“I shot only in self-defense.”
“That may well be,” the deputy said. “But I took you into custody, cuffed you, and read you your rights. That constitutes an arrest and I can’t undo it. You will be booked.”
“What are my chances that I’ll be let go?”
“I can’t say for certain, but the rule of law says that a person has a right to defend himself when his home has been invaded and he has reason to believe his life is in danger. If your story holds up, your chances may be good. But first, you’ll be questioned, officers will be sent to the crime scene, evidence will be gathered, and the district attorney and medical investigator will be called in.”
Clifford sighed. “Can I call my wife in Moriarty?”
“No, sir, that will have to wait.” The deputy slowed to a stop at the end of a long lane where police vehicles were parked in front of a manufactured home with a wooden deck.
Don Mielke followed the yellow crime scene tape that Clayton Istee had strung from the side of the double- wide where Brian Riley had left footprints in the snow to an abandoned well house where the footprints ended. There he found Istee and Ramona Pino working by the light of battery-powered flood lamps, rigging a canvas tarp over the partially caved-in roof of the well house.
“There’s someone you need to talk to right now,” Mielke said when Clayton had finished tying off a rope to the trunk of a nearby tree.
“Who’s that?” Clayton asked.
“A rancher by the name of Clifford Talbott may have shot and killed Brian Riley. He’s in custody at the double-wide.”
Clayton stopped in his tracks. “You’re kidding.”
Mielke shook his head. “Nope.”
“If it’s true, it sucks,” Ramona said.
“Tell me about it,” Mielke replied sourly.
Clayton looked at Ramona. “Can you get started here without me?”
“Sure,” Ramona answered.
Clayton picked up the end of the last rope that needed to be tied off, walked to the tree behind the well house, threw the rope over a low branch, and knotted it. Unless the storm turned heavy again, the tarp would do a fairly adequate job of protecting the well house from further snowfall. He looked at Mielke. “Let’s go.”
Mielke paused as Clayton started toward the double-wide. “Do you want me to send someone help to excavate the snow inside that structure?” he asked Ramona.
“No, thanks,” she replied. “There’s only room inside for one person at a time.”
Mielke turned away and left Pino to her task, which was to first carefully clear out the snow inside the well house, looking for physical evidence along the way. Once the snow was removed, every inch of the structure would be examined, probed, dusted for prints, and if necessary dismantled, in an attempt to find anything that could explain why Brian Riley came back to it during a blinding snowstorm while every cop in the state was looking for him.
Walking through knee-deep snow took effort, and by the time Mielke caught up with Clayton he was short of breath.
“Tell me what you know,” Clayton said as Mielke came abreast of him.
“Give me a minute,” Mielke replied, gasping for air as Clayton moved effortlessly through the wet, heavy snow without breaking a sweat. He’d read somewhere that during the Indian Wars, Apaches had been known to run fifty miles a day through the blistering summer heat of the Southwestern deserts without stopping for food or water. Watching Istee made him a believer.
As he struggled to keep up with Clayton, Mielke filled him in on Talbott’s statement. When they reached the double-wide, the arresting deputy told them that the old man had identified Brian Riley from a driver’s license photograph.
Clayton’s expression turned sour. “Where is he?”
“In the backseat of my unit,” the deputy replied.
“Bring him inside.”
The deputy fetched Talbott, removed his handcuffs, and sat him at the kitchen table across from Mielke and Clayton, who gave the man the once-over. No more than five feet eight, Clifford Talbott had thick, stubby fingers, a well-formed upper body, a short neck, and a full head of curly gray hair. He sat with his head bowed and had a morose expression on his face.
“Tell us what happened,” Clayton said.
Talbott put his hands in his lap and looked up. “I’ve done that twice already, and all it does is makes me feel worse about shooting that boy.”
“
Talbott’s eyes widened. “That boy killed people?”
“I didn’t say that,” Clayton answered, “and I can’t talk about ongoing homicide investigations. Now, please, tell me with as much detail as you can what happened at your ranch.”
Once again, Clifford recounted the events that had led to the fatal shooting of Brian Riley. When Talbott finished, Clayton asked if the two had exchanged any words.
“Nary a one,” Clifford replied.
“Did you see anything in the room that may have belonged to Riley?”
“I don’t recall anything.”
“Think hard,” Clayton urged.
Talbott brought his hands up from his lap to the table and studied them for a moment. “At the foot of my easy chair there was a backpack. Blue, I think. One of those smaller ones you see high school and college students lugging around.”
Clayton smiled. “That’s good, Mr. Talbott. Anything else?”
Clifford shook his head. “That’s it, I’m afraid. Now am I going to go to jail?”
“We’ll keep you here,” Mielke answered, “until we can get to your cabin, take a look around, and see if what you’ve told us can be verified.”
“You’re going to have a tough time getting to my ranch,” Clifford replied. “I came down the mesa in four- wheel drive with chains on the tires and almost didn’t make it.”
Mielke stood up. “We’ll get there all right. The county has a road grader and a snowplow on the way, and I’m borrowing two Arctic Cat snowmobiles from Search and Rescue.”
As he rose, Clayton gave Mielke an approving glance. Calling for special equipment had been a smart move. He stepped around the table to Talbott and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. He may have killed Brian Riley, but in Clayton’s mind Clifford Talbott wasn’t a murderer.
“Stay with the deputy, Mr. Talbott. If you think of anything else you may have forgotten to tell us, let the deputy know about it.”
“I’ll do it,” Clifford said with great seriousness.
On the deck to the double-wide Clayton stood with Mielke as the snow swirled around them. It was hard to tell how much of it was wind-driven off the fresh accumulation on the ground and how much was falling from the sky.
“I’ll handle the crime scene at the ranch,” Mielke said.
“Good deal.”
“Our mobile command center will be here in a few minutes,” he added. “There’s a drop-down bunk bed in it. Get some sleep before
“I need to call Sheriff Hewitt and Chief Kerney.”
“Already done. Chief Kerney is on his way, but it make take him a while. All the highways are dangerous and there are whiteout conditions in some places.”
“Where’s your boss?” Clayton asked.
Mielke looked up at the sky. “Monitoring the situation from home.”
“That’s great.”
