Mexican Hat
Page 10
“How do you like being back home?” Margaret asked.
“I love it,” Karen replied.
“No regrets about leaving the city?”
“I don’t miss Albuquerque at all.”
“There was a time when I thought you’d never come back to the ranch.”
Karen laughed. “Neither did I.”
“Are you absolutely sure you want to live here?”
“I am,” Karen answered with an emphatic nod of her head.
“No regrets about Stan?” Margaret asked.
“God no. It wasn’t a marriage. He wanted to own me. I think I knew I would eventually divorce him. It was just a question of when it would happen.”
“I could never understand what made Stan believe he could hold on to you. In a conventional sense, I’m not sure any man can.”
Karen’s eyes danced in amusement. “You’ve always known that about me, haven’t you?”
“Has it changed?”
“No. I don’t think marriage suits me. I’m sorry things were so tense at dinner last night.”
“Edgar said you had a rather heated conversation with him. You and your father are two of a kind. That can make the sparks fly.”
“I see no reason why he can’t talk to me about Uncle Eugene.”
“He doesn’t talk to anybody about it.”
Karen shook her head, rejecting the statement. “That’s not completely true. He talks to you about it. He must.”
Margaret rubbed her daughter’s arm affectionately. Karen’s skin was warm to the touch. “That’s different.”
“This time the situation is different. If it’s a legitimate inquiry into a homicide investigation, I may have to force him to talk about it.”
“I’d rather you wouldn’t push it. Your father has enough on his mind right now.”
“Are there problems?”
Margaret remained silent. She had hoped Karen would ask the question.
“Is something wrong?” Karen prodded.
“Oh, he thinks I’m going to die. He can’t stand the thought that he might outlive me.”
Karen’s hand covered her mother’s. “Die? What’s wrong?”
“I had a mammogram last Friday. The doctor’s fairly certain I have cancer. I was going to wait to tell you until the biopsy results came back.”
“When will you know?”
“Tomorrow.” Margaret could see tears in the corners of Karen’s eyes. She wiped them away with a fingertip. “Don’t cry.”
“Why not? It makes me so damn sad and angry.”
Margaret laughed gently. “I’m going to beat it, sweetie. I plan to be around for a while. Long enough to become a very old, crotchety great-grandmother.”
Karen sniffled. “How can you be so sure?”
“Call it woman’s intuition. I just feel it. I’ll survive.” Margaret got to her feet. “Edgar will be up soon, wanting his breakfast. He loves you very much.”
“I know.”
Margaret bent down and kissed Karen on the forehead. “And so do I.”
Karen stood and hugged her mother tightly.
“Send the children down to the house when you’re ready to leave for work,” Margaret said.
“I can’t have you watch them for me. Not now.”
“Don’t be silly.” She kissed her daughter again. “I’m looking forward to it. I need to spoil them a bit more.”
Margaret returned home. Edgar was out of bed and in the bathroom shaving. She made fresh coffee, feeling somewhat guilty about her talk with Karen. Everything she’d said was true, but her motives were sneaky. If disclosing her illness deflected Karen from pursuing Edgar’s secret, it was worth the effort.
IN THE PARKING LOT at the county courthouse, Jim Stiles lounged against the front of his truck, one foot on the bumper. He was wearing jeans, a straw cowboy hat, a white shirt, and a pair of snakeskin boots.
Kerney limped toward him. The hitch in his right leg seemed a little more pronounced. Kerney’s getup pretty much matched Jim’s, except for a big rodeo buckle Kerney wore on the belt around his waist.
He stood with Jim facing the entrance to the sheriff’s department, a forlorn annex to the courthouse, plastered adobe brown.
Stiles stared at Kerney’s belt buckle. “Is that the real McCoy?”
“Sure is. Somebody reminded me I won it, so I dug it out and decided to wear it.”
Jim squinted to make out the date it was awarded. “It’s a damn antique.”
“Watch what you say, youngster,” Kerney cautioned lightly.
“Just kidding.” Jim’s green eyes crinkled with humor. “I’m impressed. Hell, I’m jealous. I didn’t know you were a rodeo cowboy.”
“That’s stretching it,” Kerney replied. “I was a ranch kid who liked to rodeo.”
“Do your parents still ranch?”
“They’re dead,” Kerney replied. “The Army took our ranch when White Sands Missile Range expanded. My father got a job as a foreman at a nearby outfit.”
“That sucks.”
“It’s old news.”
“I don’t think I could be so cool about it if it happened to my parents.”
Kerney’s laugh was tinged with bitterness. “I only sound indifferent. It’s not the way I feel.” He started walking toward the sheriff’s office. “Got any idea why Omar Gatewood wants to see us?”
“None whatever,” Jim admitted, as he walked alongside.
“How did your interviews go?”
“Chalk up a big fat goose egg. Not one of those good folks has had any problems with cougars killing their stock. They don’t know where in the hell Mexican Hat is and never heard of José or Hector Padilla, and the closest thing to an ATV I saw was one of those sit-down John Deere lawn tractors. How did you do with Phil Cox?”
“About the same,” Kerney replied, holding open the door to the office.
Sheriff Gatewood had a guest with him, Karen Cox. At the front of Gatewood’s desk were two straight-backed chairs. Karen sat in a padded vinyl armchair at the side of the desk. Kerney took the empty chair closest to Karen. In a dark blue business suit, a linen blouse, hose, and pumps, she looked elegant and professional. The office, a small space with cheap wood paneling, felt oppressive. On one wall hung Gatewood’s framed commission as sheriff and a dozen training certificates from various law enforcement seminars, all of them listing slightly off-center.
Karen nodded a greeting at Jim and Kerney. Her skirt stopped at mid-thigh and revealed her slender, well-formed legs.
“Thanks for coming in, boys,” Gatewood said, leaning back in his squeaky chair.
“What’s up?” Jim asked.
Gatewood gave Jim his most winning smile. “Miss Cox and I have a proposition for you.”
As Gatewood explained the purpose of the meeting—commissions for Kerney and Stiles with primary responsibility to conduct the Padilla murder investigation on behalf of the department—Kerney kept his attention on Karen, who seemed to deliberately avoid making eye contact with him. Finally she looked at him, and a small smile crossed her lips.
Gatewood finished his pitch, and Jim chuckled. “Is this another one of your schemes to get me to go to work for you, Omar?”
“I’d like that, but I can’t afford you,” Omar replied with a grin. “Nope. This murder case needs to get the attention it deserves. Unless we do something it will go on some state police investigator’s back burner within a week, and that doesn’t sit right with me. Now, I don’t have the manpower or the specialists to solve the damn case, so Miss Cox here had an idea: we borrow the two of you and put you to work on it.” He turned to Kerney for a reaction. “What do you think?”
Kerney looked at Stiles, who was nodding his head vigorously. “The idea has merit.”
Gatewood smiled and rested his hands on his stomach. “I figured you boys would like the idea.”
“Who would we report to?” Kerney asked.
“To me, of course,” Gatewood replied.
“I won’t do that, Kerney,” Gatewood retorted, scowling.
Kerney stood up, caught Jim’s eye, nodded at the door, and smiled at Karen, who had been watching Kerney intently. “I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time,” he said to her.
Karen rose and held Kerney back from leaving. “One minute, Mr. Kerney. Suppose we give you the autonomy you want, with the understanding that you are to operate strictly under the color of the law, and consult with me on all legal questions. Would that satisfy you?”
“Almost.”
“What else do you want?”
“A thousand dollars to buy information.”
“What kind of information?” Karen demanded.
“Padilla’s murder was not premeditated. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why kill a complete stranger over a crime that, at the most, would cost a fine and six months in jail? According to Jim, money is probably the motive. There has been a pattern of organized big game and exotic animal kills that may be tied to a smuggling operation that exports rare animal parts to Asia. Information about a scam like that isn’t going to fall into our laps.”
Sheriff Gatewood cocked his head back and snorted. “Charlie Perry has been working poaching cases for a couple of years now, and I’ve never heard him talk about any smuggling.”
“It’s an angle we need to pursue,” Kerney replied.
“Do you assume the killer is from the area?” Karen asked.
Stiles got to his feet. “Absolutely. Only a few people in the area even knew cougars had been translocated to Elderman Meadows.”
“The poaching was done for sport, if you ask me,” Gatewood said, as he pulled himself out of his chair, feeling like the odd man out. “This smuggling notion is way off base. I think whoever shot that Padilla fella did it to cover his tracks.”
Kerney concentrated his attention on Karen. “We’ll chase down any theory that holds water, but I think we need to look at them all.”
Karen mulled it over before answering. “I’ll put up the money you need from the DA’s account. You’ll carry a commission through my office.” She switched her attention to Gatewood. “Sheriff, I’d like your cooperation on this. If it will make you feel more comfortable, you can commission Jim and assign him to work under me.”
Gatewood grunted, thought about it for a moment, and smiled shrewdly. Karen’s offer would allow him to lay off any blame on her if things went wrong and the shit hit the fan. “I’ll go along with that.”
“Then it’s agreed.” Karen glanced from Kerney to Stiles to Gatewood and back to Kerney. “Is that satisfactory?”
“Good enough,” Kerney replied. “I’ll keep you fully informed.”
“See that you do,” Karen replied.
A politician’s smile spread over Gatewood’s face. “I’m glad we got this ironed out. I already gave the Silver City paper a statement on your appointments.”
Kerney looked at Gatewood in amazement. “That was a stupid thing to do.”
“Now wait a minute, Kerney…” Gatewood blustered.
“I’ll try to get the story killed,” Karen cut in, freezing Gatewood with an abrupt look.
“Good,” Kerney replied.
Kerney and Stiles signed the necessary paperwork, got sworn in, and left. Kerney had a draft for a thousand dollars from the local bank tucked in his wallet. In the parking lot, Jim shook his head in disbelief. “You played hardball in there,” he said.
“I don’t want Gatewood calling the shots,” Kerney answered. “Besides not being very bright, he’s a politician. We’re going to have to improvise if we hope to solve this case, and Gatewood would keep us on a short leash. Fill me in a bit more on Karen Cox. Where does she get her influence?”
Jim laughed. “Her daddy served two terms on the county commission, helped Gatewood get hired as a deputy, and supported him for sheriff when he ran for office. Edgar carries a lot of political weight. The last thing Omar wants to do is piss off Edgar or his daughter. Especially in an election year.”
“Is everybody in this county in bed with each other?”
Jim grinned. “Not me. My girlfriend lives in Silver City.”
“Exception noted. Are you bragging or complaining?”
“Both. So what’s next, boss?”
“You get to review every piece of paper that was found in José Padilla’s travel trailer. I want a full report when I get back.”
Jim groaned in dismay.
“You wanted to do real police work, remember?”
Stiles groaned again. “Why did I ever say that? And where in the hell are you going?”
“South,” Kerney replied.
EARLIER IN THE DAY Karen had rearranged the office so she could sit at her desk and look out the window. The seventh judicial district operated on a circuit court schedule in Catron County, and she had a week to prepare for her first court appearance. A stack of active files filled her briefcase. She was pretty much up to speed on the contents.
She sat down, pushed her shoes off, and wiggled her toes. She hated to wear panty hose. As far as she was concerned it was the major drawback to the job.
When Kerney had stood up, ready to walk out on the deal because of Gatewood’s stubbornness, Karen had momentarily lost her train of thought. The belt buckle he wore sparked a forgotten memory. At the age of twelve, she had accompanied her parents to the state high school rodeo championships in Reserve to watch her cousin Cory compete. Afterward, she and her girlfriends giggled and fantasized for weeks about the tall, good-looking high school senior from Engle with the square shoulders and the pretty blue eyes who had beaten out Cory for the best all-around cowboy title. Kevin Kerney. She smiled at the girlhood silliness of it all.
Kerney had aged well, she decided. He was a little taller now and slightly fuller in the chest, with a flat stomach and baby-fine brown hair that was just barely receding. All in all, a good-looking man. It was Kerney’s intense blue eyes that drew Karen in, and during the meeting she had worked hard to keep from looking at him. He had caught her sneaking a glance only once.
She smiled at the thought that Kerney seemed much more interested in her now than he had when she was twelve. The smile faded as Karen thought about her mother. She stopped herself from reaching for the telephone. There was no sense in disturbing Mom with her overabundant concern. Let her enjoy her time with Elizabeth and Cody, Karen thought, as long as she is able. But how long would that be? It frightened Karen to think about it. Her mother had always been an anchor point in her life.
She pushed back the emotion and found herself thinking about her father. He was a strong-willed man who didn’t bend easily. The prospect of pressuring him to reveal the contents of the Padilla letter was distasteful, although she was still mad as hell at him for lying about it. For now, the issue could remain dormant. Karen hoped it would stay outside the scope of Kerney’s investigation. But what if it didn’t? How could she protect her father without violating her professional ethics? If necessary, she would have to rein Kerney in. Somehow, she didn’t think Kerney was the type of man who would take that easily.
She put in a call to the Silver City paper and got through to the editor, who told her it was too late to kill the story. She hung up wondering if Omar Gatewood even realized how badly he had blundered by letting the cat out of the bag to the media. She seriously doubted it.
KERNEY CASHED THE CHECK, drove to his trailer, and swapped the Forest Service truck for his own vehicle, a late-model GMC pickup. Making a quick stop at the hospital in Silver City, he found the same guard at the door of the ICU and asked to speak to Erlinda Perez.
She arrived quickly, stepped halfway into the hall, and held the door open with a hand. “I’m very busy, Mr. Kerney.”
“I won’t take much o
f your time. Did Dr. Padilla’s daughter show up?”
“She’s here now.”
He gave Erlinda a business card and switched to Spanish. “Please give her my condolences, find out if she will tell me where she’s staying, and ask if I may speak with her this afternoon. Tell her I wish to be of assistance in finding the person who killed her son.”
Erlinda nodded, told him to wait, and returned after a few minutes. She told Kerney where the woman was staying.
“She’ll be at her motel in the afternoon,” she added. “She would like to meet with you.”
“That’s great. What’s her name?” Kerney asked.
“Cornelia Marquez.”
“Have the police talked to her?”
“I don’t know,” Erlinda said.
“How is Señor Padilla?”
Erlinda shrugged. “The same. He fades in and out. Not very responsive. He remembers almost nothing.”
“Is he talking?”
“Not really. A word here and there. The doctor thinks the damage may be permanent.”
“Thanks.”
“Por nada.” Erlinda watched him leave. Generally, she was not impressed with cops. But this gringo didn’t run a macho game or act like a tough guy. Also, he didn’t wear a wedding ring. She wondered if he was married.
KERNEY BURNED UP THE ROAD getting to El Paso. In Juarez he drove through the sleazy tourist district that never seemed to change, except to smell worse and look more appalling. He fought his way around crazed motorists until he was off the strip and heading for the suburbs.
Francisco Posada’s home, a modern two-story affair with arched windows, a red tile roof, Grecian columns under a domed entrance, and meticulously landscaped grounds, qualified as a mansion. It harmonized nicely with the rest of the Juarez neighborhood. The entire district could easily be part of any wealthy Southern California enclave.
Señor Posada’s houseboy answered the door, recognized Kerney, and blocked his entrance.
“I don’t think it is wise for you to be here,” Juan said.
“I need to see him now,” Kerney replied. “Don’t make me walk over you to do it.”
Juan considered the threat, his soft black eyes flickering over Kerney’s face, and decided not to resist.