Residue: A Kevin Kerney Novel

by Michael McGarrity

  He headed out the door to talk to Loretta at the ranch house. In the distance, Jack’s place sat nestled at the edge of a grove of piñon and juniper trees, like a modern version of a gatekeeper’s cottage along the ranch road.

  Near the main house, a large solar array occupied what had been a small pasture, sheltered from view by a thick stand of evergreens. At the edge of a landscaped lawn, a tall, hand-laid rock wall hid a propane-fired generator with a huge tank capable of powering the enclave for days.

  The pitched front of the timber-frame house was elevated, with a deep covered porch perfect for sunset-viewing. Large picture windows climbed the two-story structure, and there were cozy balconies off the two upstairs master suites.

  He parked at the head of the circular driveway and paused, remembering how Loretta would tease him about never wanting to leave the ranch. When would he take her to Berlin, or to see the Taj Mahal? Would he really force her to stay in a dismal three-star San Francisco hotel the next time they were shopping in the city?

  Away from the ranch and Silver City, they enjoyed trips for a theater night in New York, a museum opening in Los Angeles, or a weekend of jazz in New Orleans. Only rarely did they take longer excursions.

  Loretta’s teasing ended earlier in the year when she was diagnosed with fourth-stage colon cancer. With the aid of a full-time, live-in nurse, she was spending her remaining days in the second master bedroom, with her hospital bed positioned in the middle of the room to take in the view, a table nearby with issues of her favorite magazines and a pile of books she wanted to read, a television on a stand she almost never turned on, and several monitors the nurse used to check her vital signs. There was a beeper close at hand to call for assistance.

  He hurried inside, climbed the staircase to her bedroom, and found her snoozing, an open book resting on her chest. Quietly, he positioned a chair close to her side and took her hand.

  She was still beautiful. Her light brown hair was streaked with gray, and her brown eyes were no longer lively due to the pain medication. She’d kept her figure except for a few lost pounds, and despite some wrinkles her face looked the same as it did when they were kids, adolescent lovers living under the same roof as brother and sister.

  It had been an inevitable outcome of their attraction to each other. From a very early age, they’d intuitively known it would happen. In the dark of night, away from Jack and Jann, where Louis could not hear, they had whispered about it, thrilled about it, looked forward to it.

  Loretta’s eyes fluttered open. “Hey, you,” she said squeezing his hand.

  “Sleepyhead,” Page replied, giving her a kiss.

  She saw the worry in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Jack got a note today from his buddy at the veterans center that the police had been around looking for me. They were imposters. Guess who?”

  Loretta sighed. “Kevin Kerney and his son. Isn’t Kerney seriously wounded and in the hospital?”

  “That won’t stop him or his family.”

  “How can he possibly know I can prove he didn’t kill Kim?”

  “He doesn’t have to know, just believe that it’s possible,” Page said. “This is happening at a bad time.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Shut everything down, just as we’ve always planned.”

  “But nobody’s looking for you.”

  “We don’t know that. You can bet the state police are on Kerney’s tail. One way or another, this unravels for all of us.”

  Loretta smiled grimly. “We were supposed to fly away, if this happened. We can’t do that now, can we?”

  “I can charter a bigger plane to fly us out.”

  “So I can die someplace else? No, thank you. Besides, you’ll never get Jack to leave here.”

  “Then we all stay, and I send everyone else packing.”

  “Do that,” Loretta said. “We’ve never talked about what would happen to this place after we were gone or arrested. Why didn’t we prepare a will?”

  Page laughed. “Dead or in prison, a will wouldn’t mean a thing. The government will seize everything based on the principle of ill-gotten gains. With no heirs to challenge the surrender of our assets, Uncle Sam gets it all. Think of the federal government as our one and only charitable cause.”

  Tired and sleepy once again, Loretta smiled. “I suppose it’s only right.”

  “Poetic justice,” Page said as he patted her hand. “I’ll go tell Jack.”

  Loretta turned her cheek for a kiss. Page obliged, then hurried from the bedroom. She watched as he drove away in his truck, thinking back to the night long ago when they’d told their parents she was pregnant and they wanted to get married. Jack understood, but Jann freaked out, demanding that Loretta get an abortion and Earl leave home immediately. Jack agreed to the abortion and that Earl and Loretta should be separated for a long spell. But he wasn’t prepared to say they never should be together again.

  It was Jack’s idea for Earl to move to Houston, live with a second cousin, and apply to the police department, a career he’d shown some interest in. The Houston PD needed new recruits, and draft deferments were granted to applicants who made it through recruit training and agreed to serve with the department a minimum of two years.

  If Earl and Loretta still felt the same way about each other after two years, Jack said, they’d all talk about it more.

  Jack’s open-mindedness ruptured his marriage. Jann couldn’t tolerate the notion of such an incestuous relationship. She left him, moved to Silver City, went to work as a secretary at the university, and had nothing more to do with him or her children until she died.

  It was four, not two years, when Page returned with news he’d been recruited out of the Houston PD Narcotics Division to join the DEA, a job he dearly wanted. Until he finished training and had a permanent assignment, they’d have to wait to live together. When it turned out he’d be back in Houston as part of an undercover task force, the wait got longer.

  After Houston, each new posting took Page deeper into narco-trafficking assignments, making it impossible for any normal home life. They made do with his infrequent visits, short vacations together, and some long holiday weekends when he could manage to get away. Occasionally, when he wasn’t undercover, she’d go to him, if he was stateside.

  Loretta continued to live with Jack on his ranch, and found a job as a school secretary, which gave her summers free and long holiday and spring breaks from work. It was the best she could arrange in order to be easily available to Page. It dragged on that way for years until his Colombia assignment changed everything for the better.

  That made Loretta smile. Drowsy from the opiates, soothed by old memories, she fell asleep with the premonition that none of them was going to leave the ranch alive. And that was okay.

  CHAPTER 23

  Sara, Clayton, and Dalquist left for Silver City by chartered plane. As they flew over the rugged Gila Wilderness, Sara pondered their chances of success. With no roads or settlements, few structures, and no motorized vehicles allowed on over a half million acres, was it possible that Jack, Loretta, and Earl were down there, tucked away where nobody could find them? In a wilderness used primarily by commercial outfitters, adventure backpackers, experienced campers, and Forest Service personnel, it seemed unlikely. But there were places less remote in the state where hermits, cult members, and wanted fugitives had lived undiscovered for years.

  The landscape below changed with the appearance of dirt roads, buildings, and occasional water tanks reflecting flashes of morning sunlight. They were on the ground at the Grant County Airport within minutes. Located on a flat plateau south of Silver City, there wasn’t much to the airport except one major runway, a few hangars for small aircraft, and the facilities for the Gila National Forest Aerial Fire Base, which provided air support to fight forest fires throughout the ­Southwest. Three all-wheel drive, high-clearance vehicles were waiting, watched over by four employees from the local dealership th
at had rented them to Dalquist.

  He tipped the employees and passed out ignition fobs to Sara and Clayton. “I doubt our new vehicles will deter the state police from discovering our presence in the area,” he commented with a smile. “But in the backcountry, we may be able to lose them.”

  He shook his key fob at them. “I hate these things,” he said, as he walked toward the red SUV. “This one is mine. I understand they’re fun to drive. Follow me.”

  They convoyed into town through the historic district, past the city’s renowned two-story Victorian hotel, to a side street where a small restored adobe cottage sat next to a church. A sign in front of the cottage announced the law offices of Sheila Russell.

  Inside, they were greeted by Russell, a forty-something woman with a short haircut and the toned physique of a marathon runner. Several framed photographs on her office desk documented her participation in the sport.

  After handshakes all around, they gathered at a circular conference table.

  “I’ve booked you into a bed-and-breakfast that has a separate cottage with three bedrooms away from the main house,” Russell said. “It comes with a fully stocked kitchen and it’s within the city limits, a five-minute drive from downtown. You’ll have privacy and convenience.”

  Dalquist beamed. “Excellent.”

  Russell smiled in return and passed out maps to the B&B. “Mr. Dalquist, I suggest you and Ms. Brannon check in right away, while I accompany Mr. Istee to see a magistrate judge.”

  “You have two in Grant County,” Dalquist noted. “Which one?”

  “Of course you’d ask,” Russell replied amiably. She turned to Clayton to explain. “We have two magistrates, one with a law degree, the other without. We’re going to visit Alejandro Armenta, who only has a two-year degree from a community college, but is fair-minded and knows the ropes.”

  She picked up a file from the table. “We’re due there in twenty minutes. I’m asking for dismissal of the charge against you. I believe I have everything we need.”

  Grinning, Sara reached over and squeezed Clayton’s hand. “Good luck.”

  “I’m ready,” Clayton said, breaking into a smile.

  Dalquist nodded his approval and stood. “As soon as that’s cleared up, we’ll meet at the cottage.”

  “As you wish,” Russell said. “I’ll call you when we’re leaving court.”

  Outside, Clayton got into the passenger seat of Russell’s compact Honda, still feeling a bit apprehensive. Judges were as quirky as any other professional group, maybe more so, and his anxiety wouldn’t lift until the charge against him went away.

  They drove out of Silver City to the small town of Bayard and parked beside a brown-stuccoed building at the intersection of two highways. A portion of the building housed the magistrate court, where Judge Armenta waited in his cluttered office.

  Wiry and in his fifties, with a prominent chin, Armenta was casually dressed in blue jeans and a western shirt. He rose to greet Russell with a smile, motioned for Clayton and her to sit, and settled behind his desk.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Judge,” Russell said.

  “Of course. I’ve read the statements from Chief Kerney and the witnesses at the veterans center, and it is clear your client did not openly identify himself as a police officer.”

  “That’s correct,” Russell said.

  Armenta paused and looked sternly at Clayton. “However, it could be argued that you permitted the deception. By that, I mean you helped perpetrate the belief that you were indeed a serving police officer.”

  “If you’re asking did I deny it, no, I did not,” Clayton answered.

  Armenta nodded. “I appreciate your honesty, which is exactly what I wanted to hear from you. I’m dismissing the charge.”

  Clayton held back a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “You do know that under state law the arrest record cannot be expunged,” Armenta continued. “Fortunately, the charge does not automatically result in revocation of your police officer certification. However, the Law Enforcement Board has latitude in deciding what constitutes misconduct sufficient for revocation or suspension.”

  “I understand that,” Clayton replied.

  “Good.” Armenta smiled at Russell. “Anything else?”

  “No, Judge. Thank you for your time.”

  As they drove away, Clayton looked back at the nondescript building with the big Magistrate Court sign planted by the front door.

  “It’s not the hallowed halls of justice by any means,” Russell commented.

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” Clayton said.

  Russell laughed as she reached for her phone to call Dalquist. “You’ve got that right.”

  Away from the main house, the two-story cottage at the bed-and-breakfast was surrounded by tall pine trees with private parking. The front living room had a deep fireplace, and comfortable chairs with side tables and reading lamps. A large country-style kitchen included a dining table capable of seating eight. The large stair landing held a writing desk connected to Wi-Fi, and the second floor had three large bedrooms with full baths. There wasn’t a television anywhere to be found, but each bedroom had a small radio next to an old-fashioned dial telephone.

  Clayton threw his luggage on his bed and went downstairs. Dalquist, Sara, and Russell were at the dining table chatting with Sid Bonnell, the wilderness guide Dalquist had hired. Covering the tabletop were several large maps of Gila National Forest and its three designated wilderness areas, the Gila, the Aldo Leopold Wilderness, and the Blue Range Wilderness.

  Somewhere in his forties, Bonnell didn’t top out over five-five. He was muscular and deeply tanned.

  “I was telling your partners I’d be glad to pack you into the high country,” Bonnell said. “But it would take several weeks to cover the areas where folks might have set up permanent residence in the wilderness, and cost you a pretty penny, to boot. And I’m willing to bet you’d come up empty.”

  “Why is that?” Clayton asked.

  “It’s a dry, hard country,” Bonnell explained. “On some of the south-facing slopes at nine thousand feet or more, desert plants thrive. If people were gonna live there, they’d need a reliable source of year-round water, and there just ain’t a lot of it.”

  “No hidden springs or forgotten micro-wetlands?” Sara asked.

  Bonnell snickered. “The Forest Service may have its failings, but one thing they’ve got a handle on is where the water is and where it ain’t. I’ve been to all of them, and there aren’t any people living there.”

  “Are you suggesting we don’t bother looking?” Dalquist inquired.

  “Didn’t say that.” Bonnell waved a hand over the maps. “Scout it by air.”

  “How long to cover that much territory?” Sara asked.

  “A full day in a small plane, with a good spotter.” Bonnell tapped his chest. “That would be me.”

  “I’ll go along for the ride,” Sara said.

  Bonnell nodded. “A friend of mine is a contract pilot for the Gila Aerial Fire Base. He’s got a sweet Cessna that’s perfect for low-level reconnaissance. I can set it up for tomorrow, if you like.”

  “By all means, do so,” Dalquist said.

  Bonnell rolled up the maps and looked at Sara. “Sunrise tomorrow at the airport.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Bonnell excused himself and left. Clayton announced that in the morning he’d start working the businesses in town that catered to ranchers and farmers. Dalquist asked Russell to help him with a search of county property and tax documents. The meeting broke with no one feeling particularly optimistic. Sara went to her room to call home.

  Bonnell’s pilot friend, Danny Crowley, a burly, jovial retired battalion chief with the Boston Fire Department, owned a twenty-year-old Cessna 172 Skyhawk, a four passenger, fixed-wing, 180-horsepower single-engine aircraft. Sara was familiar with the plane, which for years had been used for initial military pilot training and was
still widely in service with the Border Patrol.

  They took off at dawn, provisioned with a cooler Sid had filled with a twelve-pack of bottled water, prepackaged sandwiches, and assorted snack food. A peek at the contents made Sara regret skipping breakfast to grab a little extra shut-eye.

  With Sid spotting from the passenger seat next to Crowley and Sara in the backseat, they flew west to avoid the rising sun, gaining altitude quickly before dropping over a sweeping mountain range into the heart of the Gila Wilderness. Sara could see what Sid had meant by a parched, empty landscape. Forest roads were few, trails were faint, creek beds were dry, and in places large burn scars from forest fires arched up and down tiers of ridges.

  She saw deer moving through the shadows of trees near a meadow, and an occasional tent campsite thrown up along a trail. Above, an eagle circled warily before veering away in the direction of a high pine forest.

  At each location Sid pinpointed, Crowley did several slow flyovers, while Sara and Sid scanned with binoculars, looking for the slightest sign of human activity. At one location next to a live stream, two backpackers waved a friendly greeting. Crowley dipped a wing in response and flew on.

  With a steady hand, Crowley kept the flight smooth and the turns gentle, except when an occasional wind burst buffeted the plane. As they skipped from place to place throughout the morning, the constant need to stay focused kept Sara’s hunger at bay. But when Sid broke into the cooler and started handing out ham-and-cheese sandwiches on white bread, she couldn’t resist. The sandwich was almost tasteless, except for the mustard and mayonnaise she slathered out of small packets onto the bread. She ate quickly and washed it down with water, eyes glued to the landscape below.

  Finished scouting west, Crowley flew into the Blue Range Wilderness. It was remote and dense with dark tree cover in areas spared from wildfires. Even along the foothills Sara saw no signs of settlement. Forest roads were virtually nonexistent, and the Continental Divide Trail section Crowley pointed out to her was almost indiscernible. He flew them over the thin ribbon of the Mimbres River, where the mountains rose precipitously and relentlessly, lurching into the distance. Scanning carefully through binoculars, Sara saw nothing worth a closer look.