Death Song (16 page)

“How long did Denise work for you?” Matt asked.

“I hired her soon after I started the business. I was renting a small one-room office on St. Francis Drive at the time and had placed an advertisement in the paper for a receptionist. Denise was the first to respond and I hired her immediately.”

Matt took a notebook out of his coat pocket and flipped to a blank page. “When was that?”

“I started the business seven years ago this spring.”

“So you knew Denise before she married Tim Riley?”

Culley smiled. “Yes, indeed. I witnessed the entire courtship. It was quite a whirlwind romance. They made a splendid couple.”

“Did the romance last?” Matt asked.

“Well, I suppose the honeymoon phase ended as it always does, but they were very loving to each other as far as I could tell. Telephone calls back and forth, occasional luncheon dates when Tim had days off during the workweek—that sort of thing.”

“Would you say Denise was a faithful wife?”

Culley raised his eyebrows. “What an astonishing question. Denise was an extremely attractive woman, and a number of my male clients were very flirtatious with her both on the telephone and when they came into the office. She always handled it with aplomb and never acted inappropriately. But to answer you more directly, I never had an occasion to think of her as the unfaithful type.”

Matt wrote down an abbreviated version of Culley’s remarks in his notebook. “Did you know that she was almost three months pregnant at the time of her death?”

Culley shook his head. “Now you have me totally flummoxed. According to Denise, her husband was unable to give her a child. I suppose that’s why you asked if I thought she might be unfaithful. Could it be that she might have sought out a sperm donor?”

“It’s possible,” Matt said. “Did she talk to you about a desire to have children?”

“We didn’t have that kind of a relationship,” Culley replied. “We got along well as employer and employee, but we were not close personal friends.”

“Are you saying that she didn’t share much of her personal life with you?”

Culley smiled. “Exactly so. Nor did I share much of mine with her. I think both of us liked it that way.”

“Professional relationships at work are always best.” Matt glanced at Denise’s nearby vacant desk. “Still, you worked together in close proximity. I’m sure you took telephone messages for her, greeted friends and family who occasionally dropped by to see her when she was out of the office, overheard snatches of her phone conversations.”

“Yes, of course,” Culley said before Matt could continue, “and I’ve been trying to think of a person, a man perhaps, she might have particularly favored. But no one comes to mind, other than Tim, her sisters, and her brother. They were the ones most likely to call or stop by.”

“If you think of someone, let me know.” Matt closed the notebook and handed Culley a business card. “I’d like to review Denise’s employee file.”

Culley looked slighted embarrassed. “I’m afraid there is no employee file other than salary and income tax information that my accountant maintains.” He wrote down the accountant’s name and phone number on a telephone message slip and handed it to Chacon.

“You didn’t get a résumé, verify her past employment, and check her references before you hired her?” Matt asked.

“I saw no need to, and my intuition about Denise was spot-on. She worked out perfectly.”

Matt glanced at the empty desk again. “Did Denise do her work on a computer?”

“Yes, a desktop model. I tried to use it yesterday and it froze and crashed. Fortunately, I have all my records and files backed up and I can access them from my laptop.”

“Where is the desktop computer now?”

Culley waved his hand. “For all I care, it’s in transit to a computer graveyard in India to be salvaged. The technician who services my computers came out and told me it wasn’t worth the trouble or expense to fix it. I had him take it away. He’s building a new one for me, and I’ve ordered a larger monitor and a faster printer to go with it.”

Matt asked for and got the name of the company Culley used to service his computers. He tore a fresh piece of paper from his notepad and put it in front of the Englishman. “I need your written permission allowing me to take custody of your old computer. Please sign and date the authorization.”

Culley picked up a pen. “Yes, of course, but whatever for?”

“I can’t talk about what we do in ongoing investigations.”

“Of course you can’t.” Culley scribbled his consent and handed it to Matt, signed and dated.

“Have you had any recent break-ins or burglaries?”

“No, not a one.”

“Who else besides you, Denise Riley, and your clients have access to the office?”

“The leasing agent has a key, as does the cleaning lady I employ to tidy up my house and the office.”

“I may need to speak with both of those people,” Matt said.

Culley wrote down names and phone numbers, and handed the slip of paper to Matt. “This is becoming rather worrisome, Detective.”

Matt smiled reassuringly. “Rest easy, Mr. Culley. Sometimes the solution to a crime is in the details, so it’s important not to overlook any information that might be helpful.”

Culley’s worried expression cleared. “I absolutely understand.”

“Are you a U.S. citizen, Mr. Culley?”

“No, I am not, and as long as the current incumbent resides in the White House, I’m inclined to remain a British citizen. However, I do have permanent resident status.”

“What brought you to New Mexico?” Matt asked.

“D. H. Lawrence and the promise of blue skies,” Culley replied.

Although intelligent and knowledgeable in his chosen field, Matt was the product of the local school system and one year of study at the area community college. He flipped open his notepad. “Is this Mr. Lawrence a friend of yours?”

Culley repressed a smile and carefully chose his words. “You could say that, Detective Chacon. He was a very famous and controversial writer born in the Midlands of England who lived in northern New Mexico for a time early in the twentieth century. It was through his writing that I first became fascinated with New Mexico.”

Matt appreciated the fact that Culley had shown no condescension about his scant knowledge of modern literature. He closed the notebook and stood. “That should do it for now, but I may need to speak with you again.”

“I am at your disposal, Detective.” Culley rose and came around his desk. “It would be my pleasure to do whatever I can to help advance your inquiries. Whoever did these terrible, murderous acts must be brought to justice.”

The word
indeed
was on the tip of Matt’s tongue. Instead he asked, “Do you have proof of your permanent resident status with you?”

“Yes,” Culley replied. “Would you like to see it?”

“Indeed I would,” Matt said, unable to resist the impulse.

The computer repair and service company John Culley used was housed in a small adobe building at the back of an industrial lot tucked near the railroad tracks on Baca Street. A small sign on the outside of the building read “Roadrunner Computer Repair and Service.” Matt entered to find a man sitting at a large workbench in the middle of a room filled with monitors, keyboards, printers, laptops, and CPUs. He looked up, saw Matt, and got to his feet.

“Are you Steve Griego?” Matt showed the man his police credentials.

The man, who looked to be in his late thirties, nodded. “I am. Pardon the mess, but it’s always like this around here.”

“You have a desktop computer belonging to John Culley.” Matt held out Culley’s signed consent. “I’ve come to pick it up.”

Griego read the note and pointed to a desktop computer and assorted paraphernalia in a box on the floor near the door. “There it is. Please take it away and don’t bring it back. I’ve got no use for it.”

“Is it intact?”

“I haven’t cannibalized it if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s what I mean. Culley told me the unit was completely worthless. When you powered it up, what did you find?”

“Nothing. When it crashed, it took all the files and folders with it. I tried system restore and nothing happened. Tried it again, and the same thing—nada. The operating system and software is so outdated on the unit I told Culley he’d be smart to trash it and get something with greater capacity and speed.”

“Did you run any diagnostics?”

“Culley said not to bother, just to build him a new CPU. The old one is an off-the-shelf discounted model that was out-of-date the day he bought it. What do police want with Culley’s old computer?”

“It’s a secret, so I can’t tell you,” Matt replied. “How would you rate Culley’s skills as a computer user?”

Griego laughed. “At the bottom of the barrel along with ninety percent of all the people who own personal computers. He’s the kind of customer who would have his receptionist schedule a service call because the unit was running slow. I’d go out, run the disk cleanup and defragmenter utilities, and that would be it. It didn’t matter how many times I showed them how to do it themselves, they’d forget or just didn’t want to be bothered.”

“So neither Culley nor Denise Riley was computer savvy.”

“Not so far as I saw.”

“Do you have any employees who may have serviced the Culley account?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Griego said with a hearty laugh.

Griego’s likable personality made Matt smile. “I guess I must have been.” He picked up the box with Culley’s old computer and stood in the doorway. “Thanks for your time.”

“No sweat. Remember to dispose of that CPU properly when you’re done with it. You can’t just throw it in the trash.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt replied.

The 4
P.M.
meeting with lead investigators and supervisors called by Chief Kerney and Sheriff Hewitt started on time with all present and accounted for and no dillydallying. Kerney and Hewitt impressed Clayton with the way they asked questions, took suggestions, revised task force operations, established targeted goals, gave constructive criticism, and made sure Sheriff Salgado got full credit for putting the new plan in place. Just by watching the two top cops in action, Clayton learned a hell of a lot about the right way to organize a well-functioning major felony interagency task force. The effect on the men and women in the room was palpable. Everybody seemed re-energized, ready to dig in and start over again.

At the tail end of the meeting, Sheriff Hewitt brought the team up to speed on the Lincoln County murder investigation. With significantly less resources and far fewer personnel than the Santa Fe S.O., Lincoln County deputies had pieced together a complete accounting of Riley’s week on and off the job, identified all the persons Riley had come into contact with during his time in Lincoln County, and made substantial headway on Riley’s background check. Information from the air force, including several former commanding officers, Riley’s ex-wife, some old high school mates, and one surviving uncle who resided in an assisted living facility in Dayton, Ohio, seemed to prove that Tim Riley had been exactly whom he professed to be.

After Hewitt finished, Salgado passed out a synopsis of Riley’s known personal history that included updated information. He had entered the air force at the age of eighteen, after graduating from high school. He rose to the rank of master sergeant E-8 and served twenty years and two months before retiring. His service record showed overseas postings to England, Japan, Germany, and Kuwait, where he was stationed during Gulf War One. His last duty assignment was at Holloman Air Force Base adjacent to White Sands Missile Range near the city of Alamogordo, less than an hour’s drive from Lincoln County.

Riley was the father of one child, an eighteen-year-old son named Brian, whereabouts currently unknown, who had stayed with Tim and Denise for a time last summer. While in Santa Fe, Brian worked for a month as a busboy in a downtown restaurant before being fired for tardiness. A National Crime Information Center criminal records check showed no wants and warrants and no arrest record for the boy.

Tim Riley had moved to Santa Fe soon after his retirement and applied for a deputy sheriff vacancy with the Santa Fe Sheriff’s Office. Because of his extensive experience as a noncommissioned military police officer and criminal investigator, he was hired and sent to the New Mexico Law Enforcement Academy to complete an accelerated police officer certification course. Upon his return to the S.O., he was assigned to the patrol division, where he remained until he resigned to accept the Lincoln County job.

A year after arriving in Santa Fe, Riley married Denise Louise Roybal in a civil ceremony performed by a county magistrate. Financial records showed that the couple had lived within their means and neither were deeply in debt nor had unusually large unexplained monetary assets. Riley’s vasectomy had been verified by autopsy, and there was no evidence of surgery to reverse the procedure.

Riley had divorced Eunice, his first wife, ten years ago. Eunice, currently living in North Carolina, had been interviewed by the local police. According to their report, she was employed as a veterinarian’s assistant at a small animal clinic and had a live-in boyfriend named Ernest Arnett who worked as an independent electrical contractor. Interviews with the woman’s employer, neighbors, and friends verified that she’d been in North Carolina during the time of the two homicides.

When told of Tim Riley’s murder, Eunice was unable to think of any person who had reason to kill him. However, since she’d had little contact with him for over eight years, she had no idea who Riley’s current friends or enemies might be.

When asked about her son, she stated she had no knowledge of Brian’s whereabouts, noting that the boy had left home soon after turning eighteen because of a personality conflict with her boyfriend. She expressed surprise on being told of Brian’s visit to Santa Fe, saying she had not known about it and stating he and Tim had not been close since the divorce. According to the interviewing officer, she showed little sorrow about her ex-husband’s death.