After striking out on his attempt to locate Ulibarri through his employer in Albuquerque, Clayton arrived at the Mescalero Apache resort and casino, hoping he would find him there gambling with Humphrey's money, which, not surprisingly, hadn't turned up in the ruins of the fire.
Situated in a high valley a few miles outside the city of Ruidoso, the tribal enterprise was a cash cow that drew year-round vacationers and gamblers from all parts of New Mexico and surrounding states. It offered skiing in the winter and all the usual summer recreation activities, such as golf, boating, trail rides, tennis, and swimming, along with twenty-four-hour gaming at the casino, which was within easy walking distance from the lodge and guest rooms.
The lodge had cedar-shingle siding, a high-pitched roof, and an expansive deck that overlooked the lake and the mountains beyond. Small streams, some coursing over man-made rock beds, others cutting through carefully tended lawns, flowed down the hill in front of the lodge into the lake. Small stands of pine and aspen trees and winding walkways gave the grounds a parklike feel.
Most of the permanent employees were tribal members, and the woman at the reception desk was no exception. Barbara Chato, an old classmate from high school, smiled as Clayton approached.
"You never come here anymore, stranger, now that you've left us," she said.
"I haven't left," Clayton replied. "I just work off the rez."
Barbara shrugged. "That's too bad. Billy Naiche made sergeant last week. I heard you would've gotten the promotion if you hadn't quit the department."
"Good for Billy," Clayton said as he put Felix Ulibarri's photo on the counter. "Have you seen this man?"
Barbara shook her head.
"Can you check and see if a Felix Ulibarri is registered?"
Barbara's fingers clicked away at the computer keyboard while her eyes scanned the monitor. "We don't having anybody by that name staying here."
"Maybe he already checked out."
Barbara punched a few keys. "There's no guest record under that name."
"How about somebody with the same initials?" Clayton asked.
"No."
"Can you check on people who paid in cash when they registered?"
"Give me a minute," Barbara replied as she opened another computer file. "We had two in the last week. A Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Weber from Lubbock, Texas, and a Fred Villanueva from Albuquerque."
"Is Villanueva still here?"
"He left yesterday."
"Does his registration form show any vehicle information?"
"I'll have to get that from the business office," Barbara said, picking up a telephone.
She dialed a number, made her request, and after a few minutes handed a scribbled note to Clayton. He read it and smiled. The vehicle make and license plate number matched that of Humphrey's car.
"Thanks, Barbara."
"Well, at least now you're smiling," Barbara said as Clayton stepped toward the administration wing.
Moses Kaywaykla, chief of security, wasn't in his office, but his secretary called for him on the radio and he arrived within a few minutes. Just an inch shorter than Clayton's five-ten frame, Kaywaykla was dark skinned, and had deep creases on either side of his mouth and deep-set eyes that gave him a crabby, somewhat wary appearance. In fact, Kaywaykla had a reputation in the tribe as a good storyteller. Moses was also particularly admired among the men for his bawdy jokes.
Kaywaykla, Clayton's uncle by marriage, dropped his handheld radio on his desk and nodded a greeting at Clayton. In his late forties, Moses always wore a business suit to work with a pair of expensive cowboy boots. Today the suit was dark brown, the shirt blue with a regimental striped tie, the boots a pair of black alligator Larry Mahans.
"So, are you tired of working for the sheriff yet?" Moses asked.
"Not yet," Clayton replied.
"When you are, come and see me. I'll make you my assistant, pay you good money."
"Maybe after I qualify for a pension," Clayton said.
Moses laughed. "That's a long time for me to wait, nephew."
"If I make you wait long enough, maybe I can have your job," Clayton said with a smile, handing over a photograph. "I'm looking for this man. He was registered as Fred Villanueva. Checked out yesterday. His real name is Felix Ulibarri."
"What did he do?" Moses asked, studying the photograph.
"Maybe murder."
Kaywaykla's eyes narrowed. "I don't like murderers in my casino. It happened in your jurisdiction?"
"Yeah, that burned body we found in the fire outside Carrizozo," Clayton replied. "The victim's name was Humphrey. Ulibarri was one of his drinking buddies and supposedly came down here with him. Humphrey had just won a lot of money up at one of the pueblo casinos near Albuquerque. I'm thinking Ulibarri killed him for the money and went on a gambling spree here."
"You say he left yesterday?" Moses asked, handing back the photograph.
Clayton nodded.
"Let's look at some security videotapes," Moses said, "and then we'll talk to some people."
They viewed videos and found Ulibarri playing poker intermittently over a two-day span and mostly losing. In between long sessions at the card tables he drank in an upstairs cafe and broke even playing a row of quarter slots. In the last video, which Moses fast-forwarded, he won heavily at poker.
The sight of Ulibarri raking in a hefty stack of chips discouraged Clayton. His suspect was bankrolled again and possibly on the move. Was he heading back to Albuquerque or to one of the other Indian casinos in the state? Was he in Juarez drinking in a brothel?
Moses froze the tape. "Want to know what he cashed out?"
"Yeah," Clayton said. "He seemed to be doing a lot of talking in the last tape. Do you know any of the people at his table?"
"Two of them," Moses replied, pointing out two players on the frame. "Gus Hogan is a serious player. We comp him his room and meals. He comes up from El Paso about once a month. Sometimes he plays at the high-stakes tables, sometimes not. Jasper Nava is local. Everyone calls him JJ. He owns an appliance repair shop in Ruidoso. He's here once a week usually. Comes in with a couple hundred in his pocket and plays until he either loses it or wins. He does pretty well most of the time, but won't move up to any of the high-stakes games."
"What does Hogan do for a living?" Clayton asked.
"Nothing. He's a rich guy. I'll get you his home address and phone number, if you want to talk to him."
"Good deal," Clayton said. "I'd sure like to know who else was at the table when Ulibarri won big."
Moses shrugged. "Maybe the dealers know who they are."
They walked from the lodge to the casino on a pathway that led them past the swimming pool, tennis courts, boathouse, and the restaurant that overlooked the golf course. It was too cool and early in the year for swimming, and the tennis courts were empty, but several foursomes were out on the greens.
At the casino Clayton learned that Ulibarri had walked away from his last poker game with seventeen thousand dollars. Two of the dealers who had had Ulibarri at their tables were on duty. They remembered Ulibarri when Clayton showed them his photograph, but didn't know any of the other players by name. None had been regulars.
He got the names, phone numbers, and shift schedules for the three other dealers, said good-bye to Moses, and drove to the sheriff's department in Carrizozo, where he put together an advisory bulletin. It read:
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING FELIX ULIBARRI FOR THE MURDER OF JOSEPH J. HUMPREY