Bloodville (25 page)

And the job. Mat had served under five State Police chiefs: Joe Roach, A. P. Winston, K. K. Miller, Johnny Bradford and
Sam
Black.
Sam
Black's administration was the worst of the lot. Mat liked
Sam
personally, considered him a good man and good policeman, but the Chief just didn't seem able to get a handle on Charlie Scarberry and Scarberry wasn't giving anyone any peace. He never passed up an opportunity to gig Mat about the Rice/Brown and Eulogio Salazar murder cases. Even so, Mat's commitment remained strong and he spent twelve to fourteen hours per day doing work for the New Mexico State Police Department. Mat found excuses to travel around the state visiting State Police offices, criminal agents, and old friends. So seldom did he eat at home that he unplugged his refrigerator.

Mat Torrez ate supper with Mo Candelaria in Gallup on the last Friday in April. The lieutenant told the captain that Doc Spurlock returned to duty in Gallup from his stay in Roswell without his wife, Patsy. Mo said just about everything had been moved out of their mobile home and Doc, whenever he was in Gallup, slept on an old cot. Otherwise he only used the house trailer—which was up for sale—as a place to shower, shave and shine his boots.

―Chalk up one more for Old Gooseberry,‖ Candelaria said. ―Have you talked to Doc, Mo?‖
―I talked to him. You know Doc. He's not one to complain too

much. He said, ‗Lieutenant, the regulations say I got to live where I'm assigned to, and I do. I ain't changed my address. Far's the rest of it's concerned, it ain't no goddamn business of the New Mexico State Police Department.‘‖

―I can understand his attitude,‖ the captain said.
―I can too,‖ Candelaria said. ―But let me tell you, Mat, I don't know what you're hearing, but I'm hearing there is a lot of unhappiness in Santa Fe. Old Gooseberry thinks he'll be the next chief, soon as Sam Black bails out or dies, but my
primos
tell me it will never happen. Some of the district captains have made some bridges to the Governor. Some of them threatened open revolt, and you know Dave Cargo. He's already got more troubles than he can take care of.‖
―I hope you're right. The day Scarberry becomes chief is the first day of my retirement.‖
―It won't happen, Mat. Take my word for it. But Marty Vigil isn't much better, in my opinion.‖

Mat stopped at the Gallup State Police office before he started back to Albuquerque on Saturday morning. Debbie Smith stopped him as he passed the communications room.

―Captain, I thought you might be interested. I just got a call from a friend of mine in Albuquerque. Sergeant Finch got arrested by the Albuquerque PD last night.‖

―Freddy Finch? Are you sure?‖
―That's what they said.‖
―What for?‖
―Something about drunk and a gun.‖
―I didn‘t think Freddy drank.‖
―I don‘t know about that.‖
―This wasn't official was it, what you heard?‖ Mat asked. ―Just a friend of mine. Sgt. Finch called Albuquerque dispatch to

find Chief Scarberry to vouch for him to get him out of jail.‖ ―Is Doc Spurlock 10-7 here in Gallup?‖
―No sir. He checked out last night at the Crossroads Motel in Albuquerque. He's on RDO.‖

―Do me a favor, Debbie, if anyone asks, I don't know anything about any of this. I'm on my regular day off, too.‖
―You got it, Captain. By the way, is there anything on catching that guy that killed Bud and Miss Brown?‖
―He is on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list. I understand they're looking for him in Oklahoma and St. Louis but so far,
nada
.‖

Mat drove 138 miles from Gallup to Albuquerque in less than two hours. He knocked on Doc's door at the Crossroads Motel just before noon. Doc opened up and stood neatly dressed before his boss.

Cellar for a cheeseburger and a beer. We allowed, ain't we?‖ ―We‘re allowed,‖ Mat said.
―You drive,‖ Doc said.

They sat in a dim/dark booth in the Wine Cellar with a pitcher of beer between them.
―Ok, Doc. Tell me what happened to Freddy Finch.‖
―Freddy fuck up, did he?‖

―Don't toy with me, Doc. You said you expected to see me today. That could only be so because you expected that I would hear about Freddy and want to talk to you about it. Tell me about it.‖

―All I know is that Herman called me this mornin‘ and said Freddy got collared by APD bluesuits and locked up for D & D.‖
―Herman had to call you and tell you about it? I called Chief Shaver from Gallup and he said all he knows is what the report says. I asked him what Freddy's blood alcohol level was and he said they didn't do a blood alcohol test on him. That says to me they didn't do it because they already knew the result would be zero zip.‖
―Gee, I don't know, Cap....‖
―Which also says to me that the whole deal was a set-up. So I ask myself who would do such a thing and by applying the M. A. O. investigative method I find that Agent Doc Spurlock and Officer Herman Budwister had Motive, Ability and Opportunity, especially motive. Then I learned the arrest was made in the parking lot of the Fair Plaza Shopping Center and I recall that the Wine Cellar Lounge is located right here in this very shopping center. Did you and Herman happen to stop in here last night?‖
―Matter of fact, we did stop for a beer or two. I was riding with Budwister. No state car involved.‖
―And you didn't see a thing in the parking lot, did you?‖
―Not a thing, Cap.‖ Doc washed down a bite of his burger with a swallow of beer. ―Let me take that back. When we left, they was a car in the parking lot with the door open and the light on. You reckon that had anything to do with it?‖
―You know the gloves are off now, don't you?‖
―Tell you the truth, Cap, I don't much give a damn. First place, Scarberry can‘t touch me. I can prove where I was all last evenin‘.‖
―I thought you might.‖
―And besides that, if Festerin‘ Freddy says Herman or I laid a finger on him, he's a damn liar. We never touched him.‖
―I never thought you did, but that doesn't mean....‖
―Let me just finish up my thoughts here, Cap. The other reason I don't much care is that I've just about had it with the State Police. I done my two weeks of down time, and I didn't bitch about it, either. I admit I busted the rules. I knew I shouldn't let Herm drink that beer in my police car. So I paid a price for havin‘ my head up my ass. Then I come back to work and what's the first thing I notice? Ol' Freaky Fred doggin' me agin. Makes it mighty damn hard to do work when you know you got some son-of-a-bitch peekin' over your shoulder all the time.‖
―Believe me when I tell you I did not know that Scarberry put Freddy back on you. I'll talk to the chief and see if I can get him called off. Of course, after he gets out of jail, he might not be too anxious to follow you around any more.‖
―I appreciate that, Cap, but here's the thing: I just don't give a damn. While I cooled my hash down there in Roswell, I got a chance to talk to the sheriff and the District Attorney. Sheriff got an opening right now for a deputy, but I can't get too excited about serving subpoenas and eviction notices. He said after the election he was thinkin' about puttin' on an investigator. I pretty much got dibs on it. DA don't have no opening for investigator right now, but he's a friend of my daddy. Said he'd keep me in mind. Besides that, I ran into an old friend of mine from my bull ridin' days. Glen Franklin. He's been ropin' on the Rodeo Cowboys tour for the past few years. He's up by more than eleven thousand dollars this early in the year. Hell. I can rope calves as good as he does. 'Specially with a little bit of practice.‖
―I hate to think about you leaving the State Police, Doc.‖
―I ain't leaving the department, Cap. The department left me on the selfsame day when Charlie Scarberry became the deputy chief. He wants to spend his time grab-assin' the troops in general, and me in particular, instead of doin' police work, I reckon its time for me to find another place to earn my chuck. It wouldn't be so bad if there was any chance things'd change, but hell, Scarberry could hang-in for another five, six years, or even longer. He might even get to be chief permanently, then where in the hell would I be? I guess you know Patsy and me is split-up. She took the boy and moved back in with her folks.‖
―I was sorry to hear it.‖
―It ain't like we're gonna divorce but she won't have livin' in a house trailer in Gallup no more, only bein' able to see her folks two, three times a year. She said the State Police expects us to live like trailer park trash and she's done with it. There ain't much chance of me gettin' a transfer, is there?‖
―Not much chance. I cannot argue with anything you say, Doc, but as a favor to me, I wish you‘d stay on until we close out the Budville case. You‘ve done all the work and if you leave you know as well I do that the investigation will end. I don't have time to handle it. I guess I'm appealing to your sense of tenacity.‖
―I don‘t know how much help I‘ll be. Wilcoxson won‘t even talk to me. I guess he thinks he don‘t need any more help.‖
―I‘ll talk to him,‖ Mat said.
―Ok. But like I say, Cap, probably be winter before I'd cash out anyway. I just wanted you to know that as of right now, I'm on a KMA contract with the State Police.‖
―KMA contract?‖
―Yeah. KMA. Kiss My Ass. The next time Scarberry screws around with me, he can kiss my ass, and I'll be long gone. Them's the terms of a KMA contract.‖

First thing on Monday morning, Mat Torrez called Chief Sam Black and respectfully requested that Deputy Chief Scarberry be ordered to discontinue surveillance of officer Spurlock. The chief replied that such an order had already been issued.

Later that Monday afternoon Scarberry had a meeting with Freddy Finch. Spurlock was not to be followed in the future, —at least not closely followed—the deputy chief said. All of his paperwork, however, was to be examined with a critical eye and his activity reports were to be confirmed by outside sources. A synopsis of Spurlock‘s workweek would be made to Scarberry each Friday afternoon. Same thing applied to Mat Torrez.

On Friday, August 2, 1968, the rodent-faced pimp who worked at the Dago Rose whorehouse in East St. Louis made his monthly visit to the General Delivery window of the local Post Office. Welfare and unemployment checks mailed out at month's end would be available and those brown government issued envelopes were the only pieces of mail he ever received. A lot of other people were on the same errand that hot and humid summer day and the long line moved slowly as the lone clerk searched through alphabetical bundles of mail for each patron. The line wound past a large bulletin board upon which were tacked lists of postal rules and regulations, parcel post rates, assorted public notices and a half dozen wanted posters. The little pimp later told the FBI that good citizenship made him read the posters. The one on the upper right got his attention.

Birth Date: February 11, 1943 Birth Place: New Orleans, Louisiana Description:White Male
Height: 5' 11½‖
Weight: 164 pounds
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue/Hazel
Build: Slender
Complexion:Ruddy

Tattoos:
Upper right chest: Cross with ―MOTHER‖ under it Upper left chest: Cross with ―BILLY‖ under it

Subject is wanted in connection with the homicide of H. N. ―Bud‖ Rice (54) and Blanche Brown (81) which occurred on November 18, 1967, at Budville, New Mexico, during the course of an attempted armed robbery. Subject is known to have criminal contacts in New Orleans, Louisiana, St. Louis, Missouri, and Miami, Florida, as well as Albuquerque, New Mexico. Subject previously served time in the Federal Correctional System where he was considered an escape risk.

Subject added to TEN MOST WANTED list
March 28, 1968
SUBJECT MAY BE ARMED.
EXTREME CAUTION IS ADVISED.

Before first light on Saturday morning, August 17, 1968, agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, the Illinois State Police and the Madison County Sheriff's Department surrounded an apartment house in Wood River, Illinois. The plan was simple and standard procedure. Officers waited for dawn‘s light to allow them recognize one another as they moved in on the suspect, while it was much too early in the day for a pimp like Billy Ray, or any of his whores, to be up and about. Experience taught that sleeping suspects rarely resisted being taken into custody, while those who were awake and alert, often did. The operation went into motion at just past six a.m.

Billy Ray White lived with the knowledge that the cops would come for him one day. Too many robberies cluttered his back trail. Some, he knew, would be forgotten by local cops and others would fall through the cracks of ever-changing police administrations. But sooner or later some cop would connect Billy Ray with one of his heists and the cop, arrest warrant in hand, would be around to see him. Billy Ray thought he was ready. His apartment occupied half of the second floor of a large old, renovated, farmhouse. His bedroom at the northeast corner had a window that opened onto the porch roof. He figured that with fifteen to thirty seconds of lead time, he could get out the window, drop down behind a hedge then sprint a hundred yards to a woods beyond the house before anyone knew he'd been there and gone. He‘d practiced it several times, in the dark, late at night when he thought no one would see.

Billy Ray White and Jimmy Claire got drunk the evening of August 16th—stoned on Acapulco gold, too—and they took turns with Billy's whores when the girls didn't have paying sexual partners. Jimmy finally passed out on the living room sofa and Billy Ray took Lady Lydia to his bed. No one in the apartment had been asleep yet two hours when Madison County sheriff's deputies slammed the apartment door open with a small battering ram. Never in his adult life—except in jail—was Jimmy Claire without a gun on his person or close by and on that Saturday morning he had a Model 10 Smith & Wesson .38 police special stuck down between the cushions of the sofa. He slept with his hand wrapped around the gun's butt. The doorjamb gave way with a crack like a thunderclap and Jimmy Claire sprang bolt upright, gun in hand. The deputies didn't pause to ponder Jimmy's intentions and simultaneously opened fire. Two ugly little holes appeared in his bare torso—one an inch below his right nipple and the other an inch above his navel—and his body jerked spasmodically as a third bullet gouged flesh from his left arm above the elbow and the fourth slug took him square in the forehead blowing away the back of his head and spraying blood, bone and brain matter all over the sofa and wall. The officers at first thought they'd shot Billy Ray and looked no further into the apartment. They unwittingly gave Billy Ray, drunk as he was, time to get into his trousers, jam his own gun into his hip pocket and take his practiced route out the window and down off the roof. He stepped from behind the spirea hedge, just beyond the corner of the house, ready to run for the woods when he felt something cold and hard jab him in the bare back. He instinctively reached for the pistol.