Lt. Col. C. Scarberry.
Lt. Morris Candelaria didn‘t like the way Scarberry wanted things handled. The deputy chief issued an order late Saturday night that any suspect apprehended in the Rice/Brown case be taken to the command post at Budville before transport to jail. To Candelaria's way of thinking, suspects should be taken directly to booking and detention where police criminal agents did their work— interrogations, lineups and the like—before lawyers began turning the bent and creaky wheels of the New Mexico criminal justice system. But Lt. Candelaria always obeyed orders. His political connections in Santa Fe were good, but not good enough to take on Scarberry.
Jim Mitchell and FBI agent Dwayne Madison took Darlene Concho Bunting and her brother, Leroy Concho, to the Grants Police Department and ―interviewed‖ them. Juan Posey took the small children to Darlene‘s aunt‘s house at McCarty‘s Village.
The FBI had entered the Rice/Brown case early Sunday morning. Good form within the law enforcement community demanded that reservation Indians be interviewed by one of J. Edgar Hoover's agents because local authorities had no jurisdiction on Indian land. If legal questions should arise later, all asses would be covered.
Darlene Concho Bunting cried and carried on a good deal as she told officers that she and her husband and children had been in Albuquerque from noon on Saturday until eight o'clock on Sunday evening. Young Leroy considered his own arrest and detention a lark, but he told officers a story generally consistent with his sister‘s. Madison didn't care what Darlene and Leroy had to say. As far as he was concerned, the killer was in custody and nothing a couple of Pueblo Indians said would change anything about it. The agent released Darlene and Leroy at dawn. He told them not to leave the reservation. Jim Mitchell took them to the aunt's house in McCarty's Village.
Everyone involved in the search for the Rice/Brown killer heard via police radio that a suspect was in custody. All roadblocks were dismantled. Many officers returned to Budville and nearly twenty police cruisers lined the Old Road when Candelaria arrived with the suspect. The trading post exterior lights were off and the moon provided scant illumination in the parking lot. Candelaria‘s car hadn‘t rolled to a complete stop before Scarberry opened the right rear door, dragged Larry Bunting out and slammed him face down in the gravel. He grabbed the handcuff chain and forced the sailor's arms up into a double hammerlock and half dragged the man to the front of Candelaria‘s car where he stood him up like a prisoner before a firing squad.
―You stand right there, you son-of-a-bitch.‖ Scarberry stuck the barrel of his pistol up under the sailor‘s chin. ―You so much as wiggle and I'll kill your skinny ass dead'ern dog shit. You understand me?‖
Bunting stood still, his hands locked painfully behind him; his head dropped when the deputy chief removed the gun. Then he looked up and around with fear in his eyes, like a cottontail rabbit surrounded by a pack of hounds. All he could see in the dim moonlight were black silhouettes of police officers and deputies moving about in the parking lot. Scarberry was slightly behind the suspect, and to his right. He grabbed a handful of Bunting's hair and held the sailor's head in place while Freddy Finch aimed a big six-cell flashlight into the suspect's face. Bunting squinted his eyes against the blinding light. Candelaria looked toward the store where Flossie stood behind the closed lower half of the Dutch door, the darkened room behind her. She nodded her head, twice, in the affirmative, then turned away. Nettie closed the upper door half.
Scarberry shoved Bunting's head forward then grabbed him by the arm, slung him around and slammed him against the trading post wall like a television wrestler smashing an opponent against a ring‘s corner post. In Bunting's case the pain was real.
Lt. Morris Candelaria didn‘t like the way Scarberry wanted things handled. The deputy chief issued an order late Saturday night that any suspect apprehended in the Rice/Brown case be taken to the command post at Budville before transport to jail. To Candelaria's way of thinking, suspects should be taken directly to booking and detention where police criminal agents did their work— interrogations, lineups and the like—before lawyers began turning the bent and creaky wheels of the New Mexico criminal justice system. But Lt. Candelaria always obeyed orders. His political connections in Santa Fe were good, but not good enough to take on Scarberry.
Jim Mitchell and FBI agent Dwayne Madison took Darlene Concho Bunting and her brother, Leroy Concho, to the Grants Police Department and ―interviewed‖ them. Juan Posey took the small children to Darlene‘s aunt‘s house at McCarty‘s Village.
The FBI had entered the Rice/Brown case early Sunday morning. Good form within the law enforcement community demanded that reservation Indians be interviewed by one of J. Edgar Hoover's agents because local authorities had no jurisdiction on Indian land. If legal questions should arise later, all asses would be covered.
Darlene Concho Bunting cried and carried on a good deal as she told officers that she and her husband and children had been in Albuquerque from noon on Saturday until eight o'clock on Sunday evening. Young Leroy considered his own arrest and detention a lark, but he told officers a story generally consistent with his sister‘s. Madison didn't care what Darlene and Leroy had to say. As far as he was concerned, the killer was in custody and nothing a couple of Pueblo Indians said would change anything about it. The agent released Darlene and Leroy at dawn. He told them not to leave the reservation. Jim Mitchell took them to the aunt's house in McCarty's Village.
Everyone involved in the search for the Rice/Brown killer heard via police radio that a suspect was in custody. All roadblocks were dismantled. Many officers returned to Budville and nearly twenty police cruisers lined the Old Road when Candelaria arrived with the suspect. The trading post exterior lights were off and the moon provided scant illumination in the parking lot. Candelaria‘s car hadn‘t rolled to a complete stop before Scarberry opened the right rear door, dragged Larry Bunting out and slammed him face down in the gravel. He grabbed the handcuff chain and forced the sailor's arms up into a double hammerlock and half dragged the man to the front of Candelaria‘s car where he stood him up like a prisoner before a firing squad.
―You stand right there, you son-of-a-bitch.‖ Scarberry stuck the barrel of his pistol up under the sailor‘s chin. ―You so much as wiggle and I'll kill your skinny ass dead'ern dog shit. You understand me?‖
Bunting stood still, his hands locked painfully behind him; his head dropped when the deputy chief removed the gun. Then he looked up and around with fear in his eyes, like a cottontail rabbit surrounded by a pack of hounds. All he could see in the dim moonlight were black silhouettes of police officers and deputies moving about in the parking lot. Scarberry was slightly behind the suspect, and to his right. He grabbed a handful of Bunting's hair and held the sailor's head in place while Freddy Finch aimed a big six-cell flashlight into the suspect's face. Bunting squinted his eyes against the blinding light. Candelaria looked toward the store where Flossie stood behind the closed lower half of the Dutch door, the darkened room behind her. She nodded her head, twice, in the affirmative, then turned away. Nettie closed the upper door half.
Scarberry shoved Bunting's head forward then grabbed him by the arm, slung him around and slammed him against the trading post wall like a television wrestler smashing an opponent against a ring‘s corner post. In Bunting's case the pain was real.
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