Agent Henry wasn’t concerned in the least about Conrad’s feelings on the matter. He’ll learn to see the practicality of working for the government…or he’ll simply cease to be a factor. ‘The cleaners’ will make certain of that.
ELEVEN
Taos, New Mexico
07:30 HOURS
The drive from Santa Fe to Taos along Route 68 was always spectacular, no matter the time of year. The highway followed the Rio Grande River for miles as the road bridged dozens of oxbows in the river’s flow from northern New Mexico to Albuquerque. In the winter months, skiers took this route to the Taos ski resort, one of the premier alpine ski destinations in the Southwest. The drive was especially spectacular in the fall, with Poplar and Aspen trees turning colors so striking it was hard to describe; but it was never an unpleasant drive, even in the summer months. From Santa Fe, the journey began at the 4,500-foot elevation and ended in the arctic alpine slopes of Taos.
Detective Raymond Westbrook’s assignment was straightforward: Drive to the new bridge at the Rio Grande Gorge near Pilar; pick up Ryan Marshall, the owner of Levitation Solutions, Inc.; deliver him for questioning about a case at Stanford University involving his cousin, Jarrod Conrad. As he understood the facts, incriminating evidence was discovered at the scene of a burglary at Dr. Conrad’s lab, implicating Marshall. This suspect was also wanted for questioning about a homicide in the building on the same night.
Detective Westbrook had a warrant for Marshall’s arrest, and was authorized to search the premises of his work site, hotel, and any other area where evidence of the break-in and homicide might exist. His orders were to arrest Marshall and take him to the Taos County jail for questioning. In all, this seemed a pretty routine investigation, but the fact that the suspect was also the ex-son-in-law of Senator Alfonse Coscarelli made the arrest that much more intriguing. It was probably the reason Bernalillo County Sherriff Ralph Paez had decided to reach outside their jurisdiction. Sherriff Paez was a longtime friend of the senator’s.
Regardless of the political ramifications, Westbrook figured this would be an easy pinch. He’d arrest the suspect, book him into the Taos County jail, conduct a preliminary interrogation, have green chili enchiladas at La Hacienda-his favorite Mexican restaurant- and drive home. What could be simpler?
Detective Westbrook pulled into the Tesoro service station on the outskirts of Pilar for gas. This filling station had the hardened look of neglect characteristic of most small-town, owner-operated establishments. There was a bluetick hound lying in the shade next to a tire rack. Some guard dog, Ray thought, chuckling to himself. This hound was the epitome of relaxed. The detective was also baffled that the station still had outdated pumps that required payment before dispensing the gas. Slightly put out, he walked into the office in search of the attendant.
“Hey, can you give me directions to the construction site of the new bridge?” he asked the freckle-faced kid behind the cash register, handing him twenty dollars. “Am I on the right track?”
“Yeah, man, you got it. Just stay right on this main road here,” he said, pointing east of the station. “You’ll see the big crane and all the steel they’re puttin’ up. It’s five or six miles up the highway. Ya can’t miss it,” he added, seemingly happy to have someone to talk with. “Hey, what are you…some kinda state inspector?”
“Not an inspector, son, but I’ve got reason to visit the site,” he vaguely replied. “What can you tell me about these guys?” he asked spur-of-the-moment, wondering if this kid could possibly shed any light on Marshall’s crew.
“I don’t see them much in here,” the kid replied, pushing his greasy ball cap farther back on his head “Most of the crew gets their trucks serviced at the construction yard. They eat at Marge’s Restaurant, though. I’ve seen ’em there for early breakfast. A big fella pays when he’s with ’em. He’s the owner, I think, ’cuz everybody calls him Mister… something or other. They’re pretty cool, but you never wanna cross iron guys or you take on the whole gang…know what I mean?” he said, giving the impression he knew more than he actually did on the subject.
“Okay, thanks for the tip, young man,” Westbrook replied, guessing that the kid must really be bored. “Have a good day.”
“Glad I was able to help out, mister. Just remember…don’t tangle with these guys if ya can help it. They can be mighty nasty to an outsider…or so I’ve heard,” he said, following the detective outside.
Westbrook gassed up his car and resumed his drive, heading east out of town. Just as the station attendant had said, about five miles up the highway, he began to see signs of construction activity. Then he located the new bridge spanning the canyon. He was amazed to see that the ends of the bridge seemed to be suspended in midair, the center piece still missing between both sides of the gorge. He guessed the span was about 600 feet. Pretty trick engineering, he thought, wondering how the steel girders bore the weight, cantilevered like they were over the canyon.
The detective pulled off the highway at a point that appeared to be the main entrance, and followed the winding dirt road to the bottom of the canyon. He came to a stop next to a trailer that looked like an office. He noted with interest that several of the crewmembers were busily preparing to lift a huge girder off a flatbed diesel truck.
Near this swirl of activity, he spotted a large man fitting the description of the subject. He reviewed his notes, and the suspect’s description was identical to the man standing in the middle of the yard. The suspect wore a denim jacket over a red plaid shirt, a workman’s customary Levi’s, work boots, and the white, telltale hard hat that signaled this guy was the boss on the job site. The oversized man had every appearance of being in charge-his body language conveyed authority, and even from a distance Detective Westbrook could tell that this was the suspect he had been sent to arrest.
Westbrook watched the suspect for a moment. He was standing next to a service truck with a logo picturing a crane lifting a large I-beam. The caption Levitation Solutions, Inc. appeared beneath the logo. The suspect was in discussion with another man; they studied a set of plans that was rolled out on the tailgate of the truck. Westbrook figured he’d introduce himself, and ask the two men for identification. Shouldn’t pose any problem, he mused.
“Good morning, gentlemen. I’m Detective Raymond Westbrook from the Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Department,” he said, showing them his badge as he approached. Both men turned, annoyed by the conspicuously overdressed man in a sport coat and tie interrupting their business. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay.”
“Sure…what can we do for you, Officer?” Corky Chalmers hesitantly replied. “You’re a long way from Bernalillo County. What brings you out to the gorge?”
“I’ve been asked to locate Ryan Marshall for questioning about a private matter. Can you tell me where I can locate him?” Westbrook asked, wanting to avoid alarming the men.
Ryan responded firmly, “I’m Ryan Marshall,” his husky voice reverberating caution, wondering what private matter would necessitate questioning from a detective over 200 miles outside his jurisdiction.
“Thank you, sir. I’d like you to accompany me to Pilar. There are questions regarding an ongoing investigation you may be able to help us with,” he said, wanting to get him out of the construction yard before he divulged too much information.
“Anything you have to say can be said in front of my foreman, Detective,” Ryan replied. There was no mistaking the concern in his voice. “I regret I’m unable to accompany you anywhere at the moment. Ask your questions, so we can get back to work.”