Dog Gone Lies (Pacheco & Chino Mysteries Book 1) (13 page)

“I think that dog is spoiled.”

“Maybe or maybe he’s spoiled me.” Little chuckle this time, not the huge Big Jack laugh.

“Tyee and I are headed up to Albuquerque in the morning. There’s been a development in Ms. Jackson’s disappearance.”

Big Jack was very attentive as Ray described the latest news.

“I guess you know this forgery business out of Mexico is huge. Had some dealings with some of this in my L.A. days. All we hear about is drugs coming out of Mexico, but forged documents of all kinds amount to millions, hell, maybe billions of dollars. I think it started out as a business supplying illegals with forged papers, but it’s branched out into almost anything you can think of. Some of the really big bucks involve forged collectable documents, from sports memorabilia to civil war documents. If the son was involved in this stuff with people in Mexico, you need to be really careful. These are not nice people—just think of them the same way you would drug dealers. They kill to make a point.”

Ray noticed a different edge to Big Jack’s voice. He still had a lot to learn about his new partner.

“Thanks for the warning. Guess I hadn’t thought too much about the forgery business. But the son being executed within a few days of his mother disappearing can’t be just a coincidence. I think they’re connected, and if Monica’s still alive—which is a big
if
—then she’s in danger.”

Ray told Big Jack about their plans for the next day and left him with various contact numbers in Albuquerque. He also gave Big Jack the personal information he’d need to complete the application form for their PI license. Jack said he’d been working on the legal documents and he hoped to have everything finished sometime that day.

Ray said his goodbyes and headed off with Happy. The drive to the cabin was short and very bumpy. When he arrived, he was thrilled to see Sue’s car out front.

Wednesday

Ray and Tyee were on the road to Albuquerque by seven the next morning. Happy was left with Big Jack, which seemed to please both of them. It was about a two hour drive. When they got there they were hoping to be able to see the detective in charge first, then go by and visit with Mike.

Ray had also talked with Big Jack, who had told him that the incorporation papers for Pacheco and Chino, Private Investigations, Inc. were done and he’d sent them to the Secretary of State’s office. He’d also completed the forms for a PI license for the firm, as well as individual licenses for Ray and Tyee, although getting information out of Tyee had been a challenge. All of this had been accomplished the day before, and very soon they would officially be in business.

“So are you looking forward to being Tyee Chino, PI?”

“I think so Ray. Although this isn’t a path I’d ever thought about. Kind of thought I would just do a little fishing and drinking and not much else. I hope I can be useful.”

“My god, what’s this—a fucking humble Apache? Come on, where are the fuck-you-white-man jabs?”

“Well, maybe I’m mellowing. Finding harmony with my inner self.”

“Not sure I can handle this new spiritual Indian. I think I like the fuck-you-white-man guy better.”

“Well, in that case: fuck you white man. Maybe it’s time Indian get to drive car—why are you always the leader?”

Ray glanced at Tyee to make sure he wasn’t serious, but he could never quite tell. He saw a travel center up ahead and took the exit. “Think I need some coffee.”

They pulled into the travel center and Ray gave Tyee the keys. He went inside and got two travel cups of coffee, then got back in on the passenger side. “And don’t let me hear you complaining about the Indian always being the chauffeur.”

New Mexico was a big state and had a lot of variety in terrain. There were mountain ranges on both sides of the I-25 as they headed north to Albuquerque. The mountains on the west side had a lot more trees, as well as huge mesas. Ray wasn’t sure what caused these formations, but was always amazed at how flat their tops were—it was as if a mountain had risen up and then someone had come along and sliced off the top. He knew that if you actually climbed a mesa the terrain wasn’t as flat as it looked from a distance, but from the highway they looked as if they’d been cut with a knife.

As they got closer to Albuquerque, the traffic started to increase. They hadn’t seen many buildings along the road, mostly because much of the land right off the highway was owned by the government, so any developments weren’t visible from the road. As they entered the Albuquerque area, it was as if all of a sudden an abundance of civilization had sprung up out of nothing. Coming in from the south the area was fairly barren, and then suddenly it was urban. They quickly came up on the exit that would take them downtown. Tyee seemed to know his way around Albuquerque and didn’t make any wrong turns.

They exited onto Central Avenue, then turned onto another street that took them to Roma Avenue NW. Tyee found the headquarters, and they entered the parking garage. They found the elevators, went to the fifth floor, and found themselves in a reception area. The officer behind the counter asked who they were looking for, and Ray gave her the detective’s name. She asked them to have a seat.

It wasn’t long before Detective Taylor came out and introduced himself, asking what their visit was about. Ray told him, and he escorted them back to his office. Ray could tell that the detective was mostly paying attention to Tyee. Ray had become used to Tyee, but he knew that he was a pretty imposing figure. Plus he had on his Indian-hate-all-white-man face. The detective wasn’t going to turn his back on this angry mountain of a man.

“Appreciate you seeing us. As I said, we’re here about Ed Jackson. I’m a friend of Mike Jackson, Ed’s father. Mike’s understandably very upset about his son’s murder and asked if I could help him find out more about what happened. And we wanted to let you know that Mike is staying with his other son, Luke, for the moment. I have the address and phone number in case you need to get in touch with him.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not much more than I told the father when I notified him of his son’s death. I know this sort of thing is terrible on the family, but it looks like his son was involved with some pretty bad people. The families always want to believe that their son or daughter was innocent and can’t understand how something like this could happen. Obviously there’s no question that Ed shouldn’t have been killed, but our guess is that this was a direct result of his contact with people engaged in criminal activity.”

Something about this detective was rubbing Ray the wrong way.
Hell, all he has to do is tell us what he knows—we don’t need a fucking lecture about it being the victim’s fault.

“Well yeah, I think we all know, including his father, that Ed was doing things he shouldn’t have been doing. We’re just looking for any information you might have to help us better understand what happened.”

“Well to tell you the truth, Ed wasn’t exactly on our radar. He was picked up because of a request from a task force that was being headed up by the FBI. I think it had something to do with fake documents being sold to illegals or something—anyway this was a task force of several federal agencies. He was arrested at a trade show at the convention center and charged with possession of forged collectable documents—once again not my specialty, so I don’t know much about it. What I heard is this was a ‘tip of the iceberg’ sort of thing and involved millions of dollars. Anyway, he was questioned by the FBI, who no doubt were trying to get him to cooperate with them to find the bigger guys, but he refused. He was bailed out by his father and twelve hours later he’s dead. Executed with a small caliber weapon—shot between the eyes. We have no weapon, no evidence at all really, and no suspects—if this gets solved, it’ll more than likely be by the FBI.”

What a jerk. Their plan was to do nothing because it involved a killing between two bad guys—the world was a better place with one of them dead.

“Sounds like there won’t be much done by the Albuquerque Police Department.”

“If we have any leads or evidence, we’ll follow up. Without that there’s not a damn thing we can do.”

“Did the FBI share with you anything that Ed did say?”

“Not much. One of the agents mentioned that they thought he might still be high, or maybe just permanently confused. He kept saying something about his mother having all of the facts and once he got out he would fix everything. They had no idea what he was talking about. But you know how the FBI operates—they mostly just ignored us like we smelled bad or something.”

Ray got up, said thanks, and walked out. Tyee lingered a bit. The detective just stared. Tyee got up and left.

“Many cops just as bad as people they chase.”

“Your Indian wisdom nailed that one. What a waste of time. Just a minute, I need to ask the jerk a question.”

Ray stepped back into the detective’s office. He was gone only a minute. “Asked him if he could give me the FBI’s guy name—he said no. Almost said well, I’ll have to send the Indian back in to rough you up some—but decided that was probably an unwise thing to say at police headquarters.”

“White man has Indian wisdom.”

On their way back to the parking garage Ray stopped and asked a young lady carrying files where the Albuquerque office for the FBI was—she said it was in the building next door—she indicated by pointing—and she thought it was on the fourth floor.

They left the car where it was and walked next door. The building was probably thirty or more stories and there was a lot of activity in the lobby, which also hosted a guard. Ray approached him and asked where the FBI offices were. The police officer had been right—it was on the fourth floor. Exiting the elevator, they arrived at another reception area, this time with an attendant behind glass.

“Hi, my name is Ray Pacheco and I’m assisting the Dona Ana County sheriff’s department with a matter that involves a person named Ed Jackson. He was killed here in Albuquerque in the last few days. I have been told by the Albuquerque police that there was an FBI task force that was investigating Mr. Jackson. I was wondering if I could speak to someone who might know about that.”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Pacheco. Would you take a seat and let me see what I can find out?” Ray suspected the answer would be no. Even so, he thought the response would at least be polite. They were made to wait longer than Ray had expected, and Tyee was looking like he was ready to call it quits when the woman returned.

“Mr. Pacheco, Special Agent Myers will be with you in a minute.”

Ray said thanks and sat back down. Tyee looked unimpressed. It had taken her almost fifteen minutes to come back and ask them to wait some more—no telling how long this was going to take. But in just a matter of minutes a tall, distinguished man in his mid-fifties came out and greeted them.

“Well, well, if it’s not Ray Pacheco, famous sheriff. I thought I’d heard you retired.”

In that it’s-a-small-world sort of coincidence, it turned out that Ray knew Myers, though he’d forgotten. Probably twenty years before, this guy had tried to run roughshod over Ray when he was sheriff. Ray didn’t let him get away with it, and they had not been friends. Dona Ana County was under the El Paso FBI office and Ray had had many dealings with them. This guy Myers had come in as a loaner from somewhere and acted like he was the only one who knew anything. He clashed with almost everyone and was soon shipped somewhere else—and Ray had completely forgotten him.

“Agent Myers, long time no see.” Ray winced inwardly.
What a stupid thing to say.

The agent showed Ray and Tyee back into his office—a big office. Apparently he was the person in charge. They took the chairs in front of his desk. The desk was way too large to be functional, so it was a power thing. Ray really hated people who played those games.

“Actually Ray, I know you retired and you’re not the sheriff in Dona Ana County anymore, so what’s this bullshit about you assisting them in some matter?”

“Just trying to be a good citizen by helping my law enforcement heroes.”

“Yeah, you’re so full of shit. You’ll never change Ray—big fucking ego.”

“Who gave you permission to be an asshole?” Oops, that was Tyee.

“Get the fuck out of here big chief, and take your fake sheriff with you.”

Okay, sometimes things don’t work out. Ray decided—and it was a good decision—that the meeting was over, and left with Tyee. He had a strange premonition that Tyee might cause Agent Dickhead some real damage if things progressed any further.

They got on the elevator and headed down. “Are all law enforcement people assholes?”

“Well, Tyee, that’s a reasonable question. I know some that aren’t. But the majority have some kind of control issues. Almost everyone you meet in law enforcement shouldn’t be in law enforcement. The people who should be doing it wouldn’t take the risk involved for the small rewards. So you end up with very flawed people doing very difficult jobs—that’s a bad combination. But you’re instincts are right—most of them have serious problems.”

So that hadn’t been helpful. In short order they had pissed off the local detective and the head of the local FBI office. Pretty good work for only an hour or so. On the other hand, sometimes it’s better to stir up the wasps than to ignore them—he knew they hadn’t heard the last from either man.