They were dead by morning, and after a lengthy probate hearing, Shaw inherited the farm and immediately leased out the land. Although the money from the leasehold agreement gave Shaw a steady income stream, with land prices skyrocketing it was far from enough to buy a good-sized ranch of his own, even if he sold the farm outright. But soon he would never again be somebody’s hired hand.
As he watched Julia and Hingle, Shaw decided she hadn’t screwed him yet. She was still playing her cunning little seductive game with him, acting enchanted by everything Hingle said, as though he alone could delight her. It was such bullshit the sight of it almost made Shaw laugh.
His attention switched when he saw Kevin Kerney get out of his truck on the other side of the fence and walk toward the movie types clustered at the cattle guard. They were surrounded by cameras, lights, electrical equipment, and some metal frames covered in a black fabric that were used to shade sunlight.
The damn cop was a snoop. When he’d been down here last, Kerney had taken a solo tour of the ranch. Shaw had backtracked on Kerney and found evidence that he’d been to the barn at the old Harley homestead and tromped around the landing field on the Sentinel Butte Ranch. Shaw didn’t like people butting into his business, and although he had no reason to believe the cop was onto him, he was wary nonetheless.
He watched Susan Berman, the pretty woman who always had a notebook or clipboard in her hand and a harried look on her face, break away from the group, greet Kerney, and give him a manila envelope.
The two chatted for a time and Shaw lost interest. The stock had been gathered at the Shugart cabin for the cattle-drive movie scenes, and the horse wranglers for the film company would be trucking in the remuda this afternoon. The new corral was finished, and Shaw’s day hands were hauling feed to the site in preparation for the arrival of the horses. It was time to check and see how far along they were with their chore.
He pulled himself into the cab of the truck and headed south, kicking up dust on the ranch road and wishing Hollywood would just pack up and go away. He had a shipment arriving soon and he didn’t like the idea of transporting contraband with a movie crew and a police chief parked under his nose.
When Susan Berman rejoined Malcolm Usher, who was running over the setup for the establishing shot of the ranch, Kerney paused to look around. As promised, Ethan Stone, the set designer, had turned Joe and Bessie’s pristine ranch headquarters into a hardscrabble, weather-beaten movie set. The exteriors of the houses and the barn were painted a dingy, sun-bleached gray, and a rusted water tank and an old windmill had been planted squarely in front of Joe and Bessie’s house along with two large, dead evergreen trees. The construction crew had added a rickety porch to the front of the house with a roof that seemed about to collapse. Several old, wrecked vehicles that looked like they’d been hauled down from vacant lots in Hachita were scattered around, and a pile of scrap metal had been dumped next to the barn.
There was no sign of Joe, Bessie, or Johnny, but Kerney noticed that Julia and Barry Hingle were looking pleased with each other. He smiled at the prospect that Julia might have found someone more receptive to her advances.
He opened the manila envelope. It was from the SFPD and inside were the NCIC wants and warrant reports on the cast and crew that his department had run. The name of one crew member, a transportation driver named Hoover Grayson, was circled. He had an outstanding warrant from Grady County, Oklahoma.
A sealed business envelope addressed to Kerney was attached to the paperwork. It contained Detective Sergeant Ramona Pino’s memo on her further findings regarding Walter Shaw. The deaths of Shaw’s adoptive parents had been ruled accidental, and no autopsies had been performed. Shaw owned the Virden farm free and clear, which consisted of the house, barn, and ten acres of land. With six years in the navy he’d been given a general discharge and denied reenlistment after being busted in rank twice by summary court-martial. Both times he’d gone AWOL and been arrested by the shore patrol for fighting.
On her own initiative Pino had researched Shaw’s juvenile record. As a teenager he’d been picked up in Duncan, Arizona, for shoplifting and released to his adoptive parents after pleading guilty and paying a fine. Child welfare reported that he’d been in seven different foster homes before his adoption placement with Ralph and Elizabeth Shaw, and that he had been removed from most of the previous placements because of incorrigible destructive behavior.
Financially, Shaw wasn’t well off. He had some money in the bank, but not much, and the value of the Virden farm wouldn’t cover the median cost of a Santa Fe house.
Kerney put the memo back in the envelope, stuck it in his shirt pocket, dialed Santa Fe dispatch on his cell phone, and asked them to confirm the warrant on Hoover Grayson out of Grady County, Oklahoma.
Ten minutes later dispatch called back. The warrant was valid. Grayson was wanted on two counts of residential burglary. Kerney got a physical description of the man and went looking for him. He spotted him sitting in the cab of a truck, reading a magazine.
Kerney passed by without stopping. When he was out of Grayson’s sight, he called the Hidalgo County sheriff, Leo Valencia, and gave him a heads-up.
Kerney knew and liked Valencia from meetings of the New Mexico Sheriffs and Police Association. He had a no-nonsense approach to policing, little tolerance for incompetence, and a quick wit.
“Are you sure about this guy Grayson?” Valencia asked.
“As much as I can be without confronting the man,” Kerney replied.
“I’ll have to confirm the outstanding arrest warrant myself and get a copy.”
“Of course.”
“Give me your exact location.”
“The ranch headquarters of the Granite Pass Cattle Company off the Antelope Wells highway.”
“Joe Jordan’s place, where they’re making that movie?”
“That’s right,” Kerney said.
“What in the hell are you doing down there?” Valencia asked.
“Trying to break into motion pictures, Leo. I’ve got to find something to do after I take my pension.”
Valencia chuckled. “Isn’t there some retired Chicago cop who’s a big star now? The guy who plays an NYPD detective on a TV crime show.”
“Yeah,” Kerney replied. “He’s my role model.”
Leo laughed in disbelief. “Okay, Mr. Budding Movie Star, what are you really doing down there?”
“I’m the law-enforcement technical advisor for the film.”
“Sounds like easy duty. Okay, hang tight. We’ll come for Grayson if it checks out. But if it doesn’t, I may pay you a visit anyway. I’ve always wanted to see how movies get made.”
“I’ll arrange a screen test for you,” Kerney said. Valencia declined the offer and disconnected.
While Kerney waited for Leo’s arrival, he watched Usher fine tune the exterior shots of the ranch. The cameras were equipped with a video feed, and Usher stood behind a table loaded with monitors and quietly asked for minor adjustments. He and the crew seemed to be well in sync, and he soon told an assistant director to start filming. Everyone fell silent and the cameras rolled: one on tracks that moved straight in on the ranch house, while a second camera panned from the ranch house to the barn.
What had taken an hour to set up was over in a matter of minutes, and the crew got busy readying the next shot, which called for the ingenue playing the rancher’s daughter to rush out of the house and speed away in a pickup truck.
If Kerney remembered correctly, it was the scene that had been added to the shooting script to show the daughter hurrying to find her rodeo cowboy brother and tell him about their father’s trouble with the feds.
The ingenue, a striking redhead with a thousand-watt smile, did several run-throughs before Usher was satisfied. Kerney couldn’t see the necessity for it and wondered what he was missing. They all seemed pretty much the same to him.
Just as filming started, two Hidalgo sheriff’s units with lights flashing came i
nto view on the ranch road and wheeled to a stop at the cattle guard.
“Cut!” Usher hollered, looking totally pissed.
The ingenue froze on the porch step, and all eyes turned toward the police cruisers. Kerney, who’d stayed within striking distance of Hoover Grayson, stopped him with an armlock as he scrambled out of the truck, and put him facedown on the ground.
“Shit,” Grayson said.
Kerney put his knee down hard on Grayson’s back to pin him. “Don’t move,” he ordered.
“Good work, amigo,” Valencia said as he reached Kerney with his chief deputy at his side. “You’re not over the hill yet.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Kerney pulled Grayson upright. Leo cuffed him, fished out Grayson’s wallet, made the ID, and read him his rights.
“Mind if I stick around and watch for a time?” he asked as his chief deputy led Grayson to his unit.
A red-faced Usher arrived before Kerney could respond. “What’s this about?” he demanded. “What did he do?”
“Residential burglary,” Leo answered. “Two counts.”
“Are you planning to arrest anyone else?” Usher asked sharply.
Over Usher’s shoulder Leo scanned the faces of the cast and crew. “I don’t know. Does somebody else need arresting?” he asked innocently.
Usher stared at Valencia for a long moment. Leo had a round face and a walrus mustache that made him look like Pancho Villa—an asset with both Anglo and Hispanic voters, he’d found. He gave Usher a toothy, election-day smile.
Usher glanced at Kerney, who was trying hard to keep a straight face. “No,” he said as his irritation vanished. “That’s enough reality for one day.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Leo said.
Usher returned to the shoot and the two men stood at the fence by the cattle guard and watched Hollywood magic being made.
“Aside from trying to intercept drug shipments and chase coyotes smuggling migrants across the border, are the feds up to anything else in the Bootheel?” Kerney asked.
“There’s been a big upswing in cigarette smuggling,” Leo replied. “Counterfeit brands out of Asia. They cost two bucks a carton wholesale and get sold for ten times that. The feds had an investigation going for a time in El Paso, but it petered out.”
“Who ran the investigation?”
“Hell if I know,” Leo said. “Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, I’d guess.”
“That’s all you know?”
Valencia gave Kerney a sideways glance. “That’s it. Are you onto something?”
Kerney hitched his boot on a fence railing. “Just trying to stay well informed.”
“That’s a good thing to do.” Leo eyed the production crew as they set up equipment for the next shot. When they finished, Usher reminded everyone how the scene had been blocked out, and then watched it on the monitors as the young actress did a run-through. Just as they were about to start filming, the drone of an airplane overhead interrupted the take. Everybody relaxed and stood around, waiting for the plane to pass by.
“So this is how it’s done,” Leo said.
“It’s not very glamorous, is it?” Kerney replied.
“Maybe if they blew something up, it would be more interesting.”
“I’ll pass along your suggestion.”
Leo laughed, thanked Kerney for his help, and left. After filming ended for the day and everyone returned to Playas, the arrest of Hoover Grayson had people buzzing. For a time Kerney’s popularity soared as he answered questions about the bust. When he finally broke away and went to get Patrick, he found his son playing cheerfully with his new companions. They had dinner with the cast and crew, and much to Kerney’s relief, Patrick’s good mood held throughout the evening. Long after Patrick had gone to bed, Agent Ray Bratton knocked on the door.
“How’s it going?” Kerney asked as the young man stepped nervously inside.
“The only criminal activity I’ve seen so far is a few of the crew members smoking pot.”
“You’re just getting started,” Kerney said, motioning at the couch. Stiffly, Bratton sat on the edge of a cushion. “Is this your first undercover assignment?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
Kerney settled into the easy chair that faced the couch and smiled warmly at Bratton. “Just a guess. How long have you been with the agency?”
“I’m three months out of the academy. They sent me here from Laredo, Texas, on special assignment. I go back when it’s finished.”
“Did you know the murdered agent?”
“No.”
“Have you learned anything more about Mendoza, the Motor Transportation officer, and his van?”
“Mendoza checks out clean. But Agent Fidel still thinks he might be our guy. Mendoza had a cousin staying with him for a week, when you were down here last. The guy’s name is Paul Rangal. He lives in San Diego and works as an apprentice machinist at the naval shipyards. We took a close look at him. Nada.”
“Are you looking at anyone else as a suspect?” Kerney asked as he got up.
“Agent Fidel thinks Ira Dobson, the guy who manages the water-works for the town and the smelter, may be involved.”
“Fidel still thinks the smelter may be being used as a safe house for smuggled illegals?”
“That’s his theory,” Bratton replied.
Kerney walked Bratton to the door. “Good luck with it.”
Bratton smiled. “Thanks. I’ll keep you informed.”
After Bratton slipped outside into the night, Kerney thought about what he’d just heard. It made sense to use an undercover rookie agent, assuming he’d been well coached and adequately prepared, to bust up a smuggling ring. Cop shops frequently used novice officers in such roles. But Bratton seemed completely out of his element and totally uncomfortable in his assignment.
Why would the Border Patrol bring in a second fresh-faced rookie after the first one had been killed? That didn’t make any sense, especially if the smuggling ring included dirty cops. The circumstances called for experienced investigators to be working the case.
Kerney realized that he actually had very little specific information about the case—he didn’t even know the murdered agent’s name. The more he thought about it, the more he questioned why Fidel had asked for his assistance.
Could it be Fidel was playing him? There was no compelling need for Bratton to pass information to Fidel through him. Bratton could easily reach Fidel directly by cell phone without drawing attention to himself.
The night of his meeting with Fidel the agent had managed to get Kerney to help short-circuit Officer Sapian’s investigation. Then he had kept the murder covered up and the victim’s identity hidden from everybody, including Bratton. Kerney found himself wondering if the dead man on the highway was actually a cop at all.
He went over his conversation with Bratton one more time. Fidel had the kid concentrating primarily on Mendoza and Dobson as suspects, in spite of no hard evidence to support it. None of it made any sense.
Kerney decided to check into Agent Fidel’s operation a bit more thoroughly before cooperating with him any further.
An early call had Kerney up long before dawn. Reluctantly, he woke Patrick, who had no desire to get out of bed, and after they were dressed the two of them went outside into the chill of the desert night, where the sky was a flat dark slate. Under a big tent in the mercantile-building parking lot a long line of people was queued up for the buffet breakfast. It seemed that the size of the film company had doubled overnight. He checked the call sheet for the day and discovered that several street scenes, requiring a large number of extras, were scheduled to be shot by the second camera unit, while Usher continued filming at the Jordon ranch.
He looked around for familiar faces and saw Buzzy and Gus, the gaffer and the key grip, hurrying off toward loaded equipment trucks. None of the leading or featured actors was present at the picnic tables inside the tent. Kerney assumed they were either breakf
asting in the privacy of their custom motor coaches or preparing for the day’s work in the wardrobe or makeup trailers.
He was about to take Patrick to the nanny when Johnny Jordan came up behind him.
“This must be your son,” Johnny said, reaching out to rub Patrick’s head, which earned him a quizzical look. “Good-looking kid. Where’s your wife?”
“This is Patrick,” Kerney said, although Johnny clearly didn’t care what his son’s name was. “Sara couldn’t make it.”
“That’s too bad. I wanted to meet her.” Johnny plopped down on the bench next to Kerney. “I hear Dale had to bail out because Barbara got sick.”
“Emergency appendectomy, but she’s going to be fine. Where have you been?”
“L.A.,” Johnny replied, looking pleased with himself. “I drove all night to get here. I’ve got big things happening, Kerney. Couple of deals in the works. Can’t tell you about it yet, but I’m moving to Hollywood after we finish the picture.”
“So you’re going to be a movie mogul.”
Johnny grinned. “Something like that.” He was full of nervous energy, thumping the heel of his boot against the bench leg as he talked. “The talent in L.A. is incredible, man.”
“I’m sure lots of creative people live there.”
Johnny chuckled as he scanned the people in the breakfast buffet line. “I’m talking about the women, Kerney. They’re unbelievable. Have you seen Susan Berman?”
“No. What can you tell me about Walt Shaw?”
“Why? Did you have a run-in with him?”
Kerney shook his head. “Have you?”
“Nope. My parents swear by him, and for a time I thought he and Julia were going to be a serious item, but I can’t tell you more than that.”
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