Tularosa

by Michael McGarrity

  Some of Maria’s stiffness dissipated. She turned and faced Kerney squarely. “How can I help? I want to do something. Anything.”

  “Answer some questions. Can you think of any reason why Sammy would go AWOL?”

  “No. The Army investigator asked me the same question. It made me angry. He implied that Sammy had personal problems that made him go AWOL. He was looking for character flaws. I told him Sammy wasn’t the kind of person to abandon his responsibilities.”

  “Sometimes people change,” Kerney proposed.

  “Not Sammy,” Maria replied sharply, her eyes snapping. “I know him.” She got up, walked to a small, standing cabinet, opened the door, removed a packet of letters, and thrust them at Kerney. “Read his letters. Go ahead. They’re filled with his plans for the future. These are not the words of a young man in trouble.” Her outstretched hand was shaking.

  “I believe you, Maria,” he said gently, taking the letters from her. “But sometimes hard questions have to be asked.”

  She sagged almost imperceptibly, and the anger drained from her voice. “I know. Forgive me. I feel so frustrated. He’s been gone for so long.”

  “I understand. Did the investigator talk to anyone else?”

  “Yes. Just about everybody. Former classmates, old friends, and most of the family. He wanted to know if Sammy had a girl in trouble or if he used drugs, or drank a lot when he was home on leave. He even checked with Terry to see if Sammy had an arrest record.”

  “I’m sure Terry liked that.”

  “It made him furious.”

  “Can I keep Sammy’s letters for a while?” Kerney asked. “I’ll return them when I’m done.”

  “Of course you can. Those are just the ones he wrote from the missile range,” she explained. “I have more in my bedroom.”

  “These will do for now.”

  “Are you sure?” Kerney nodded.

  Maria smiled regretfully. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

  “Don’t apologize. This is hard stuff. You’re holding up beautifully.”

  “Am I?” She searched Kerney’s face for any sign of false reassurance. “I feel powerless and ready to explode.” Her voice broke with a little quiver.

  “That’s normal. Keep your chin up.” She’s about to lose it, Kerney thought. “When was the last time you spoke with Sammy?”

  “About two weeks before he disappeared. I called him to ask if he was planning to come home to dance at a feast day. He said he wouldn’t be able to get away.”

  “Did he talk about anything else?”

  “No. It was a short conversation.”

  “How did he sound?”

  “If you mean was Sammy upset, he wasn’t.”

  Kerney stood up and put Sammy’s letters in his shirt pocket. “Can I take a look at Sammy’s bedroom?”

  Maria hesitated. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind.”

  He could see the tears welling in Maria’s eyes. She blinked them back. He walked through the narrow hallway that denned the end of the old part of the house into the addition Terry had built while the marriage was still intact. It was a suite of two bedrooms and baths that fanned out behind the original structure. He opened the door to Sammy’s bedroom. The room had changed since Kerney’s last visit. Gone were the high school treasures. The walls held a variety of Sammy’s framed pen and pencil landscapes. They showed sensitivity, substance, and a keen eye for detail. On a writing table were a small electronic keyboard, some sheet music, and a desktop computer. Tacked to the bulletin board above the desk were a collage of snapshots and some unfinished watercolors. Kerney was surprised to see a picture of himself and Sammy in the collage. Both of them stood grinning at the camera while Sammy gripped the handlebars of the new bicycle Kerney had presented to him on his seventh birthday.

  He closed the bedroom door and searched quietly, not wanting Maria to hear him rummaging through Sammy’s possessions. She was feeling enough strain already. He opened every drawer, searched the closet, looked under and behind the furniture, and scanned the papers, books, and stacks of drawings. He turned out the pockets of Sammy’s clothes and probed through the packing boxes on the floor of the closet that were filled with Sammy’s childhood toys. When he finished, he put everything back in order. He had found nothing of interest.

  Maria was standing in the living room when he returned. “That was hard for me to let you do,” she said.

  “I know,” Kerney said.

  “Sometimes I think I hear him in his room. I catch myself walking back there to talk to him.”

  “That happens.”

  “The mind plays such mean tricks.” This time Maria could not stop the tears. “I thought I was finished crying for the day.”

  He took her gently by the shoulders, pulled her close, and let her cry herself out.

  Finished, she dried her eyes and wiped her nose. “Find Sammy for me.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Kerney replied.

  CHAPTER 2

  SOUTH OF THE ALBUQUERQUE CORRIDOR, Kerney began to enjoy the drive. Santa Fe’s unrelenting growth spurts were bad enough, but Albuquerque was pure, ugly clutter along the interstate highway. After the city, open desert country undulated in waves, broken by the Rio Grande valley and an endless parade of mountain ranges to the west and east. The small villages bordering the river were enclaves anchored against the expanse of open space, surrounded by green fields that dappled the stark landscape with color. The high country of northern New Mexico was beautiful, but it couldn’t hold him the way the desert could. He had been away from it for far too long.

  He gassed up on the main drag in Socorro, a somewhat shoddy town that paralleled the interstate, found a self-service car wash, sprayed the crusted mud off the truck, and continued south toward Las Cruces with the music of Mozart filling the cab.

  The office of the sheriff of Doña Ana County was in the old courthouse in downtown Las Cruces. He introduced himself to the secretary, who inquired as to the nature of his visit. He told her it was personal, and she gave him a quizzical look before announcing him on the phone. Still puzzled after she hung up, the secretary quickly ushered him into Andy Baca’s office. Andy came out from behind a big walnut desk, grinning from ear to ear, and reached for Kerney’s hand.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said. “It’s good you see you, Kevin.”

  “Hello, Sheriff,” Kerney replied, grinning back at his old friend. “I thought you’d moved to Las Cruces to retire and play golf.” He looked around the office. The walls were filled with the memorabilia of Andy’s twenty-year career with the state police. Behind the desk, on a windowsill, miniature state and national flags stood in stanchions. “Seems you got bored,” he added.

  Andy laughed. “You’ve got the golf part right. I’ve got a ten-stroke handicap, a wicked slice I can’t seem to correct, and a standing offer to play every Friday afternoon with a bunch of guys who kick my butt and take my money.”

  Andy wore a conservative western suit that draped nicely over his sturdy frame. There was a slight hint of jowls under his jaw and a little less hair offset by longer sideburns. Aside from being a superior cop, Andy was one of the most warm-hearted men Kerney knew. He slipped into his executive chair behind the uncluttered walnut desk and gestured for Kerney to sit across from him. “And I did get bored,” he added. “Started reading the newspaper with my morning coffee and wound up deciding that my predecessor was a political hack surrounded by uniformed cronies. It pissed me off, so I decided to do something about it. Ran for sheriff, and here I am.”

  “So here you are,” Kerney said.

  “And it makes Connie damned happy,” Andy replied. “She was tired of having me underfoot. Complained that I was turning into a grouch. What brings you into my county?”

  “I need a favor,” Kerney replied.

  In response, Andy raised a cautious eyebrow and nodded for Kerney to continue.

  “I’ve been hired to find Terry Yazzi’s son. He’s
AWOL from the missile range.”

  Andy’s expression turned quizzical. “Is that why Terry stopped in to see me? I had no idea.”

  “I take it you didn’t talk to him.”

  “No,” Andy replied, getting up from his desk. “I was out improving my slice when he came by.” He walked to the small conference table near the front of the office, sorted through a stack of papers, selected one, and held it up to read. “We’re carrying a Specialist Sammy Yazzi on the daily report as an AWOL. Is that the kid?”

  “It is. What information do you have on him?” Kerney asked as he joined him.

  Andy slapped the paper with his free hand. “Nothing. Just date of birth, height, weight—that sort of stuff.” He handed it to Kerney. “Who’s paying your freight? Maria?”

  “Terry’s paying.”

  Andy walked back to his desk, perched on the corner, and waited for Kerney to join him. “How is Terry?”

  “He’s okay, I guess. He’s chief of police at the pueblo. Says he’s been off the sauce for two years. He looks sober. In fact, he looks good.”

  Andy studied his hands before speaking. “You can’t be doing this for Terry.”

  “I’m not. Sammy’s my godson. I’ve known him since the day he was born.”

  Andy nodded somberly. “That makes sense.” The smile returned, and he slapped his leg with the palm of his hand. “Okay, how can I help?”

  “The brass at the missile range stonewalled Terry. I was hoping you could grease some wheels for me.”

  “Sure, sure, but it won’t amount to much. Army cops are no different from the rest of us—they think private investigators are a pain in the ass.”

  “I’m not licensed as an investigator,” Kerney replied.

  Andy frowned. “That’s worse yet. You might as well turn around and go home for all the good I can do you.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  Andy seemed amused. “Why am I not surprised?” He rubbed a hand over his chin and thought for a minute. “You’ll need some juice if you want the military to cooperate. Why don’t I put you on the payroll?”

  The offer startled Kerney. “I’m medically retired. Not fit for active duty.”

  “So what? I can do it without bending any rules.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “You bet.” Andy leaned over the desk, opened the top drawer, reached in, and tossed Kerney a badge. “Let’s make you a lieutenant. That should be high enough on the pecking order to get the Army’s attention.”

  Kerney held the badge in his hand, feeling slightly flabbergasted. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “It’s no big deal, but don’t get too attached to that shield. Money is tight. You’re on the payroll for thirty days. That’s all I can afford.” Andy shifted his weight against the edge of the desk. “Now it’s your turn to pony up.”

  “Name it,” Kerney replied, wondering what Andy wanted.

  “Tell me what really happened with you and Terry. The shooting team report was a bunch of crap.”

  “It’s not worth talking about.”

  “Indulge me.”

  Kerney swallowed hard, unwilling to start. The scene had played through his mind endlessly, but he’d never put it in words. Maybe it was time. He looked Andy directly in the eyes and started talking.

  “We were on a stakeout waiting for an arrest warrant so we could pick up a cocaine dealer in the barrio. I covered the back door while Terry was inside the liquor store across the street, watching the front of the house. Just before the perp crawled out a front window, Terry decided he needed a beer chaser to go with the vodka he had been nipping at from a hip flask all morning. At the time, I had no idea he was hitting the sauce heavily. He was moody and sullen, but I passed it off as a reaction to his divorce.

  “Anyway, while he’s popping open a cold one at the cooler in the back of the store, the perp came out the front door and ran behind the house. He saw me and started shooting. I took the first round in the knee and the next one in the gut before I could drop him. By the time Terry got to me, it was over.

  “While I was in surgery, Terry told the shooting team that the suspect came out a side window and that he never saw him. I believed his story. So did Internal Affairs.”

  “How did you learn the truth?”

  “Three weeks later, Terry came to visit me when I was home from my second round of surgery. He was tanked up, suicidal, and guilt-ridden. I guess he felt a need to confess. That was the last time I saw him until this morning.”

  “You should have busted his ass,” Andy counseled.

  “At the time I was too doped up on painkillers to give a shit about anything. It really didn’t sink in. Part of me didn’t want to believe it. Anyway, Terry busted himself. After he left my place, he stayed drunk until he got fired.” Kerney searched Andy’s face. “How did you know Terry lied?”

  Andy laughed and pushed himself upright. “I ran Internal Affairs for the state police, remember? It was my job to review the shooting team report for the DA. I interviewed Terry to confirm his story just before he got canned. For a man with nothing to hide—who had been cleared of any blame—he was in a cold sweat. It smelled fishy.”

  Andy leaned over the desk, scribbled a note, tore it from the pad, and handed it to Kerney. “Captain S. J. Brannon, Sara Brannon, is the officer-in-charge of the criminal investigation unit at the missile range.” He checked his wristwatch. “She should still be in the office. I’ll make an appointment for you. I’ll tell her Terry’s an old friend of mine who’s asked me to look into his son’s disappearance. My secretary will pull the active AWOL files for you to review. Check to see if Sammy went over the hill with a friend. Sometimes these kids run together to keep their courage up.”

  “I’ll look into it. Thanks, Andy.” Kerney held out his hand.

  “No problem.” Andy handshake was sincere. “Let’s get you sworn in.”

  After the paperwork was completed and Kerney left the office, Andy absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the desktop. He’d acted impulsively, but it felt right. Putting a badge in Kerney’s pocket might be the best thing he could do for the man.

  He would gladly take ten officers like Kerney, gimpy leg and all, if he could find them. The man was one hell of a good cop.

  He reached for the phone to call Captain Brannon. He not only wanted Sara to know she would soon have a visitor, he wanted her to know something about the new lieutenant he was sending her way.

  CAPTAIN SARA BRANNON inspected the man standing in front of her desk. His face was tan and his hands were calloused from physical work. He was built like an athlete, with big shoulders, a nicely formed chest, and a slim waist. He didn’t look like a cop coming off a lengthy convalescence after being seriously wounded. If Andy hadn’t told her, she would have guessed the limp was nothing more than an old football injury. Dressed in jeans that broke below the heels of his cowboy boots and a white starched western shirt that fit him nicely, he wore an oval belt buckle with a single turquoise stone in the center of a silver setting.

  “Sit down, Lieutenant,” she said as she shook his hand. He had the prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

  Kerney lowered himself into the straight-backed chair in front of the gray steel desk. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “I hear that you’re new to the sheriff’s department,” Sara replied. “I’m a bit surprised that Andy Baca would send a lieutenant to investigate this case.”

  He waited for the captain to be seated before replying. It gave him a brief chance to study her. Her fatigue uniform was crisp, with sharp creases in the sleeves. The shirt didn’t hide the long, slender neck, offset by short strawberry-blond hair. Her eyes were sparkling green. The only jewelry she wore was a West Point ring. He’d seen a lot of academy rings during his tour of duty in Nam. “The sheriff and Chief Yazzi are old friends. He wants to give the case priority.”

  “So I understand. You are aware that Specialist Yazzi’s case is purely a military matt
er?”

  “Of course,” Kerney answered cordially. “But I’d appreciate any information you can give me. Specialist Yazzi’s parents are very worried, and Sheriff Baca would like to help as much as possible.”

  The captain nodded curtly. “Sheriff Baca made that clear. We take the disappearance of any soldier very seriously. Most of the personnel at White Sands work on highly secret projects. There are security implications to be considered in this situation.”

  “Do you have a motive you can share?” Kerney asked. Brannon’s office was strictly functional: two metal chairs for visitors that matched the unpretentious desk, a filing cabinet within easy reach, a built-in bookcase along one wall, and a computer on a work station by a window that looked out at the distant Sacramento Mountains.

  “Not presently,” Sara responded. She rubbed the band of her ring with her thumb. Kerney kept looking at her hands. She folded them in front of her on the desk.

  Kerney decided Captain Brannon had elegant hands. He looked at her face. “Your investigation is stalled,” Kerney restated.

  She bit her lip and scowled. “Dead in the water.”

  “Maybe a fresh perspective would help.”

  Sara bit her lip again. The close-cropped hairdo complimented her face. A small line of freckles ran across her nose. She considered the man in front of her. “I really don’t see the need for your assistance.”

  Kerney countered quickly. “Give me twenty-four hours on the base. If I don’t make any progress, I’ll pack it in.”

  “What exactly do you propose to do?”

  “Backtrack. Play up the fact that I’m not part of the military. Maybe something will shake loose.”

  Sara Brannon considered the idea. It was a long shot, but if Kerney could light a fire under the investigation it might help get another case off her desk. “You’ve got twenty-four hours,” she finally said. “And tell Andy Baca he owes me one.”

  Kerney held back a smile of relief. “I’ll pass along your message.”

  She nodded curtly. “You’re restricted to the main post. I’ll arrange a billet for you at the bachelor officers’ quarters. The officers’ club is nearby and the food is decent.”