of his pounding heart drowned out all other thoughts.
“You miserable bastard!”
Anger seared the air. Her words—then silence. Even in his numb state, he knew he had to do something fast. “Monica! Let me in, damn it!”
He heard a click a few seconds later. Her husky voice called out.
“Come here.”
Paul opened the door. A glance showed him the waterbed with its maroon quilt and oak headboard—and Monica. Then he saw the shotgun. He knew it was loaded, because guns were always loaded in his house. He had told Monica to keep them that way. Invoking the code of the old west, some of those he arrested became violent and threatened to pay him or his family back.
A second became a lifetime as a nightmare followed in slow motion. The shotgun, the blast, buttons exploding, blood spurting on the quilt, onto the purple dress. Monica’s body flew backwards, skimming the air like a swan then crash-landing, blood spilling onto the floor. This can’t be happening, he thought. But it was. Monica’s blood flowed from her body.
A scream echoed. It took a moment for Paul to realize it came from his own throat. He ran to the unconscious Monica and tried to lift her, but she was covered in blood and slipped from his hands. She gasped weakly, the only sign of life he saw or heard. But her body’s feeble attempts at living couldn’t bring Monica back to the instant before the shotgun blast violated the body men once would have sold their souls to possess.
Intense Passions, Impulsive Actions
How dreadful knowledge of the truth can be
When there’s no help in the truth!
– Sophocles
By the time April rolls around Farmington, New Mexico, winter says a hasty good-bye in its dashing way of fur-trimmed coats one day and sleeveless attire the next. Roaring dust devils cause north-western New Mexicans to chew more earth than chewing tobacco, as the monsoon season has not yet begun. Once overflowing rains turn the swirling dust devils to memory, New Mexico appears to be more of a rain forest than a desert. Flash floods surprise drivers on the interstates and cracked dirt roads. Then, they too are gone and made into another memory as the bone-dry desert sucks in the water and only thirst survives.
Farmington is known for its oil, stunning landscape, the San Juan River and the Rio Grande. Rocky hills surround the small town, which is right at the tip-top of the state in a region known as the Four Corners. If you go to the right place, you can stand in four states at once—New Mexico, Utah, Colorado and Arizona. While Farmington has its share of the rich, it also has its share of the farmers and ranchers who make their living off the land. Signs along Highway 64 remind you of that bold, unprofessional-looking writing. “Hay 4 Sale” handwritten in red brightens one white sign. Another sign for peaches didn’t have enough room for the whole word so the sign glares “Peach’s” in black letters. Still another sign down the road a piece corrects the spelling error and helps people figure out where the peaches are located by including arrows. Flea markets line the sides of the road.
Many easterners consider New Mexico to be the epitome of the Wild West, filled with cowboys and Indians. But many Native Americans wear cowboy boots and hats, while a lot of Anglos wouldn’t be caught dead dressing “cowboy style.” A large amount of the population in the state is split between Native Americans, Anglos and Hispanics, with a small percentage of African-Americans. Some New Mexicans try to act as if they’re not inherently racist while also striving to erase that racism inherent in all humans and replace it with a culture of tolerance.
Despite modern areas, some of the Wild West image still clings to New Mexico with its vast unpopulated stretches of land. Billboards posted around offer a $20,000 reward for information on one or another killer. Traditional Indian dances with colorful dress and painted faces ensure that Native American heritage will not be forgotten. One of the biggest such displays of Indian heritage is the Inter-tribal Ceremonial, held annually in August in Gallup, two hours south of Farmington, where millions of people worldwide come to view the dances. In fact, Gallup features free Indian dances, with all their bright colors and beautiful velvet fabrics, feathers and face-painting, every evening during the summer. While seemingly ages away from Farmington, Gallup would become an ominous part of Paul’s future.
Along some highways, such as Interstate 40, which runs through Gallup, drivers tune their radios to 530 AM to listen to “Hear New Mexico,” featuring actor Ricardo Montalban describing the sites. Some listen to the broadcast just to hear Montalban’s husky voice or reminisce about his sexy, white suit and manly chivalry on the old television show, Fantasy Island. Others prefer to remember him as the virile villain in the Star Trek film, The Wrath of Khan. Interstate 40 serves as a thoroughfare from the east to the west coast and replaced the famed Old Historic 66, which still exists in Gallup and some other places.
To Paul Dunn, who was born June 19, 1958 in Albuquerque, New Mexico, those roads led home. He lived in Santa Fe during his early childhood. Then his parents, Jane and Harvey “Buzz” Dunn, and his older sister, Robin, moved to a small farm in Nambe, New Mexico when Paul turned thirteen. There, his brother Mark was born.
Paul’s boyhood was happy and typical. He went to Pojoaque Junior and Senior High Schools, where he played basketball. After school, he learned to ride horses and take care of the other animals on the farm.
On Paul’s sixteenth birthday, while working part-time as an attendant at a gas station, he met some New Mexico State Police officers who stopped in for soft drinks. One of the officers invited the eager teen to go riding along with him to see what fighting crime was all about. Paul accepted the offer and rode with him several times. Those experiences shaped Paul’s ambitions and then his career for the next two decades.
After graduating from high school, Paul took law enforcement courses at New Mexico State University in Las Cruces for a year. In late August 1977, the City of Santa Fe hired him as a jailer. He was working there when, at twenty, he met and married Juliet Martinez. In September 1979, to his great pride, he became a Santa Fe police officer.
Beautiful, dark-haired Juliet gave birth to a daughter, April, on June 7, 1981. Though their marriage was troubled, Juliet attested to the fact that Paul never hit her or abused her in any way during their marriage. In 1982, Paul moved to Farmington, New Mexico after being hired by the police department at higher wages than in Santa Fe as well as the opportunity for advancement.
In these years, Paul focused on being the best cop he could be and the best turned out, with polished, high boots and a perfectly pressed uniform with shiny buttons, glossy, well-cut hair and a “can do” attitude. He felt he owed this to the public he served and those who hired him. Though he had some friends, many of his co-workers just tolerated him and in private some labeled him arrogant. Some were jealous of Paul’s unusual, virile quality, which often
