Michael McGarrity - The big gamble

Untouched hills that rose up to the national forest in the mountains behind the city had sprouted multimillion-dollar-view homes. Along Cerrillos Road, the ugliest and busiest gateway into the city, a commercial building frenzy was underway with national chain stores, discount stores, motels, supermarkets, and specialty retail outlets rising up from the leveled, graded, paved earth with alarming frequency.

Most of the population growth came from newcomers to the city, a motley assortment of the new rich, old rich, New Age spiritualists and healers, wanna-be artists, movie stars, celebrities of every stripe, trustfunders, ski bums, restless youths of various ages, baby boomers who'd taken early retirement, and true believers of every possible persuasion who were drawn to the magic of Santa Fe. While they all laid claim to the trendy aesthetic life of the city, politics, a favorite local pastime, remained firmly in the hands of Hispanic and Anglo old-timers.

Kerney's sources of information about Tyler Norvell consisted of a retired state legislator, a former chief of staff for an ex-governor, a lobbyist, and a syndicated political columnist. He made the rounds, picking up a bit more information about Norvell from each informant.

After three stops, he knew that Norvell owned an expensive Santa Fe home, which he frequently made available to key legislative leaders when they traveled to Santa Fe on official business. He'd also learned that Norvell was the only senate minority member who consistently got his pork-barrel appropriations passed and signed into law. His success was attributed to a close personal friendship with the senate majority leader and backroom deal making with his colleagues.

Additionally Norvell, who was divorced, frequently threw parties at his Santa Fe house during legislative sessions, using his sister's modeling students as hostesses. Some probing questions about possible indiscretions involving the young women failed to yield any embarrassed pauses or gossip. Norvell's sister, Cassie Bedlow, was always in attendance at the parties and kept a careful eye on the girls.

That didn't mean the informants weren't equivocating. Sex was always the subject people lied about first and foremost.

Interestingly, Kerney's first three contacts had slightly different takes on the source of Norvell's wealth. The lobbyist thought that Norvell had made his money in Colorado as a lawyer, where he'd lived for some years before returning to Lincoln County and getting into real estate. The ex-chief of staff believed Norvell had been a partner in a commercial construction firm that had cashed in on the Denver building boom. The retired legislator thought Norvell had gotten rich through the stock market.

Kerney met with his last contact, Ellsworth Miller, in the press and media room that overlooked the dark senate chambers at the state capital. By law the New Mexico legislature convened only once a year in either thirty- or sixty-day sessions, so the chambers were generally empty. While some critics considered a part-time legislature unprogressive, Kerney liked the idea that the house and senate incumbents couldn't turn public service into a well-paying, full-time sinecure.

Ellsworth Miller touted himself as the dean of New Mexico journalists, which wasn't an exaggeration. In his seventies with fifty years of experience as a reporter, Miller had become a fixture at the capital. He sported a full head of curly, disheveled gray hair that rolled over his shirt collar, and a scruffy beard always in need of a trim. In the twenty years Kerney had known him, the look hadn't changed. But he had aged dramatically. Ellsworth's face was permanently flushed red by drink, and the skin around his neck was loose and flabby.

"Why the interest in Tyler Norvell?" Ellsworth asked in his gravelly voice, after Kerney had explained the focus for the meeting.

"It's supplemental to an investigation," Kerney replied.

"That tells me exactly nothing," Ellsworth said.

"Maybe we can exchange information," Kerney said. "You go first."

"Only if I get an exclusive on the story."

"If there is a story, you'll get it first," Kerney replied.

"Is this part of a criminal investigation?" Ellsworth asked, peering over the rim of his reading glasses.

"It's possibly tied to one," Kerney answered.

Ellsworth put his glasses in his shirt pocket. "Okay, I'll play along. I assume you know the basics: He's divorced, no children, his ex-wife lives out of state, he's rich, votes conservative, and he's well regarded on both sides of the aisle."

"I've got all that."

"I've heard very little dirt or gossip about him. There was word of a DWI that got buried by a former Santa Fe county sheriff some years back, but I never could confirm it."

"Which sheriff?" Kerney asked.

"Mike Olivera."

"Did you hear any specifics about the incident?"

"Just that during Norvell's first term in office, he took out a mailbox driving some woman home from a party."

"Who was your source?" Kerney asked.

"A state police officer who stopped to offer the deputy assistance. He said Norvell failed the field sobriety test, but was never booked into jail."

"Did you get an ID on the woman?"

"No."

"Who was the state cop?"

"Nick Salas. He passed the information on to me while he was assigned to security during a legislative session."

"How did Norvell get elected to his first term?"

Ellsworth rubbed his fingers together. "Money and influence. He outspent his opponents three to one in both the primary and the general election. And he got endorsements and personal appearances during the campaign from two old college chums who'd already been elected to the legislature, Silva in the senate and Barrett in the house. All three are still serving."

"Who would know the most about Norvell's college years?"

"Locally? Probably Mark Shuler," Ellsworth answered. "He was the editor of the university newspaper back when Norvell and his buddies were in college and law school together. He runs a political research and polling outfit here in Santa Fe. He's very liberal and very much opposed to Norvell's conservative agenda."

"Where did Norvell get his money?" Kerney asked.

"My understanding is that he was a successful commodities broker in Colorado."

Kerney renewed his promise to give Ellsworth first crack at any story and left, puzzling about why four informants would all have different impressions of how Norvell got rich. As he walked through the empty rotunda he called Sal Molina on his cell phone and asked him to have someone start digging into the source of Norvell's wealth.

Running over the high points in his mind, Clayton left the team meeting Sheriff Hewitt had convened. Because of a significant lack of progress in the case, Quinones and Dillingham were back on patrol duty effective immediately. Clayton was now a homicide task force of one, but at least he wasn't spinning his wheels anymore.

The autopsy and forensic reports had arrived, showing that Ulibarri had a high level of alcohol and painkillers in his bloodstream, which meant he'd most likely been strangled while unconscious. The medicine was identical to Humphrey's prescription.

Indentation marks around the neck suggested the murderer was male. Partial fingerprints had been lifted, enough for a match. But a computer data search had failed to identify a suspect. Blond hairs combed from Ulibarri's groin area confirmed Ulibarri had engaged in sexual intercourse sometime prior to his murder.

Clayton's query to the FBI about other homicides with similar signatures had come back negative. There was nothing in the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program data bank that correlated to other murders with a similar or identical staged placement of the body.

The DA wanted Harry Staggs found and held as a material witness, so with a search warrant in hand, Quinones and Dillingham had scoured every inch of Casey's Cozy Cabins, looking for personal papers and financial records that could give them a line on Staggs's whereabouts. The exercise failed, as did a canvass of area financial institutions, banks, and government offices. Apparently, Staggs was a man who'd worked hard at not leaving behind a paper trail. He'd paid his property taxes, utilities, and living expenses with cash or by money order, and had no known bank accounts or credit cards.