The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [27]
The best evidence was the dried bloodstain on the rear seat cushion along with some good fingerprints that Gundersen was comparing to Ulibarri’s print record, which he’d called up on the computer.
“It’s a match,” Gundersen said, pointing to a scar on a thumbprint. “If the DNA bloodstain test confirms it’s your victim’s, I’d say you’ve got strong evidence that links Ulibarri to the crime.”
“The autopsy report said that Humphrey was killed with a single stab wound to the heart by a blade sharpened on one edge,” Clayton replied. “There was very heavy internal bleeding in the thoracic cavity. I’m thinking Ulibarri knifed Humphrey while he was asleep or passed out on the rear seat.”
“That’s possible, given how small the bloodstain on the seat cushion is,” Gundersen replied. “If I were you, I’d go for an arrest affidavit that puts your suspect at the scene of the crime.”
“I can quote you?” Clayton asked.
“Sure thing, chief.”
He doesn’t mean anything by chief, Clayton thought as he started to tense up. It’s just an expression. He waited a beat before responding. “Thanks for all your help.”
Gundersen smiled. “Hey, you made it easy for me.”
Clayton left Gundersen and on his way to the office stopped at the western-wear store in Ruidoso. It was an upscale establishment that featured custom-made cowboy shirts, expensive boots, fringed leather jackets, high-end designer jeans, and handmade silver rodeo-style, Texas-size belt buckles.
He showed Ulibarri’s picture and the cash receipt to the clerk, a middle-aged woman with curly blond-highlighted hair that brushed her shoulders.
“Of course, I remember him,” the woman said.
“When he first came in, I thought he’d wandered into the wrong store.”
“Why was that?” Clayton asked, pushing down the thought that the clerk had profiled Ulibarri as a shoplifter because of his ethnicity.
“He was really scruffy,” the woman replied. “But he had a wad of cash he said he’d won at the casino.”
“He flashed money?”
“When he paid, he peeled off hundred-dollar bills. He left wearing his new boots.”
“Did he take his old ones with him?”
“They were cheap work boots,” the woman said with a shake of her head. “You’ll probably find them outside in the trash bin behind the store. It gets emptied tomorrow.”
Clayton went dumpster diving and found the boots. The right one had a dark stain on a toe that looked like dried blood.
In his unit he made radio contact with Sonia Raney, the state police patrol officer on duty, and asked if she was heading to the district headquarters anytime soon. He got an affirmative reply, and asked if she’d carry some evidence to Gundersen.
“Roger that,” Raney said. “Give me a twenty and I’ll meet up with you.”
Clayton told her where he was, and within five minutes Ulibarri’s boots were in the trunk of Raney’s unit on the way to Alamogordo. He arrived at the office to find Sheriff Hewitt waiting.
“Dispatch tells me you located Humphrey’s car last night,” Hewitt said.
As far as Clayton could tell, there was no censure in the sheriff’s voice. “One of Moses Kaywaykla’s security people spotted it in the resort parking lot,” he said. “I didn’t even think to look for it there.”
“The best mistakes we make are the ones we learn from,” Hewitt said with a small chuckle. “How did the vehicle search go?”
“I’ve got more than enough to ask for a murder-one arrest warrant,” Clayton said. He quickly filled Hewitt in.
“Very good. Do the affidavit, update your advisory bulletin, and get me a progress report when you can. I’ll call the DA and tell him you’re going to need his sign-off and a judge’s approval right away. Now that we know Ulibarri isn’t driving Humphrey’s car, how do you think he’s traveling?”
“Don’t know.” Clayton