Bloodville (10 page)

Enthusiastic at love making, Karen didn‘t disappoint Mat in any way. He hoped he didn't disappoint her, either. He fell into a deep sleep, the sleep of a man who had not rested comfortably in days. He slept past 7:00 a.m. on Tuesday, and then past 7:30. At 8:00 he awoke to the sound of activity. Karen stood at the foot of the bed holding a tray upon which rested two of the biggest and best breakfasts Wally Gunn‘s cook could prepare: eggs scrambled with green chile, ham, fried potatoes, tortillas, orange juice and coffee. Mat sat up and Karen placed the tray on his lap. They ate together and then they made love again.
Mat felt pleased with himself as he brushed his teeth. He hadn‘t felt as well in years as he did that morning. Only once before in his life had he met a woman and gone to bed with her on the same night, and he‘d ended up married to her. He didn‘t think he‘d marry Karen McBride but he certainly hoped there‘d be more to their relationship than a tumble in the sack in a crummy motel room in Villa de Cubero, New Mexico. He gargled with vodka before he went out to meet the day.

Spurlock, Valverde and Mitchell searched Bunting's car in Grants early on Tuesday morning, November 21st. They found no gun or anything else of an incriminating nature. Both cats and the dog were missing. The turtle was dead. Doc and Vee headed for Albuquerque.

Later on Tuesday morning, Mitchell and Torrez easily and quickly secured warrants from the Grants Justice of the Peace to search the homes of Darlene Concho Bunting's two aunts at McCarty's Village on the Acoma Reservation. Acoma Tribal Governor Augustine Saracino was not nearly as cooperative. It didn't seem to him that the white man's court could order a search on Indian land without first consulting Indian authority. He also posed an interesting legal question regarding jurisdiction. Since the FBI—or the U. S. Marshal—held responsibility for investigation of felony crimes on the reservation, he asked, what made the State Police think they had any jurisdiction at all, any time? Torrez wasn't inclined to argue the point. He called Dwayne Madison at the FBI in Albuquerque and asked the federal agent to contact the U. S. Attorney and to begin paperwork aimed at securing Federal search warrants.

―There might be a problem,‖ Madison told Torrez, ―because we‘re not investigating a crime that occurred on the reservation but I‘ll see what the USA says.‖ Madison didn‘t explain that USA was FBI esoterica for United States Attorney. Torrez didn‘t have any trouble figuring it out for himself.

DA‘s investigator Jim Mitchell had another angle. The Lieutenant Governor of the State of New Mexico in 1967 was Republican E. Lee Francis of Cubero, a close personal friend of Auggie Saracino. The two men hunted deer up on Mt. Taylor just about every year. Mitchell, a comer in Democratic party circles, wasn't fond of Lee Francis but he called him anyway. He pointed out the non-partisan nature of the criminal justice system and explained the problem with Governor Saracino. Francis didn't like Mitchell, either, didn't like his brand of politics, but he had a keen interest in seeing Bud's killer brought to justice. He'd known Bud for many years and the wrecker operator had been consistently generous in helping out with political campaign costs. Besides, counting Speedy Montaño, three people‘d been shot down dead within a mile of his house in less than four months. He could do no less than help the District Attorney's office—Democrat or not—in any way he could.

State Lieutenant Governor Francis telephoned Tribal Governor Saracino and arranged for a meeting at Gunn's Cafe in Villa de Cubero. At midday on Tuesday, November 21, all interested parties, including Sheriff Jack Elkins, gathered over coffee. When the confabulation was over, Saracino agreed to allow the searches with the provision that they be conducted by Jack Elkins and Jim Mitchell. No State Police.

Mat Torrez walked out of Wally Gunn's cafe, disgusted. As a State Police captain, he wasn't accustomed to being officially denied anything but he well remembered the long standing animosity between the New Mexico State Police and the people of Acoma Pueblo. It resulted in bloodshed fifteen years before when the Felipe brothers, Gabriel and Willie, murdered State Police officer Nash Garcia along a remote desert road on the Acoma Reservation. After officers caught Gabriel, he said he did it because the State Police officer was ―mean‖ to the Indian people. Willie agreed. Willie died in federal prison. Gabriel gained release one month before Bud Rice died.

Doc Spurlock and Virgil Vee located Austin Concho at the Old Town Car Wash in Albuquerque. They asked him to take a ride to the State Police office to talk about Larry Bunting. He agreed.

―Austin,‖ Doc said after the three men arranged themselves around a table in a small conference room, ―as you might know, your brother-in-law, Larry Bunting, is under arrest for the murder of Bud Rice and Blanche Brown out at Budville. You know Bud?‖

―Sure. I know him my whole life. Miss Brown, too. She taught my father and my mother at the McCarty's School. A long time ago. Before they died.‖

―That's good, Austin. Now. Larry says he was at your house last week. What we need is for you to tell us about that, you know, when he was there, the days and times, as best you can recall. You understand what I want, Austin?‖
―I understand.‖
―Ok, what you need to do is just talk right into that microphone,

there. Just talk in a normal tone of voice.‖
―I saw my brother-in-law on Tuesday. He came down....‖ ―When was that? What Tuesday? The fourteenth? Would you just

―Ok. On Tuesday, November the 14th I saw my brother-in-law at about four o'clock in the afternoon. He came down to Albuquerque to see if he could get some money from the navy, you know, out at Kirtland Base or Sandia Base. He came to my house later on and said he didn't make it on time to get paid. My sister talked about getting a twenty-five dollar Savings Bond cashed. He left my house and he went to the reservation, to my aunt's house at McCarty's Village.‖

―That was all on Tuesday?‖
―Yes. I didn't see my brother-in-law last Wednesday or Thursday but my wife called me at work. She had went to the hospital to get checked up on. The doctor wanted her to go back because they were going to do an operation. She left my little boy with me and so I took a half a day off of work. She had her operation on Thursday.
―I didn't work last Friday, but my brother-in-law and his wife Darlene, who is my sister, came to my house about five-thirty. We went to the hospital to see my wife. They wouldn't let us go in because they said something about it not being time for visiting hours and they told us visiting hours wasn't 'til seven so we went back down and got something to eat at a drive-in over on Central Avenue by the university. Then we went out to the Indian School on 12th Street to see my other sister. Then we went to the Indian Hospital about seven and they let us in to see my wife. My brother-in-law and my sister left after that and said they was going back to the reservation. They said they would try to come down to Albuquerque on Saturday early, about ten o'clock or eleven o'clock. But Saturday, they didn't show up at the car wash until about four o'clock. They were with their two children and my little brother, Leroy Concho, age fifteen years old. My wife was already let out of the hospital by that time so I told them to go to my house and they would probably find her there. They went to my house and came back in a little while and said they couldn't find her. I told them she might be at her sister's house and I told them how to get over there. They took off and then they came back and picked me up about five thirty. That's when I get off work. They never went to my sister-in-law's house.
―I stayed with them all the time and we had supper together. They was at my house until nine o'clock. That's when I went to bed. My wife stayed up later. She was talking to them. They was still there when I got up Sunday morning to go to work. They stayed there all day and then they went back to the Indian School to see my sister. Then they got back to the house at about six-thirty and we had supper. At about eight o'clock, they took off. The last time I saw my brother-in-law was Sunday night.‖
―That's good Austin,‖ Doc said. ―Thank you. Now then, you said that on Saturday, you got off work at five-thirty and you was with Larry until you went to bed at nine-thirty. That right?‖
―It was nine o'clock when I went to bed. I always go to bed at nine o'clock.‖
―You do any drinkin' during that time, Austin?‖
―Some beer. I usually always have some beer every night.‖
―How much did you have?‖
―Six. I usually always have six.‖
―And you're sure Larry was there all that time?‖
―He was sleeping on the floor in the morning because we don‘t have no beds for people that stay with us. He didn't go nowhere.‖
―Larry tell you to say all this, Austin?‖ Spurlock said. ―He threaten to kick your ass, did he?‖
―He didn't say nothing to me about it. I didn't even seen him since last Sunday night.‖
―Thanks, Austin. I'll have an officer take you back to work.‖
Doc removed the tape from the recorder and gave it to a Criminal Bureau secretary for transcription as he and Vee left the building.
―What'd you think of that, Vee?‖
―If I was a criminal, I'd hate like hell to have my alibi depend on the likes of old Austin there.‖
―That's a big 10-4. Let's take a drive over to the house and see what Mrs. Concho has to tell us.‖
The Concho residence, an old, square, four-room adobe house with green shingles on a pitched roof occupied most of a tiny grassless, hardpan lot, ten blocks north of downtown Albuquerque. It needed new stucco, paint, and a lot of work. Charlotte Concho sat on the front porch in the November sunshine with her little boy. She invited the officers into a spotlessly clean kitchen and offered them coffee. They declined.
―We talked to your husband, Mrs. Concho, and we know you was recently hospitalized so we'll try and keep this short as we can. What we need to know about is Saturday. Last Saturday. November eighteenth. What can you tell us about that day?‖
―What about it? It was just a day, I think.‖
―Anything special happen, that you remember?‖
―That's when I got out of the hospital. My sister picked me up. I went to her house and stayed there 'til about five or five-thirty. That's when my husband gets off work and I wanted to be home.‖
―What we‘re interested in is your brother-in-law. Larry Bunting.‖
―Larry and Darlene was here two or three times last week.‖
―So we‘ve been told, Mrs. Concho. We need to know when they were here last Saturday. Specifically.‖
―Darlene and Larry drove by the house before, when they came down from the reservation but I wasn't here. They came back about six o'clock after they picked my husband up at the car wash. We had supper and then we went to bed about ten o'clock. My husband went to bed earlier, at about nine. He has to work on Sundays. They left at eight o'clock on Sunday to go on to California, to the navy.‖
―You seem to have that all down pat.‖
―You asked me to tell you.‖
―Yes I did. So, you‘re sayin' they didn't leave here at all from six on Saturday evenin' until eight on Sunday evenin'?‖
―If Larry or his wife would have left, I would know because their little baby cries when they are not there. The baby is very close to her mother.‖
―Can you tell us what kind of a car they were drivin'?‖
―It was small and blue. I don't know what kind of license it had. The last time I knew, they had an Oregon license, but now since they been in Chicago and other places, I don't know.‖
―How long have you known Larry Bunting, Mrs. Concho?‖
―Since he married my sister-in-law in Texas.‖
―I don't mean to argue with you, ma'am, but I was under the impression that Larry and Darlene was married up in Washington State.‖
―Oh. Maybe it was. I don't remember about things like that real well. Washington. Maybe it was.‖
―Thank you Mrs. Concho. We'll get your statement typed up, and your husband's too, and then we'll stop by and get you to read them over and sign them. Be all right with you?‖
―Yes, officer.‖
―Oh, one other thing. How much did Austin have to drink on Saturday evening.‖
―Maybe a six-pack. Maybe more. He drinks a lot.‖
―What about Larry? Was he drinking too?‖
―Oh, no. Larry don't drink.‖
―Larry doesn't drink what?‖
―You know, beer. Wine.‖
―Not at all?‖
―I never seen him, and Darlene says he don't. I think it makes him sick or something.‖
―Thanks again, Mrs. Concho.‖
The officers drove to the Village Inn Pancake House for coffee.
―I don't think she helped our boy too much,‖ Vee said.
―She corroborated what Austin said, for whatever that's worth.‖
―Not much, I'd say. If she can't tell the difference between Texas and Washington, a good prosecutor is going make her testimony look thin as toilet paper. And what was that about Larry being in Chicago? I don't recall any reference to Chicago, do you?‖
―No, but maybe he went through basic at Great Lakes. That's just north of Chicago. 'Course, that'd be a while back. You're right. It don't add much, does it?‖

Mat sat on the side of his bed in room seven of the Villa de Cubero Motel after the meeting with the Acoma Governor. At least, he thought, things were in motion. Spurlock and Vee were in Albuquerque working on Bunting's alibi. Elkins and Mitchell were handling the search at McCarty's Village. Madison and Wilcoxson were in charge of the physical evidence, what little there was. Mat swallowed three fingers of vodka and chased it with a warm Coke before he took a nap.

A loud knock at the door awakened him. Wally Gunn had a phone call for him in the store. Torrez listened as Doc reported on the interviews with Austin and Charlotte Concho.

―So I gather, Doc, you don‘t think the Concho‘s statements provide much of an alibi.‖
―Not by theirselves I don‘t think so.‖
―Ok. I want you to canvass Concho's neighbors. See if any of them remembers Bunting being around there on Saturday evening. Stop by the car wash, too, and see if anyone there remembers Bunting, or his car.‖
―Sure thing, Cap. Then what?‖