The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [59]
“You’re that sure?” Clayton asked.
Calabaza opened a desk drawer, removed a file, and gave it to Clayton. “Take a look yourself. Everyone on the citizen advisory board goes through a thorough background investigation before being appointed by the chief.”
Clayton read the intelligence report on Rojas. He was single, never married, born and raised in El Paso. Father was a construction worker, mother a hotel maid. Played high school football, made all-state his senior year as a first team wide receiver, attended the University of New Mexico on an athletic scholarship, and graduated with a degree in marketing. Parents deceased, five siblings—two brothers and three sisters. The brothers, two sisters, and a brother-in-law worked for the trucking company Rojas owned. One sister lived in Las Cruces, New Mexico—forty miles north—and currently served on the county commission.
Clayton scanned the financial data. Rojas had an eight-figure personal net worth, and aside from the trucking company, was a one-fifth partner in a privately owned local bank, owned an office building leased by a state agency, and held shares in an investment firm.
“A real rags-to-riches story,” he said, studying Rojas’s photograph. He didn’t come close to matching Harry Staggs’s description. Light brown hair, full nose, no mole on the right cheek, wide, full lips.
“That’s right,” Calabaza replied.
The report documented that Rojas liked to gamble occasionally at the nearby Indian casino and enjoyed piloting his own plane. Interviews with women Rojas had dated revealed nothing out of the ordinary in his personal relationships. The list of Rojas’s friends and associates included corporate executives, area politicians, civic leaders, and wealthy patrons of the arts, all of whom gave Rojas high marks as a businessman, friend, and upstanding citizen.
After college and before returning to El Paso, Rojas had lived in Denver for a number of years working for an advertising agency that was no longer in business. A criminal- and traffic-records check in Colorado had come up empty, as had inquiries to various federal law-enforcement agencies.
Clayton read the narrative report filed by the investigator who’d interviewed Rojas. Rojas had cooperated fully, allowing the officer access to his personal income tax statements and corporate financial records. Everything checked out.
“Do you see anything in that report that’s illicit, immoral, illegal, or of dubious character?” Calabaza asked.
“He looks like Mr. Clean,” Clayton replied as he wrote down Rojas’s home address and closed the file.
“I don’t know much about the New Mexico criminal statutes,” Calabaza said, “but in Texas, illegal gambling is a Class C misdemeanor that carries a five-hundred-dollar fine. Are you going to file charges?”
“Right now, he’s just a possible witness,” Clayton answered.
“Well, if you do charge him, let me know. My chief will want his resignation from the citizen advisory board.”
“Thanks, Captain,” Clayton said.
Calabaza nodded. “Give my best to Oscar Quinones.”
Mansion was the only word that came to mind when Clayton arrived at Rojas’s house. He’d never seen anything like it. The semicircular driveway was paved with brick, and an attached six-car garage had a second story accessed by an exterior stairway. The entryway, illuminated by soft lights, was a series of arches under a covered portal. Above the portal four double-sash doors opened onto a roofed balcony with a lacy cast-iron railing. The place looked like a Spanish villa.
Motion-sensitive lights came on as Clayton walked up the pathway to the house and Luis Rojas greeted him at the door. Clayton went through the formality of identifying himself and showing his shield.
“By all means, come in, Deputy,” Rojas said pleasantly. A couple of inches taller than Clayton, Rojas wore a lightweight crewneck sweater