Hermit's Peak

by Michael Garrity

  Usually he just drove away after she got home, but tonight something about the house was different; the downstairs apartment was dark. Always before the lights had been on at night.

  Bernardo walked down the opposite side of the street before crossing, then strolled past Jessica's house. There was a for rent sign in the downstairs window. That made him smile. The house only had one front and back entrance, and the rear door opened directly to the first floor apartment. He'd been looking for a way to get inside without being seen or heard. Trying to break in on a morning when she went to work late had always been a risky idea because of the downstairs tenants.

  Now that problem was solved.

  He wondered what the inside of her apartment looked like. He couldn't wait to see it.

  Bernardo got back in his car and drove away, thinking he'd have to move fast before the landlord found new renters. He arrived home to find his grandfather leaving his parents' house.

  "Jito," Nestor said.

  "I've been looking for you."

  "What is it?"

  Nestor held out a business card.

  "That policeman, Kerney, wants to speak to you."

  "Me?" Bernardo took the card.

  "Yes, you. Your uncle Roque said that you've already spoken to him once, about some girl. What is this all about?"

  "I don't know, Abuelo. What did he ask you about me?"

  "Nothing really. He wanted to know if I let you use my truck."

  "I already talked to him about that," Bernardo said.

  "I have nothing more to tell him."

  "Be polite and respectful, Bernardo. Speak with Senor Kerney, answer his questions, and be done with it."

  Bernardo nodded abruptly, got back in his car, and slammed the door.

  "Where are you going?" Nestor asked. "It is late and you have work to do in the morning."

  "I forgot something."

  Bernardo peeled rubber out of the driveway, tailpipes rumbling as he shifted into a higher gear. He cruised past the burger joint, saw Orlando's car, and made a quick decision not to bother him at work. In the morning, he would call and find out if Orlando had talked to the gringo cop Kerney and what, if anything, Orlando had said.

  His plans for Jessica would have to wait for a day or two.

  ***

  Orlando woke up from a dream where he was lost in some strange city that was impossible to leave. No matter which way he went, every route took him back to a block of windowless, silent buildings on an empty street with no cars or people.

  He got out of bed thinking that if he waited until the end of the semester to move to Albuquerque, it might be too late.

  He showered, shaved, returned to his room, sat at his desk, and figured out how much money he could pull together if he split. If he used his car insurance payment, the two hundred bucks he had in savings, and his last paycheck, he could come up with about seven hundred dollars.

  His stomach sank as the realization hit him that running away wouldn't change anything. His life would still be fucked. He threw the scrap of paper in the wastebasket, got to his feet, and slung his daypack over his shoulder. If he left now, maybe Dad would still be in the shower when he hit the front door. The phone rang as he reached for his jacket.

  "Did a state cop named Kerney talk to you?"

  Bernardo asked when Orlando answered.

  "Yeah, last night"

  "What about?"

  "You."

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing."

  "We need to meet."

  "Why?"

  "To get our stories straight, before the cop gets all suspicious."

  "How did he get on to you?"

  "The bitch used to work at a place out near my ahuelo's ranch. He's

  just talking to people who might have known her."

  "I thought you didn't know her."

  "I already told you I didn't."

  "So why is the cop interested in you?"

  "He's interested in both of us, bro. He asked me about driving around Ojitos Prios in my grandfather's truck with somebody last April. Does he know that was you?"

  "We're screwed," Orlando said.

  "Does he know that was you?" Bernardo demanded.

  "No. What are we going to do?"

  "Come up with something simple about where we were and what we did. Get our stories straight. Back each other up. He already talked to my grandfather. He wants to talk to me again."

  "Shit!"

  "We gotta meet."

  "Okay."

  "Some place where no one will see us. How about down by the Gallinas River where we used to party in high school?"

  "That's miles from here."

  "It's halfway to town from my grandfather's ranch."

  "When?"

  "Can you make it by ten?"

  "Yeah."

  "Just don't say anything to your old man."

  "I'm not stupid, Bernardo," Orlando said as he hung up the phone.

  He hurried down the stairs, saw his father sitting at the kitchen table, and stopped in the doorway.

  "Hey, champ, who was on the phone?" Gabe asked.

  "A guy from school. He wants to borrow my class notes. Gotta go."

  "Give me a minute before you take off."

  Orlando stepped into the kitchen.

  "Sure."

  "My deputy chief wants to talk to you about Bernardo."

  "He already did, last night."

  "What did he want to know?"

  "Just who Bernardo's friends were."

  "What else did he ask?"

  "He asked me if Bernardo was popular with the girl , and if I ever went

  cruising with him."

  "That's it?"

  "Pretty much. Oh yeah, he wanted to know about somebody named Luiza."

  "Luiza who?"

  "San Miguel. I don't know who she is."

  "That's not a common name. More Mexican than Hispanic. You gave him the straight scoop?"

  Orlando shrugged. "Sure. I really don't know who Bernardo dates. Is Bernardo like a

  suspect or something?"

  "I don't know."

  "What's this guy investigating, anyway?"

  "The mesa homidde. He thinks he has an ID on the victim."

  "No shit?"

  "It might be a good idea for you to cool it with Bemaido for a while."

  "I don't see Bernardo much anyway."

  "Keep It that way until things settle down."

  "Is that all?"

  "Are you still planning to move to Albuquerque when school gets out?"

  "Yeah."

  "You don't sound so sure about it today."

  "I gotta go." Orlando took an awkward step backward and his daypack banged against the door frame.

  "Watch it, champ," Gabe said with a grin. "Don't hurt yourself. Maybe we can talk about it some more tonight."

  Orlando nodded and smiled nervously.

  "Are you feeling okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Then get out of here. I'll see you later."

  "Later."

  Outside, Orlando threw the daypack in the backseat of his car and cranked the engine with a shaky hand, praying that there was still a way out of the shithole he was in.

  ***

  Before leaving Tucson, Sara had tried to reach Kerney by phone without any luck. She left a message on his machine, letting him know she was returning to Santa Fe, packed hurriedly, gave Susie a big hug, and hit the road. The image of Susie's approving smile stayed with her until she reached the city limits.

  Sara enjoyed driving late at night. She could wrap herself in a cocoon, let her mind wander, and see where her thoughts took her. Tonight she kept thinking of Kerney and how she felt about him.

  The hours it took to reach Santa Fe felt like minutes as she pulled to a stop in front of Kerney's cottage.

  His truck was there but his unmarked state police unit wasn't. Disappointed, she looked at the dashboard dock and realized he was probably at work.


  She let herself in with the key Kerney had given her, expecting Shoe to greet her at the door with his tail wagging and the sneaker firmly in his mouth. The dog was nowhere to found, and all the pet supplies were gone from the kitchen.

  Shoe's absence made her worry about both Kerney and the dog. Had Shoe run off or died? Had Kerney decided not to keep Shoe in spite of his genuine affection for the animal?

  The answering machine blinked and Sara played back the messages, hoping Kerney had left one for her.

  Aside from her message to him and a call from a woman named Ruth Pino there was nothing else on the machine.

  She went into the living room, tossed her jacket on the couch, thought about calling Kerney at work, and dropped the idea. She was too tired to think straight. A hot bath and a nap were in order. She picked up her bag and walked into the bedroom.

  Without Shoe, the place felt empty.

  ***

  There wasn't much left to the old settlement on the Gallinas River, just some partial stone and adobe walls, rusted pieces of tin roofing, a few sagging fence posts, and occasional piles of junk, including broken beer bottles and trash left by kids who parried at the site.

  The river's floodplain had created a channel no more than three feet deep and fifty feet wide. Spring runoff filled much of the eroded streambed. Cows grazed close to the water near a locked gate on the far side where the dirt road ended. As far as Bernardo knew the place didn't have a name. It had been settled and abandoned several times since the nineteenth century and was now part of Arlin Fullerton's Box Z spread.

  He leaned against the hood of Uncle Roque's truck and watched the cows slosh their way through the water toward a low soggy bottom where spring grasses had greened up. His tio had gone to a spring stock sale in Roswell and wouldn't be back until tomorrow. That left Bernardo with the truck and all the time he needed to meet with Orlando.

  He hoped Orlando would show so he wouldn't have to go looking for him.

  He heard the sound of tires on gravel, turned to see Orlando's car topping the low hill, and waved as the vehicle slowed to a stop. Orlando got out and walked to him.

  Bernardo gave him a friendly smile.

  "Man, you'd better have a good story we can use," Orlando said.

  "First, tell me what the cop asked you."

  "He asked me if we went cruising together last year in Ojitos Frios. I told him no."

  "What else?"

  "He wanted to know if you knew Luiza. I told him I didn't know who you were dating."

  "Did he say anything about her being missing?"

  "No."

  "Then he's just fishing."

  "I think he knows who she is. My dad said Kerney has a possible ID on the victim." A thought flashed through Orlando's mind. He stared at Bernardo.

  "What?" Bernardo asked.

  "How did he put us in Ojitos Prios?"

  "Somebody saw us in my grandfather's truck."

  "Did you tell him we were there?"

  "I said I didn't remember." Bernardo tore open a pack of cigarettes and quickly lit up.

  "He's probably questioning everybody who knew Luiza. Don't get all bent out of shape. We'll get our shit together and it will all be cool."

  Something clicked in Orlando's mind.

  "But he's doing a background investigation on you. Asking who your friends are. Where you were last April. If you knew Luiza. That means you're a target."

  Bernardo exhaled smoke and laughed.

  "Did you learn that cop shit from your old man?"

  "You knew Luiza, didn't you?"

  Bernardo shrugged.

  "Yeah, I knew her."

  "She never wanted to party with us that night, did she?"

  Bernardo smiled. "I had to convince her."

  "You meant to rape her all along."

  Bernardo didn't respond.

  "Do the cops know that you knew her?"

  "Yeah, but it doesn't mean squat."

  Orlando shook his head. "You don't get it, do you?

  You're a fucking suspect."

  "So what?" Bernardo ground out the smoke with the heel of his boot.

  Orlando turned to walk back to his car. "Where are you going?"

  "I'm splitting. I can't live with this shit anymore. I'm done with it. It's over, Bernardo."

  Bernardo grabbed Orlando by the arm.

  "Are you going to snitch me off?"

  "I didn't say that. Let go of me."

  "Are you?" Orlando yanked Bernardo's hand off his arm and pushed him away.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll let you know when I decide."

  "That's not good enough, Orlando." Bernardo put his right hand in his back pocket and grabbed the handle of his sheath knife.

  "Live with it," Orlando said.

  "Can't do it, bro." Bernardo pulled the knife, took two steps, drove the blade under Orlando's rib cage, and ripped up to find the heart.

  Orlando grunted once, his mouth open like a feeding fish, his eyes already empty.

  Bernardo pulled the knife free and watched Orlando's blood pump out of his body as he fell to the ground. He'd read somewhere that during Vietnam the Communists would castrate dead Americans, stick their dicks in their mouths, and sew their lips together, to scare the soldiers who found the bodies. He thought about doing it to Orlando but decided not to bother.

  No one was ever going to see him again.

  He stepped over to Orlando and slit his throat.

  He wanted the body drained of blood before he hauled it to the truck. When the blood flow turned to a slight trickle, he dumped the body in the truck bed and covered it with hay bales he'd brought along. Using a shovel, he dug around the sticky, deep-red blood pool, turning the soil until dry earth covered the ground.

  Uncle Roque had told him to finish grading the road to the line camp, and get the dozer back to the Box Z. From today on, anybody who used that road would be driving over Orlando's bones.

  Some of Orlando's blood had squirted on his hand. Bernardo sniffed it as he drove away. It smelled good.

  ***

  At the start of his shift, Russell Thorpe checked to see if the APB on Aland's truck was still active. Aland hadn't been spotted, so Thorpe got on the road to Santa Rosa. If he could pick up Aland, it would be a significant collar.

  He found Sergeant Melendez at the reception counter in the Santa Rosa substation reviewing daily shift reports. Thorpe introduced himself and told Melendez what he was looking for and why.

  Melendez rolled his eyes, said there were countless places to hide a tractor trailer rig where it would never be found, and finally suggested that Thorpe do a close patrol of Puerto de Luna, a settlement ten miles southeast of Santa Rosa.

  The road to Puerto de Luna hugged the edge of a low butte at the far side of the river valley until it reached a sweep of pasture and farms that bordered both sides of the river. Thorpe crossed the bridge into the village and did a quick patrol. There wasn't much to the settlement: an old church with an adjacent cemetery, a fenced-off, abandoned one-room schoolhouse, a flat-roofed modern building with a brick facade that served as a community and senior citizen center, and several occupied houses made up the heart of the community.

  He stopped at a road sign that told of the village's former status as the county seat, and its most notorious visitor, Billy the Kid, before cruising south to the end of the pavement. The road turned to gravel where two converging mesas pinched the valley close to the river, the streambed hidden behind thick bosque. He spotted several old semitrailers near barns and outbuildings, but it was dear they'd been stationary for years.

  He worked a series of dirt roads, visually checking each ranch and farm that came into view, until he was a good ten miles south of the village.

  Melendez had warned him not to get his hopes up, and Thorpe now understood why. As he crisscrossed and skirted buttes, mesas, arroyos, and canyon lands on rutted tracks that seemed to go nowhere, he realized that he could spend days in th
e boonies, find nothing, and still have hundreds of places left to search.

  Back in Puerto de Luna, he stopped at the community center and talked to a cook and her elderly male assistant, who were in the kitchen preparing a midday meal for senior dozens.

  "Do either of you know Lenny Alarid?" Thorpe asked as he watched the stout, middle-aged woman ladle food into a white Styrofoam container and hand it to the old man.

  "I don't think so," the woman said.

  The old man put the container into a portable warming cart and waited to receive the next meal.

  "Do you know him?" Thorpe asked him.

  The old man shook his head.

  "He's a truck driver," Thorpe added.

  "Lots of people around here drive trucks," the cook replied, holding

  out another meal.

  The old man closed the lid and slid it into the can.

  The thick veins in his liver-spotted hands were blood red under a thin layer of translucent skin.

  "A semi truck," Thorpe said. He described Aland's tractor trailer rig.

  "Never saw it," the woman said

  "I have," the old man said.

  "Where?" the cook asked before Thorpe could get the question out.

  "At Perfecta Velarde's barn. The truck was there yesterday when I delivered her meal to her."

  "Did she have any visitors?" Thorpe asked.

  "Yes. Her daughter and son-in-law. The daughter's name is Gloria. I didn't meet the man."

  "Do you know Gloria's married name?"

  The old man shook his head. "But she lives in Anton Chico."

  "Where is Perfecta's place?"

  "On the highway to Santa Rosa. The truck is parked next to the barn."

  "I didn't see it on the way in."

  "You can't. A hill blocks it from view. You have to be driving back

  to Santa Rosa to see her place from the highway."

  "How far?" Thorpe asked.

  "Two miles. It's just before the road curves around the mesa. You'll see it."

  "Thanks."

  Russell keyed the radio as he left the community center and made contact with Art Garda.

  "You were supposed to be back a half hour ago," Garda said after acknowledging Thorpe's call.

  "I may have located Aland's truck."

  "When will you know for sure?" Garda asked sarcastically.