Silent Witness (23 page)
I still had a few minutes before my noon meeting with Director Cates so I stopped by to see Kate. I found her doing what I needed to be doing, typing reports on the Ginsberg investigation.
She glanced up from her computer screen. “Ready to get back to work?”
“Yeah, but it's going to have to be this afternoon.” I told her about the noon meeting with Cates, the call from T.J. Dutton of the sheriff's office, and my subsequent visit with Richard Hatch.
“I've always had good rapport with Hatch,” she said. “He's a straight shooter. What do you think he'll do?”
“I wish I knew. I don't think the odds are any better than fifty-fifty. I agree with you. I like Hatch, but I don't think he's inclined to bleed for me, much less Burnham.”
“I don't like where you're at on this one. If Cates finds out about your visit with Hatch, he's going to be seriously pissed. And I'm afraid you're going to get caught right in the middle.”
“You might be right. I don't think Hatch will wait long to make a decision. It should all shake out in the next day or two.”
“What's going on with the Bradshaws?”
“Amanda and Albert were pronounced dead at the scene of the rollover. So was Janine. Massive head and internal injuries. Walter managed to hang on for a while, but he died early this morning on the operating table.”
“That's a helleva body countâfive dead, Robby, I assume, is hanging on, and three fugitives still on the run.”
“That's it. So far there's nothing on Gordon and Joan Dixon or Joey Bradshaw. It's like they disappeared into thin air. I'd bet they're either long gone or hiding under a rock someplace waiting for things to cool down. The task force has scattered its personnel all along the Wasatch front. They're watching bus terminals, airports, and train stations.”
I told Kate about the call from Jack Early and what I'd learned about the drug, TTX. She listened attentively before commenting. “Just goes to show how well planned this little escapade really was. It should clear up any suspicion you might have had regarding the prison medical staff.”
“It does.”
“Has Robby Allred had anything to say?”
“Not a word.”
“And Robin Joiner?”
“Robin was interviewed again last night at the jail by a contingent from the FBI, the sheriff's office, and my department. From what I can tell, they didn't learn anything new. I would guess she'll have her initial court appearance sometime today.”
“Any chance they'll release her on her own recognizance?”
“I can't imagine. I'm sure the DA will request high bail. They want to keep her around, and they'll argue that she's a flight risk. And she probably is.”
“Were you able to reach her mother?”
“I did, and as far as I know, she's on her way here from Nevada.”
I headed out the door promising Kate I'd call her as soon as I got out of the meeting with Director Cates. Precisely at noon, I was ushered into his office. I joined several senior staff, mostly prison employees. I still didn't know why we were meeting, but I was relieved I wasn't doing a one-on-one with Cates regarding Burnham's internal investigation.
The meeting focused largely on two issues: Cates wanted a status report on the hunt for the Dixons and Joey Bradshaw. The news wasn't encouraging. I chimed in with the information Kate had shared with me.
His other agenda item made the senior prison managers uncomfortable. Cates demanded an explanation for the breach in department procedures regarding the security detail that should have accompanied the ambulance transporting Bradshaw to the hospital. By the end of the meeting, it was clear that several prison employees would end up on the receiving end of some as yet to be determined disciplinary action.
As the meeting broke up, Cates turned to me, “Sam, I need to see you for a minute.” After everybody was gone, he said, “I wanted to be sure you were up to speed on the status of the IA investigation against Mr. Burnham.” He spit out the words, “Mr. Burnham,” with as much disdain as his voice would allow.
“Please do,” I said.
“I met over the weekend with representatives from the sheriff's office. Their investigation is now complete. Sergeant Egan provided us with copies of her reports. I have forwarded them to Rachel Rivers-Blakely.”
I feigned surprise. “Has the case been referred to the district attorney's office for review?”
He hesitated momentarily before answering. “Not yet,” he lied.
“Would you like me to take care of that?”
“Thanks, but we'll handle it.”
“I'd like to have copies of Egan's reports,” I said.
“Not a problem. I'll have Rachel send them to you.” He scribbled a note in his planner.
He asked for an update on the Ginsberg investigation and I gave it to him. He was trying his best to act interested in what I was saying, but he clearly wasn't. Mentally, he had moved on to other, more pressing concerns.
In the end, I realized we had just played our own game of Don't Ask, Don't Tell. I didn't tell him about the call I'd received from T.J. Dutton of the sheriff's department or my subsequent visit with Richard Hatch at the DA's office. He probably assumed I was out of the loop. In turn, he had neglected to mention dispatching Rivers-Blakely to the DA's office in a covert attempt to get charges filed against Burnham before informing me.
I wasn't naïve or at least I didn't think so. I knew this situation was highly combustible, and that if it blew up, it would likely blow up in my face. And that's exactly what was about to happen.
Kate looked giddy by the time I got back to her office after my meeting with Cates. “You look happy,” I said. “What's up?”
“Two things. I won the office betting pool on the NFL games yesterday.” She announced that loud enough to be heard all over the office. Heads came up. One detective who I didn't recognize said, “Blind luck. She couldn't do it again in a million years.” Another nodded in agreement and quipped, “She wouldn't know a football from a ping-pong ball.” Everybody laughed including Kate.
“Gloating are we. Well, good for you. What's the other bit of good news?”
“We got the DNA results on Ambrose and it was a match.” She let that sink in for a minute before adding, “What do you think?”
“I think you must have influence in that DNA lab. I've never seen test results come back so quickly. Who are you sleeping with over there, anyway?”
She smiled as she slugged me in the arm. “I do get around.”
“Seriously, I think it's time to kick ass and take names. I'm getting bored to tears with all this damn surveillance,” I said.
“Me, too,” said Kate. “But let's talk about it for a minute. I think we've got more than enough evidence to bring charges against Anthony Barnes and Steven Ambrose, but what about Plow?”
I shrugged. “Well, that's easy enough. We haven't got shit on Rodney other than his phone call to Barnes' cell. That after denying he even knew Barnes. We might be able to prove motive considering the ongoing sexual relationship between Ambrose and Rodney, but that's about it.”
Kate shook her head. “I don't think we've even got that. The affair might go to prove motive on Ambrose's part, but not Rodney, unless we can connect him in some other way. He's already acknowledged the affair but described it as little more than a fling that didn't mean much. That's what he'd say in court, too.”
“You're probably right. If we bust the other two, there's a good chance we'd get a confession from one or both. Maybe the DA cuts somebody a deal for testimony against Rodney.”
“Possible, but I still think we need something more if we're going to hang a conspiracy rap on him. Let's stay with our surveillance of Barnes for just a little longer. If something doesn't break in the next day or so, we try something else.”
“And that would be?”
“We get warrants for Barnes and Ambrose. We bring them in and turn their homes inside out. And then we squeeze their testicles until we get them talking.”
“I like it, but I'll leave the squeezing of the testicles to you.”
Kate nodded.
I asked, “What about the house on Ninth South that Barnes has been staying at. Have you had time to figure out who lives there?”
“I have. The utilities and property taxes are paid by an elderly woman named Rosemary Tafoya. It turns out that she's Anthony's aunt. Tafoya's clean by the wayâno criminal history.”
“Let's go talk to her. What have we got to lose? Anthony's already spooked. He's going to be looking over his shoulder from now on anyway. A conversation with his aunt might even be beneficial.”
Kate considered that for a moment. “Okay. Let's do it.”
Barnes' SUV wasn't around when we arrived at Rosemary Tafoya's residence. We found her in the backyard raking leaves from the aspen trees scattered about the property. This annual autumn ritual was a harbinger of the Rocky Mountain winter soon to follow.
Tafoya was a matronly looking woman, a little on the plump side, wearing no makeup, and with snow white hair wrapped in a blue and white bandana. She invited us inside and offered tea and fresh-baked zucchini bread. Kate declined. Not having had lunch, I jumped on the offer. She disappeared into the kitchen only to reappear minutes later carrying a silver serving tray with sliced zucchini bread on it, and two cups of black tea in delicate, bone china cups. A very nice presentation I thought.
Once settled, she said, “I almost dread asking what brings you to see me.”
“Why is that?” asked Kate.
“I fear that it probably has something to do with my nephew, Tony. He's my late sister's boy. He's the only family I've got left. And he's a troubled young man with a checkered past.”
“Unfortunately, Ms. Tafoya, it is about Anthony. You describe his life as troubled. Could you explain?”
She sighed. “Please call me Rosy, that's what everybody does.”
“Sure, Rosy.”
“Tony has had long standing problems in his life with depression. And it's proven nearly impossible to keep him on his meds. He just won't take them on a consistent basis. Add to that his sexual identity problems and it's made for a troubled life.”
“What kind of sexual identity problems?” I asked.
“He'd very much like to be a straight male, get married, have childrenâall the things normal people do. But he's not. He's attracted primarily to men. I don't know whether he's gay or bisexual. He's had girlfriends from time-to-time but never anything stable or long-term. He doesn't seem capable of forming the attachments.”
Kate asked, “And what kind of problems has this produced in his life?”
“Well, aside from relationship problems, he got kicked out of the military for reasons I'm uncertain about. I suspect he couldn't adjust to military life. He's had some drug and alcohol problems which led to some scrapes with the law. He doesn't have much by way of job skills. He works as a bartender in a gay night club.”
“That would be the Lucky Gent?”
“Yes. Now it's my turn to ask a question,” she said. “This isn't a social call. What is it you think Tony's gotten himself involved in?”
Kate and I glanced at each other. “I'm sorry to have to tell you this,” Kate said, “but I'm afraid that Anthony is a suspect in a murder case.”
“Oh, dear God, no,” Tafoya said, putting her face in her hands. When she regained her composure, Kate went on.
“Does Anthony live here with you?”
“Not really. He inherited my sister's house in Ogden, but it's such a long drive back-and-forth to the bar that he sometimes stays over with me. I'm alone, and frankly, it's nice to have the company.”
“He's got the Ogden house up for sale,” said Kate.
“Tony's got the house up for sale,” Tafoya said, a look of surprise on her face. “He hasn't mentioned that to me, but why would he? I know he's been trying to save money.”
“What for?” I asked.
“Says he's gonna buy the Lucky Gent.”
“Does he have a bedroom that he uses when he stays over?”
“Yes. I've got a bedroom and bath in the basement that I let him use.”
“Does he pay you rent?” I asked.
That question seemed to catch her off-guard. “Why, no, why do you ask that?”
“Because we'd like your permission to search it, and if he was paying rent, you might not be able to give us consentâexpectation of privacy and all that stuff.”
“I see. Yes, you have my permission to search anyplace you need to search. Is it all right if I observe?”
“No problem,” said Kate. “We really appreciate your cooperation and insights into Anthony's life.”
Tafoya led us into the basement and showed us the bedroom and bathroom used by her nephew. Kate searched the bedroom while I looked around in the bathroom. We both came up empty. Barnes kept a few clothes in the closet and a shaving kit in the bathroom. Other than the personal items, there was nothing.
Rosy Tafoya walked us to our car. She had been more than cooperative and we thanked her for it. I had one last question. “Over the past several days, has Anthony acted or behaved at all differently?”
She paused for a moment. Finally, she said, “No, not really. You have to remember that because of Tony's depression, his moods can change from moment to moment. And sometimes, they do. He can be up and down like a yo-yo.”
We thanked her again and got into our car. Before we could back out of the driveway, Tafoya approached my side and motioned me to unroll my window.
“I just remembered something that happened today when Tony left. It seemed a little out of the ordinary, but I guess I just dismissed it.”
“What was it?”
“I was raking leaves when I saw him come out of the garage carrying a pick and shovel.”
“What did he do with em'?”
“He put them in the back of his SUV and then took off.”
“Do you have any idea what he wanted with a pick and shovel?”
“None, whatsoever. He didn't talk to me about it. I just assumed he needed them for work.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“I think he went to work. The Lucky Gent doesn't open until five, but he often goes in during the afternoon.”
We thanked her again and took off for the Lucky Gent.