Early the next morning, accompanied by a young deputy, Detective Martinez drove to the Crawford Ranch. He and his deputy waited at the door for Charlie to answer it. Charlie did not appear too happy to see guests showing up so early in the day. He leaned against the door frame. His boxer shorts looked like they’d never been laundered, although he had on a pair of clean white tube socks.
“You Charlie Cooper?” Martinez asked.
“Yeah, what do you want?” Charlie stifled a yawn and scratched his behind.
“I’m arresting you for assault with a deadly weapon against one Bart Wolfe. You’re going to have to come with us.”
“Give me a chance to throw some clothes on,” said Charlie.
The deputy read Charlie his rights, handcuffed him and led him out to the car. Charlie asked if he could make a phone call, so the deputy handed him his cell. He dialed Brenda’s number.
“Hello.” Brenda sounded half asleep.
“Listen to me. I’ve only got a minute,”
Charlie barked.
“Hey, Charlie. Something wrong—what’s going on?” she asked.
“Can’t talk now. I need you to get in touch with Joe Snead. His number’s in the Yellow Pages. Tell him to meet me at the County Detention Center on Highway 14 as soon as he can get there. I’ll explain later.”
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Just do it, Brenda. I gotta go,” he snapped.
Detective Martinez held Charlie’s head down and the deputy helped guide him into the back seat of the cruiser. Martinez opened the front door and got in. The deputy followed after securing Charlie’s door. An iron mesh screen separated the back seat from the front.
Although mad as hell at being arrested, Charlie breathed a sigh of relief that the cops hadn’t searched his place. The deputy had grabbed his rifle from the kitchen table, but nothing else. Charlie decided he would be very cooperative.
The Santa Fe County Adult Detention Center building was a long two-story split level brick and cement building. Arriving at the complex, the cruiser stopped at a metal gate at the end of a long driveway next to a chain link fence. The deputy punched in a code and the gate slid open.
Martinez parked and the deputy assisted Charlie out of the car and nudged him to the door. They entered through automatic sliding doors. Martinez handed the arresting documents to the jailer and removed the handcuffs from Charlie’s wrists. Charlie was then hustled into the booking room and given over to a clerk named Martha.
Charlie stood silent as he was photographed and fingerprinted. Snead should have been here by now, he thought. Where the hell was he?
His stomach growled as he automatically answered their stupid questions. He hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. Brenda would be hysterical by now, wondering what was going on. He removed his watch and a turquoise ring and handed them to the booking clerk, emptied his pockets, and placed his wallet and some coins on the counter, along with a silver money clip with a few bills, which the clerk counted out and noted on the envelope.
“Is that it?” Martha the clerk popped her gum with a loud crack. If there was anything sexy about her, it escaped Charlie’s generally keen eye. She was on the portly side, with a bit more makeup than Charlie cared for. The almost black lipstick lining her lips matched the dark color on her fingertips, and she looked older than the twenty-five years she probably was. While processing Charlie’s belongings, she carried on a conversation with the guard standing next to him, fluttering her long feathery eyelashes while she rolled her eyes and ran her fingers through her Farrah Fawcett hairdo. The guard ate it all up. I could walk out the door while those two play footsie, Charlie thought. He kept his eye on the door. No sign of Snead yet.
Finally, Martinez directed him into the interrogation room. He motioned for Charlie to sit, offered him a cigarette and a light. Charlie declined and Martinez fired up one for himself. Charlie slumped in the chair.
“Charlie, just to get the record straight and give you the opportunity to make your statement a part of the record, I need to ask you a couple of questions,” said Martinez.
“I’ll wait for Snead,” Charlie said.
“Just a few vanilla questions,” Martinez said.
‘Like what?” Charlie rubbed his wrists.
“Tell me what happened when you had the run-in with Bart,” Martinez said. “You told Detective Romero you weren’t around that afternoon, but we know different, don’t we? So tell me what happened.”
“Vanilla, huh? You call that vanilla? I’ll wait for Snead.”
Martinez snuffed his cigarette out in an ashtray. “Why do you want to waste your money on that two-bit shyster?”
“What are you booking me for?” Charlie asked.
“Attempted murder of Bart Wolfe.”
“Yeah, that sounds real vanilla.” Charlie swatted at a pesky fly that was buzzing his neck.
“Well, just give me a little basic information.”
“Try me.”
“What were you doing at the ruins on—uh—two weeks ago on Friday around five-thirty in the afternoon? You told Lt. Romero you were at the vet all day, but we know you got home in the middle of the afternoon.”
“You know, McCabe pays me to keep an eye on them and chase away the riffraff that show up periodically. That’s what I was doing, chasing away the riffraff.” Charlie was getting suspicious. “You sure Snead hasn’t showed up and you’re making him wait in your anteroom?”
“No sign of the esteemed gentleman.” Martinez scribbled doodles on the pad in front of him.
Charlie thought he was trying to make up for the crap earlier when he called Snead a two-bit shyster. “Well, I think I’d better wait for him.”
“Bart showed up that afternoon, didn’t he?” Martinez plunged ahead. “He the kind of riffraff you try to keep away?” He stood up, walked around the chair and flexed his fingers.
“You got that one right,” Charlie said. “Mark one up for the super-duper detective. Here’s another tidbit for you. Bart was drunk out of his mind. Or high. Or both. He started getting belligerent. Claimed I owed him twenty bucks. And that I was screwing his girlfriend.”
“So you shot him?”
“So he pulled a knife out and lunged at me. Then he grabbed for my rifle and wanted to shoot me with it. I got mad and jerked back. It went off when he tripped and fell toward me. I didn’t intend to kill him. Heck, I didn’t even intend to shoot him. I always carry my .22 with me in case I see a rattler.”
Charlie was just getting started.
There was a knock on the door.
“Yeah?” Martinez asked.
The clerk stepped in. “Detective, Mr. Snead is in the waiting room,” she said.
“All right, we’re done here. You can show him in,” said Martinez.
Snead wore a dark pinstriped two-piece suit, a pink silk shirt and a tie. His skin was tanned and his hair combed back into a neat ponytail. “Detective Martinez, we meet again.” He gave Martinez an oily smile.
“How’s it going, there, counselor?” Martinez gave him a weak smile.
“Great, can’t complain,” said Snead.
“I’ll leave so you can talk to your client,” Martinez said, but instead sat down to make some notations in the file.
John Snead was a well known fixture among legal circles in Northern New Mexico. He was in his sixties and had been a criminal attorney for most of his career. It was a lucrative profession, from the looks of the pricey jet black BMW X6 out in the parking lot. His great-grandfather was an old Santa Fe politician who it was rumored bilked native Santa Fe Hispanos out of land on upper Canyon Road, sold it to his Anglo cronies and kept a big chunk for himself. Cozy little deal, Martinez thought. Provided a pot of gold for Snead and his two brothers.
“About time you got here,” Charlie said.
Snead pulled out a chair, dusted it with his handkerchief, and sat down. He didn’t bother to shake Charlie’s hand.
“First things first, Charlie. Relax. I’ll enter a plea on your behalf and you don’t have to say anything. The DA will ask for bail to be denied and that you be held without bond. I’ll argue that it was an accidental shooting. If the Judge won’t agree to a cash bond, you’re here until the preliminary hearing. I’ve already called the bondsman. You’ll be out of here in a couple of hours. Everything’s fine, so just relax.”
The room went quiet for a moment. Martinez was scribbling on his pad. Charlie crossed his arms. Snead looked at him.
“What?” Charlie asked.
“When the bail bondsman releases you, Charlie, bring me five big ones.”
Charlie wasn’t sure whether he meant bills or bricks. “What’s that for?”
“Retainer,” Snead smiled.
“Yeah, yeah. Bring you a bundle of your favorite green stuff on Monday,” Charlie smirked.
The guard took Charlie down a long hallway. A buzzer sounded and an electronic lock opened the door to a large warehouse-sized room divided into eight compartments. In each cell there was a concrete slab with a thin mattress and pillow, a steel sink with cold water, a stainless steel toilet and urinal. He could smell the stench coming from the wino in the next cell.
“This sure as hell ain’t no four-star establishment,” Charlie said to anyone within earshot. He was glad he was only going to be there a few hours.
But it was morning before he was released on bond. He called Brenda to pick him up in front of the complex, and told her to hurry it up.