desk, swiveled in his desk chair, grabbed the coffeepot from the sideboard, and refilled his mug. Day and night, Hewitt kept a pot of coffee going in his office and he drank prodigious amounts of it. “Who’s covering for you while you’re gone?” he asked.
“I was hoping you’d volunteer, Sheriff,” Clayton said from his seat across from the big oak desk that inmates incarcerated years ago at the old Santa Fe Prison had made as part of their rehabilitation program.
Hewitt nodded. “Good choice, Sergeant.”
Clayton smiled. Paul Hewitt wasn’t known for a sense of humor, but when it did surface it was usually as dry as a New Mexico spring wind.
“Everybody should have completed their assignments before I get back from Santa Fe,” he said. “If nothing new or promising develops, have them back up and start all over again.”
Hewitt leaned back. The springs of his old wooden desk chair squeaked in protest. “I can’t see keeping this investigation going full bore unless we get a break or a credible lead sometime soon. When do we get the forensics back?”
“The state crime lab said they would give it priority, but they didn’t make any promises.”
