Tularosa

by Michael McGarrity

  She skimmed through the eight-by-ten black-and-white photographs once more, stopping at the picture of a young Kevin Kerney sitting against the rock exterior of the Prather ranch house, with his arms wrapped around his knees and his hands clutching the barrel of a rifle. He was dressed in faded jeans stuffed into scruffy boots and a wide-brim cowboy hat pulled low. His eyes were wide open and filled with innocent determination. It was both charming and touching.

  Despite the lateness of the hour, more work needed to be done. Kerney’s breakthrough was progress, and it started Sara’s wheels turning. It was time to do something equally innovative about the missing Navy enlisted man. She opened the case file on Petty Officer Third Class Alan Yardman and started to read it, looking for anything that might give her a new strategy.

  STRONG UPPER-LEVEL winds cleared the last of the haze from the sky and chilled the night air. A crust of fresh sand crunched under Kerney’s feet as he walked to the steps of the barracks. According to his watch, PFC Tony should be about to get off work. As tired as he was, Kerney didn’t dare sit down. The knee felt as if it would lock up. It would take a lot of painful stretching to get it to work in the morning without killing him. He was grateful when Tony rounded the corner of the building.

  “More questions, Lieutenant?”

  “Just a few. Did you go with Sammy on any of his excursions into the desert?”

  “I don’t know nothing about that.” He nervously took out a cigarette and lit it.

  “I’ll be checking the records at the service club in the morning,” Kerney countered. “Why not make my job easier?”

  Tony exhaled and stayed silent.

  “Look, Alonzo, protecting Sammy because he may have broken a few stupid rules doesn’t help him. We both know Sammy’s a good guy. I’m not here to get anybody in trouble.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “I’m Sammy’s godfather.” Kerney took out his wallet, found the high school graduation picture Sammy had sent him, and handed it to Tony.

  Tony cocked his head and looked at it. “You expect me to believe a Navajo has a white guy for a godfather?” Tony questioned.

  “Sammy isn’t a Navajo; his father is. Sammy’s Tewa and belongs to his mother’s clan.”

  “That’s right,” Tony replied.

  “I’ve known Sammy since the day he was born. Turn the picture over.”

  Tony flipped over the photograph, read the inscription, gave it back to Kerney, and smiled. “A Tewa with an Irish-American godfather. Damn. Sammy didn’t tell me about that.

  “Okay. I went with him a few times. We would check out a jeep from the service club and take off. You’re supposed to stay on certain roads, but Sammy drove wherever the hell he wanted to. I kept warning him the MP patrols would catch us, but he said he would just tell them we got lost.”

  “What did Sammy do when you were with him?”

  “He had this real nice thirty-five-millimeter camera he bought at the PX. It had a telephoto lens. He took a lot of pictures. Scenery. Birds. Whatever he liked.”

  “Do you remember where you went?”

  Tony lifted his head in the direction of the San Andres Mountains. “Up on some mesas. A good thirty miles out.”

  “Do you remember any place-names?”

  “Just one. Sheep Mesa, Big Sheep Mesa, or Big Mesa. Something like that. It’s north of an old ranch.”

  “Where did Sammy keep his camera?”

  “I don’t know, but he almost always had it with him when he was off duty.” Tony stubbed out the cigarette on the heel of his boot and field-stripped it.

  “Did he develop his own pictures?”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t use the darkroom on the post. Once in a while he’d come back from Las Cruces with developed prints.” He looked over Kerney’s shoulder, came to attention, and snapped off a salute.

  Kerney turned to find Captain Meehan returning the acknowledgment. He was in uniform and wearing an Army-issue sweater to ward off the chill.

  “I wonder if you would give me a few minutes with Lieutenant Kerney,” Meehan said to the young soldier.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Very good,” Meehan answered cordially. He waited for Tony to salute again, returned the courtesy, eyed Kerney speculatively, and waited to speak until Tony went inside the barracks. “I thought you’d finished your investigation.”

  “Almost,” Kerney replied. “Just some wrap-up questions.”

  “Any interesting developments?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Will you be coming back?” Meehan inquired.

  “Probably not.”

  Meehan smiled. “If you do, check in with my first sergeant or company clerk before you talk to the personnel.”

  “I apologize for the omission.”

  Meehan laughed. “No harm done, but I want to keep things settled down around here. Troop morale is important to me. From Captain Brannon I’m aware that you saw service as an Army officer. I think you know what I’m saying.”

  Kerney decided to push Meehan’s button. He was growing tired of the man’s supercilious attitude. “Is troop morale a problem for you, Captain?”

  Meehan stiffened and became more formal. “This is an isolated, secure military base. Most of the men who live in the barracks are young, horny, and usually flat broke two weeks after they get paid. Any AWOL situation can become infectious. I do not plan to be called on the carpet to explain an unacceptable AWOL rate.”

  “I see your point,” Kerney responded affably.

  “Good. I’ll walk with you to your truck,” Meehan announced, guiding Kerney along with a touch on his arm. “I’m sure the Army will find Specialist Yazzi. Captain Brannon has some very experienced personnel.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Kerney agreed.

  At Kerney’s truck Meehan said goodbye, patting the driver’s door to speed him on his way. Kerney gave him a wave and drove out of the parking lot. He circled the compound, killed his headlights, and coasted to a stop in time to see Meehan going through the back door of Alonzo Tony’s barracks. He restarted the engine and headed toward the BOQ.

  The soldier on duty at the BOQ gave Kerney the irritated, barely compliant look enlisted personnel reserve for VIPs who take advantage, and told him Captain Brannon had ordered him to stand by until Kerney arrived. Kerney apologized for holding the soldier up, took his key, and found his way to his room. At the end of the hall the lobby lights went off before he had the door open.

  He stretched out fully dressed on the bed, with a pillow under his knee. Where was Sammy’s camera? That, and the film and photographs, along with any additional sketchbooks, needed to be found. And why was Captain Meehan interrogating Alonzo Tony? Kerney doubted it had a damn thing to do with troop morale. What was Meehan doing in the compound so late at night in the first place? The company headquarters had been dark and quiet during the time Kerney waited for Tony. Meehan’s arrival and his little chat seemed more than coincidental.

  He shifted the position of his leg on the pillow and groaned. The last question for the evening was personal: how in the hell did he expect to raise beef cattle and ranch when he got so damned exhausted doing absolutely nothing?

  CHAPTER 5

  CORPORAL EDDIE TAPIA stood in front of Captain Brannon’s office door worried about orders he had received to report to her on the double. The duty sergeant at the desk shrugged when he asked why the captain wanted to see him. He didn’t think he’d screwed up. On the promotion list for buck sergeant, Eddie couldn’t afford any mistakes. He needed that third stripe and the pay raise that went with it. It wasn’t easy to support a wife and a new baby on an E-4 salary.

  After spending the night in a car outside the BOQ, trying to stay awake while the civilian cop from Las Cruces slept in a warm bed, he felt rumpled, groggy, and in need of a shave. He knocked on the door and entered quickly when the captain responded.

  Captain Brannon stood with her back to Tapia, rummaging through a meta
l file cabinet. She was wearing cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a white, silky kind of blouse. Eddie had never seen the captain in civvies before. She had a very nice ass.

  He stood in front of the desk and waited for her to turn around. She glanced over her shoulder and looked him up and down before speaking.

  “Sit down, Eddie,” she said, as she came back to her desk and lowered herself into her chair. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

  “No problem, ma’am.” Inwardly, Eddie sighed with relief. He wasn’t in trouble after all. Bone-tired, he sat, folded his hands in his lap, and tried to look as alert as possible.

  Sara took time to arrange the paperwork on the desk, using the moment to consider Tapia. He would do, she decided. Dedicated to his work, Tapia was solid and dependable. Of Mexican and Indian heritage, he was bilingual, had a guileless face and streetwise smarts.

  “I’m closing the Benton case.”

  Surprised, Eddie became more attentive. He had been working the Benton case, checking every gym in El Paso and Las Cruces, trying to catch a break, until the Kerney assignment came up. Benton was a physical fitness nut and ladies’ man who liked to hit on women at health spas. The case was going nowhere. Two months ago, for no apparent reason, Benton had resigned unexpectedly and left work that same day, never to be seen again. By the time the defense contractor reported him missing, Benton had moved out of his apartment and left no clues as to his whereabouts.

  “Has he been picked up?” Eddie asked.

  “Intelligence has him in custody,” Sara replied. “That’s all I know.”

  “I’d sure like to know where they found him,” Eddie mused. “And how.”

  “So would I,” Sara agreed. “I have another job for you. Are you familiar with the Alan Yardman case?”

  “A little,” Tapia responded. “Yardman worked at the Naval Space Satellite Surveillance Station as a repair technician. He went AWOL after his commanding officer ordered him to submit to mandatory drug screening. If I remember correctly, he went home to South Dakota, cleaned out his mother’s jewelry box, and vanished.”

  “That’s right,” Sara confirmed. “I’ve been studying Yardman’s personnel jacket. He had good efficiency ratings and a clean record until his transfer to the missile range. Within six months after his arrival, it’s downhill all the way: poor job performance, uncooperative attitude, conduct bordering on insubordination.

  “The assumption,” Sara continued, “is that Yardman was an addict who went AWOL, paid a visit to his mother, and ripped her off to buy drugs. Yet, all his drug-screening results from every duty station, including White Sands, were negative. We know he wasn’t a womanizer, yet he spent a lot of time in Juárez. If he wasn’t getting high or whoring around, what was he doing?”

  The third most popular vice, Eddie thought. “Gambling?” he suggested.

  “Exactly.”

  “Is there any evidence that he liked to gamble?”

  “Circumstantial only.” She handed a sheet of paper to Tapia. “I asked for Yardman’s credit union account late last night. Take a look.”

  Tapia studied the statement. Yardman had made frequent deposits, in different amounts, many of them near the end of the month when most people were short of cash. The withdrawals, some identical to the deposits, seemed to occur without any pattern. It didn’t mean squat, Eddie thought, unless Yardman was a loan shark. But sharks don’t collect until after paydays, and they don’t put their working capital in credit unions.

  “Seems odd,” Eddie said, trying to sound positive.

  Captain Brannon agreed with Tapia’s skepticism. “It tells us nothing until you compare Yardman’s duty schedule to the transaction dates. Money out when he’s leaving the post; money in when he returns. Not always, but consistently enough to suggest that he was banking his winnings for the next go-round. And when he won big, the next withdrawal matched the deposit exactly.”

  She passed him more papers. Yardman’s days off were circled in red. He compared the two documents. The month before he split, Yardman had been taking cash out of his account and not replacing it, until all the money was gone. “You think he hit a losing streak?”

  Sara nodded. “That’s the way I read it. Two days before he left, he applied for a personal loan at the credit union, but didn’t stick around to find out if it got approved. I think he robbed his mother because he was either in debt to a loan shark or had simply lost control completely. What do you think?”

  “It’s a possibility, Captain,” Eddie replied. “If it’s true, we’ve been looking for him in the wrong places.”

  “That’s right. Gamblers are superstitious. What if Yardman returned to Juárez to try his luck again? Does that seem likely to you?”

  “He could be anywhere,” Eddie answered cautiously.

  “True enough, except for one point. He was rock-solid with his money at his previous duty stations. Didn’t spend much and saved a regular amount each month. If Yardman is a compulsive gambler, it’s a fairly recent development. I think he might go back to familiar surroundings.”

  “That makes sense.”

  Sara stood up and gave the Yardman file to Tapia. “I’m glad you think so. I want you in Juárez as soon as possible. There’s two thousand dollars in that folder, along with a copy of my orders. Improvise, Eddie. This is an undercover assignment. You are to report only to me and tell no one about this.”

  Eddie opened his mouth, swallowed hard, and clamped his jaw shut.

  “What is it, Corporal?”

  “I have to tell my wife something,” Eddie responded.

  “Has Isabel been home to show off your new baby to her parents yet?”

  “No, she hasn’t.”

  “Use some of the money in the envelope and send her for a visit.”

  “Can I do that?”

  “This time you can. You have my written permission to spend the cash as you see fit, including dependent travel. It’s spelled out in the orders.”

  Eddie grinned. Isabel would love it. She’d been bugging him to go home since the day his son was born. “Anything else, Captain?”

  “Be careful.”

  “I grew up on the border, ma’am. It’s my old stomping grounds.”

  “That’s why you’re going,” Sara said. “You know the drill on how to contact me. I’ll expect reports at twenty-four-hour intervals. As of now, you’re officially on leave. You’re up for a promotion review next month. Clear this case and I’ll make sure you get those new chevrons.”

  Eddie’s grin widened. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Enjoy your time off, Corporal.”

  Corporal Eddie Tapia did an about-face and left Sara’s office, feeling a hell of a lot better about himself, his job, and his prospects. He had a plum assignment, an unexpected surprise for Isabel, and a chance to climb another step up the ranks. He hurried out, anxious to get home and pack Isabel and the baby off to her parents.

  MAJOR THOMAS CURRY, the post provost marshal, walked to his staff car in the parking lot humming the melody to “Blue Rondo à la Turk.” Every morning before work, he spent thirty minutes at his piano. Today’s session, an attempt at the driving chords and difficult time signature of the Dave Brubeck composition, was a technically demanding exercise, and it had gone very well.

  Curry’s fine spirits weren’t dampened by the prospect of his regularly scheduled monthly briefing with the deputy post commander, at which Curry presented updated crime statistics. Curry’s report was tolerated solely because the commanding general had decided to fight crime on the base and had made his second-in-command, who disliked the assignment, responsible for the initiative. It made for an uncomfortable half hour. No matter—only a few months away from retirement, Curry would muster out as a lieutenant colonel. Not bad for a man who came up through the enlisted ranks. As a survivor of the reduction-in-force purge, he was gratified to have made it to full retirement.

  He heard Sara Brannon call out to him. He put his briefcase on the hood of his st
aff car and waited as she jogged toward him. Curry felt somewhat fatherly toward Sara. A reliable officer, she kept him fully informed, a characteristic he valued highly, and her criminal investigation unit produced the best rate of cleared cases among comparable commands, which was part of the reason he would wear the silver oak leaves of a lieutenant colonel at his retirement ceremony. Aside from all that, Sara bubbled with high spirits, boundless energy, and a well-founded confidence in her abilities that added to her attractiveness.

  He was delighted to see her in civvies. “Day off?” he asked, in mock disbelief, when she reached him. Curry wondered if Sara had finally hooked up with one of the many eligible bachelors who were constantly trying to corral her.

  “Not really,” Sara replied. “I’m taking over the Yazzi investigation. I’ll be away from the base most of the day.”

  Curry checked his wristwatch. “Fill me in later.”

  “My report is on your desk.”

  “Good enough. Can you handle the extra load?” he asked.

  “I think so,” Sara responded. “Has Jim Meehan talked to you about the case?”

  Curry laughed. “Captain Charisma? No, he hasn’t. Is he giving you trouble?”

  Sara hesitated. “No, just acting like himself. I wanted you to know I’m sending an investigator undercover into Mexico to see what he can dig up on the Yardman case.”

  “I thought that case was stalled. Have you caught a lead?”

  “More like a slim possibility.”

  Curry raised his eyebrows. “Is it worth the effort?”

  “I’ll shut it down if nothing materializes.”

  He nodded in agreement and picked up his briefcase. “I’m off to see our crime prevention czar.”

  “Have a good time, Major,” Sara replied, her green eyes sparkling with humor, knowing how much Curry loathed the tedious meeting.

  Curry grimaced. “Next month I’ll send you in my place.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Sara protested.