basketball on the fifty-inch high-definition, wall-mounted plasma television.”
“Sounds like loads of fun,” Clayton said. “Lead on.”
“You can leave your unit at the motel,” Armijo said, “and I’ll drive you there.”
Clayton quickly accepted Armijo’s offer. He still wasn’t feeling all that comfortable about driving Tim Riley’s S.O. unit. The vehicle was one of the last things Riley had touched before his murder, and the thought that he might still be hanging around continued to creep Clayton out.
The downtown nightclub on Central Avenue was buzzing with a mixture of hip grad students from the university, young, single professionals, and affluent thirty-something couples. The decor was industrial chic, with exposed heating and air-conditioning ductwork suspended from the ceiling, high-tech halogen lights on long, flexible metallic elbows, steel girders painted a rust red, polished aluminum wall panels, and large mirrors strategically mounted to give patrons a view of themselves as they mingled and flirted. In the lounge area, two wide-screen wall-mounted high-definition televisions on opposite walls had attracted a noisy crowd of customers watching a basketball game. Three very attractive female servers dressed in tailored black slacks and tight-fitting scoop-neck tops dipped, scooted, and swerved their way around the patrons, delivering drinks and bar food.
Armijo pointed out Minerva Stanley Robocker, who was by far the best-looking server of the trio. She had curly blond hair, a slender body, and high cheekbones above full, rosy lips. “You’ll want to talk to her outside,” Armijo said. “I’ll bring her to you.”
Clayton nodded and watched Armijo intercept Robocker as she stepped to the bar to unload empty glasses and place a fresh drink order. She looked unhappy when Armijo flashed his shield, and then balked and shook her head when he pointed toward the exit. Armijo put his shield away, said something, and pointed at Clayton.
Robocker cast a frosty look in Clayton’s direction, put her tray on the bar, said something to the bartender, and walked with Armijo toward the exit. Clayton caught up with them at the door. Outside, with Armijo behind the wheel of his unmarked police car, Clayton joined Robocker in the backseat.
“This could get me fired,” Robocker said before Clayton uttered a word.
“Relax,” Armijo said as he cranked the engine, turned on the car heater, and switched on the dome light. “I’ll square it with your boss.”
“You’d better,” Minerva Stanley Robocker replied as she stared at Clayton. “So what kind of cop are you? Navajo Tribal Police? Isleta Pueblo? Something like that?”
“Why don’t you let me ask the questions?” Clayton countered.
“You look like one of the Indian policemen in the television movies that have been made from those Tony Hillerman novels set on the Navajo Rez. I saw a rerun of one on public TV recently.”
“My name is Sergeant Istee, Ms. Robocker. I’m with the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office and we’re investigating the murders of Brian Riley’s father and stepmother. Since you’ve been riding his Harley lately, we thought you might know where he is.”
Stanley put her hand to her throat. “His father and stepmother have been murdered?”
“Yes. We need to find Brian and tell him what’s happened.”
“He’s probably in North Carolina. He went back there to visit some friends.”
“When was that?” Clayton asked.
“Four weeks ago,” Stanley replied. “Maybe a little longer.”
“Have you heard from him since he left?”
Stanley shook her head. “No.”
“Have any of your friends?”
Her gaze shifted away from Clayton’s face. “No.”
“Okay,” he said, reading the lie. “Sometime last year you went up to Santa Fe with him. Tell me about that.”
Stanley shrugged a shoulder. “It was just a day trip. We rode up on his Harley. I’d only been to Santa Fe once or twice before, and he offered to show me around.”
“I was told he introduced you as his girlfriend.”
Stanley laughed. “That was a little fib on his part. I let him get away with it to impress a friend of his. Brian’s way too young for me. He’s like a kid brother, nothing more.”
“There’s no romantic involvement between the two of you?” Clayton queried.
Stanley waved her hand to dismiss the ludicrous notion. “No way.”
“Didn’t you tell Brian’s Santa Fe friends that you were a college student?” he asked.
“I don’t know where they got that impression. I may have said something about going back to school someday. What does any of this have to do with finding Brian?”
Clayton smiled. Stanley’s obvious irritation made him believe she was hiding something. He decided to see if he could annoy her some more. “I’m simply trying to get everything clear in my mind. How did Brian support himself?”
Stanley shook her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t talk about working or having a job, but he had money. Not a lot, but some.”
“Did he tell you where his money came from?”
“No. Listen, it wasn’t like I spent oodles of time with him, you know? Sometimes we would hang out together. I liked him because he wasn’t always coming on to me. We could just chill.”
Clayton couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard anyone use the word
“At a party up by the university.”
“Who threw it?” Clayton asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Where was it held?”
“I don’t remember,” Stanley replied, sounding testy. “I just heard there was this party and I crashed it.”
“You crashed it alone?”
“Yes, alone.”
“How did you come to have possession of his Harley?”
“He left it with me while he’s gone. Is there some kind of law against that?” she snapped. Clayton smiled again. Her strong reaction convinced him that she wasn’t being completely truthful. He reached across her and opened the car door. “You can go back to work,” he said. “Thanks for your time.”
“That’s it?” Stanley asked.
“For now.” Clayton gave her his business card. “I may need to talk to you again, but in the meantime call me if you see Brian or if he gets in touch with you or any of your friends.”
“Yeah, sure,” Stanley replied.
Armijo gave Clayton a quizzical look as the young woman hurried toward the club entrance. “You know she’s lying,” he said when Clayton joined him in the front seat.
“Yeah. Do you want to stick around and see what she does next?”
Armijo nodded and killed the dome light. “It’s going to be a while before she gets off work.”
“I’ve got nothing better to do, have you?” Clayton asked.
“Not since my wife left me for the assistant manager at our local supermarket. And I thought she was just forgetful when it came to getting stuff we needed at the grocery store. Boy, was I stupid.”
“Sorry to hear it,” Clayton said.
Armijo put the car in gear. “Let’s find a place were we can stake out the front entrance without being spotted, and get some people over here to cover her car and the staff entrance.”
“Can you free someone up to keep an eye on her inside the club?” Clayton asked.
“Good idea.” Armijo reached for the radio microphone.
While Armijo was calling for assistance, Clayton looked up and down the street. There were no crowds standing outside the nightspots waiting to get in; foot traffic was almost nonexistent along the avenue, and only a few cars were stopped at the intersection waiting for a light to change. Except for the smattering of bars and clubs on both sides of the street, most of the businesses were closed and dark.
“So where’s the big-city nightlife?” he asked.
“Except for the weekends, you’re looking at it,” Armijo replied with a chuckle as he pulled away from the
