Serpent Gate

by Michael McGarrity

  “I don’t see how I can help you, Mr. Kerney.”

  “I’m glad you’re willing to try, Mr. Wilson. Thanks for coming.”

  “No sweat,” Floyd said.

  “Let me buy you dinner.”

  “In this town that means the cholesterol plate.”

  At the only open diner in town, a cheerless establishment with Formica tables, tattered chairs, a cracked linoleum floor, and faded posters tacked on the walls, Kerney and Floyd Wilson sat by a window streaked with smoke and grease. Outside, the wind had diminished and fat snowflakes drifted against the glass, melting instantly.

  “I was at the Shaffer Hotel the night that policeman got shot,” Floyd said. “Me and my crew were in the game room on the second floor, drinking beer and playing pool.”

  “You didn’t go out?” Kerney asked.

  “Nope. I had a late dinner in the dining room and turned in early. I didn’t even hear about the shooting until the next day, just before I left.”

  “Did you know Gillespie, or have any dealings with him?”

  Floyd scratched his head. “Not really. I knew who he was, but that was about it. I didn’t spend much time in town. Replacing track and ties on a main line is a sunup-to-sundown job.”

  “Did you ever see him act inappropriately?”

  “You mean tough-guy stuff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not personally, but some of my crew said he acted like a badass when we first got to town. He settled down after we’d been there for a while.”

  “Did any of your crew spend time with Gillespie? Socialize with him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you know Robert Cordova?”

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “He’s a skinny guy, about five-four. He likes to hang out by the fence next to the hotel.”

  Floyd nodded. “You mean the crazy guy? The one that walks around with his fingers in his ears talking to himself?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Sure, I know him. Hell, I think everybody in Mountainair knows who he is. He really gets around.”

  “Gets around?” Kerney repeated.

  “Sometimes I’d see him when I was on the job. He liked to walk along the railroad right-of-way. I kept telling him he was trespassing, but it never seemed to sink in.”

  “Did you see him anywhere else?”

  “Once I saw him walking up a ridge about a half mile from the tracks, west of town.”

  “You’re sure it was Cordova?”

  “Yeah. After a while, he came back and caught a ride into town with one of my people.”

  “When did you see him there?” Kerney asked.

  “A couple of days before that policeman was killed. Do you think Cordova killed the cop?”

  “I don’t know what to think about Robert. Did you see him on the day of the murder?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact I did. I was coming down the main drag after work and I saw him talking to some woman in front of the grocery store.”

  “Did you recognize her?”

  “No. She was in a pickup truck. Cordova was standing by the driver’s door, so I didn’t get a good look at her.”

  “Did you notice anything else?”

  “I think the woman was a veterinarian, or she works for one. She was pulling a horse trailer, and it had the name of a veterinary service painted on the side panel.”

  “Do you remember the name?”

  “No. It said something about specializing in large animals. That’s all I recall.”

  The waitress brought dinner, and Kerney picked at an overcooked ham steak and some soggy vegetables. With part of his stomach shot away, Kerney found eating in greasy spoons to be a real chore; the food usually didn’t sit well. He gave up on trying to force down the meal and made small talk until Wilson was ready to check in at the motel.

  He paid for dinner, took Floyd to the motel, paid for the room, thanked Wilson for his time, and started the drive back to Mountainair. It was well into the night, and the brewing snowstorm looked like it could turn nasty, but he wanted to talk to one more person before heading back home to Santa Fe.

  • • •

  Marcia Yearwood, the physician’s assistant who ran the rural health clinic in Mountainair, promptly answered Kerney’s knock at her front door.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  She was a pleasant-looking woman in her thirties, with big, perfectly round brown eyes accentuated by eyeglasses, and a wide mouth that hinted at an easy smile. She wore sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and slippers.

  Kerney showed her his badge. “May I have a few minutes of your time?”

  “It’s not a medical emergency, I take it?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Come in.”

  Yearwood’s home, a single-story stone structure near the high school, sat well back on a heavily treed lot. The front room contained a couch with two matching chairs and a coffee table, grouped in front of a fireplace. There were some tasteful fine-art posters on the walls, including a Georgia O’Keeffe print and several Gustave Baumann reproductions. Books and magazines were scattered about within easy reach, and on the floor next to the couch was a canvas bag filled with embroidery yarn. The fireplace had a crackling cedar fire going that warmed the room nicely. From the feel of the place, Kerney guessed Yearwood was unattached.

  “What can I do for you, Officer?” Marcia asked, as she gestured for Kerney to join her on the couch.

  Kerney obliged. “I understand that Robert Cordova gets his medication from you when he’s in Mountainair.”

  Marcia sat at the end of the couch and turned to face Kerney directly. “Yes. I dispense it through an arrangement with the psychiatrist at the state mental hospital. Is Robert in some sort of trouble?”

  She brushed a strand of long dark hair away from her face and looked at Kerney more closely. “You’re the investigator looking into Paul Gillespie’s murder.” She stiffened a bit and crossed her legs. “Surely you don’t think Robert is a suspect.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as a killer.”

  Marcia answered with an agreeing smile. “He’s not. Robert’s normal behavior—if you can call it that—is all bravado and posturing. The onset of his illness came during adolescence. Besides being schizophrenic, he’s fixated at a juvenile stage of development.”

  “You seem to know him well.”

  “Well enough. But that doesn’t mean I can tell you more about him. His medical records are confidential. I’ve been told that he’s eloped from Las Vegas.”

  “Eloped?”

  Marcia laughed quickly. “It’s a polite way of saying he escaped. After all, we don’t want people to think mental hospitals are prisons.”

  “Aren’t they?”

  “Not all. Have you seen him?”

  “I have him in protective custody at the Torrance County jail.”

  Marcia sighed. “That’s a relief. Each time he disappears I’m sure he’s going to be found beaten to a pulp and left to die along some roadside.”

  “He doesn’t want to go back to Las Vegas. I thought you could help.”

  She nodded her head in agreement. “He never wants to go back, but once he gets there and settles into a routine, it’s beneficial. Of course I’ll help. I can see him in the morning.”

  “I’d like to be there when you see him.”

  Marcia’s voice became guarded. “I don’t intend to help you conduct an interrogation.”

  “I don’t plan to interrogate him, Ms. Yearwood. There’s a remote chance Robert may have seen something, or may know something about what happened the night Gillespie was shot. I need him to talk about it.”

  “That may not be easy.”

  “I know.”

  Marcia tapped her finger against her lip. “Normally, I’d say no, but I think this time it will be okay. However, be warned: if you try to intimidate him, I’ll stop you dead in your tracks.”

  “Fair enough.”


  “He doesn’t like cops, you know.”

  Kerney smiled. “That’s what I’ve heard. Is there some reason for it?”

  “I don’t know,” Marcia replied with a slight shrug.

  “He said he went to high school with Paul Gillespie.”

  “I believe he did.”

  “How would you characterize Gillespie?”

  “He was a bit of a bully who had an eye for the girls.”

  Kerney had heard the same comment from several other sources, but had been unable to locate anyone who could provide specifics.

  “Did he come on to you?”

  “He wouldn’t dare. Besides, I wasn’t his type. He liked younger women.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea. But I’d see him chatting with teenage girls a lot after school got out.”

  “What makes that stand out in your mind?”

  “He was always talking to the girls,” Marcia answered. “The teenage boys he seemed to ignore, unless they were speeding or drinking beer at the town park after dark.”

  “Do you know if he was sexually or romantically involved with any of the girls?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Any rumors?”

  Marcia waved off the question. “There are rumors floating around about everybody who lives in this town. I pay no attention to them.”

  Kerney tried again: “Any rumors specifically about Gillespie?”

  “Rumors, no. I’ve made it very clear to people that I’m not part of the local gossip mill. But several years ago, one of the high school girls who came to the clinic told me she thought Gillespie was creepy.”

  “Creepy in what way?”

  “She baby-sat for the same family on a regular basis several times a month. Gillespie would always drive by the house three or four times a night whenever she was there. But only if her boyfriend wasn’t with her.”

  “That’s creepy enough,” Kerney said. “I’d like to talk to her.”

  “I had a fairly close relationship with the girl, and I’m sure she would have told me if anything more had happened.”

  “How can I reach her?”

  “Not easily. She’s a medical technician serving in the navy on a hospital ship.”

  Kerney got the girl’s name for the record. He could track her down through her parents or naval authorities, if necessary. “What can you tell me about Robert’s family history?”

  “He was born and raised in Mountainair. The family was very dysfunctional. Robert started getting in trouble with the police when he was fairly young. He spent some time in a foster home.”

  “Was he sent away?”

  “No. He was placed with a family here in town.”

  “Who were the foster parents?”

  “An older couple. I never met them. I believe they’re both deceased.”

  “Does Robert have any siblings?”

  “An older sister, but she moved to Texas years ago after her parents divorced and left the state. Robert says he has no contact with her.”

  “Does he stay in touch with his biological parents?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Does he have any children?”

  Marcia made a face and shook her head. “No. You’re asking about Satan raping his daughter, aren’t you? That has been Robert’s predominant delusion since the onset of his illness.”

  “I wonder what it means.”

  “I have no idea.” Marcia rose from the couch, signaling that the discussion had ended.

  Kerney stood up with her. “Do you know any of the local veterinarians?”

  “I don’t think there is one. Maybe in Estancia, but not here.”

  “Do you know a female veterinarian, or a woman who works for a vet?”

  Marcia shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t. But I’m sure one of the ranchers can tell you.”

  After making arrangements to meet Marcia Yearwood at the jail at mid-morning, Kerney started the long drive back to Santa Fe in a snowstorm that kept pushing drifts across the highway. He wondered if he was simply spinning his wheels. He decided to give it one more day before telling Andy Baca the investigation wasn’t getting anywhere. He hated the idea that the case might go unsolved.

  2

  In the morning, Kerney got an early start and drove the sixty miles from Santa Fe to the Torrance County jail in Estancia. The road had been plowed and a bright sun made the snow-coated range grass glisten like a sea of silver stems rolling across the Estancia Valley. At the jail, he had Robert brought to the staff conference room. He wanted time alone with him before Marcia Yearwood showed up.

  Robert was brought in by a guard. He wore an orange jumpsuit with TORRANCE COUNTY JAIL stenciled on the back, a pair of plastic shower sandals, and a shit-eating grin. His hair was combed, his beard trimmed, and he looked freshly scrubbed. He sat next to Kerney at the end of the long conference table and lit a cigarette.

  Kerney adjusted his position so he could look squarely at Robert, and took a whiff. Robert didn’t smell bad at all.

  “Are you going to let me stay in jail?” Robert asked hopefully.

  “I don’t see how I can do that.”

  “Charge me with something.” His foot wasn’t wiggling at all, and he seemed calm.

  “What would you suggest?”

  Robert smiled widely. “Rape.”

  “Did you rape someone?”

  “Of course I did. I already told you about it.”

  “No, you told me that Satan raped your daughter.”

  Robert poked himself in the chest with a finger. “I’m Satan.”

  “If that’s the case, you’d better tell me who you raped.”

  Robert shook his head. “I can’t. It’s a secret.”

  “Well, it can’t be your daughter. You don’t have one.”

  “It was my sister. I raped my sister.”

  “The one that lives in Texas.”

  “Not that one,” Robert said with a scowl.

  “Tell me about this other sister.”

  “What I did to her was bad.”

  “Where did you rape her?”

  “At Serpent Gate.”

  “Where is that?”

  Robert waved the question away. “I’m not going to tell you.”

  “Did Paul Gillespie know about Serpent Gate?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that motherfucker.”

  “Okay, we won’t. When did you rape your sister?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “What’s your sister’s name?”

  Robert put a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret.”

  Before Kerney could ask another question, Marcia Yearwood burst into the conference room. She stood at the end of the long table, glaring at him.

  “I see you started without me.”

  “We were just chatting,” Kerney answered.

  Marcia forced a smile in Robert’s direction and moved down the table behind a row of neatly arranged conference chairs. She wore a dark blue turtleneck sweater and wool slacks under a long charcoal gray winter coat. She composed herself as she removed her coat, and sat down next to Robert.

  “It’s good to see you looking so well, Robert. What were you two talking about?”

  Robert gave Kerney a conspiratorial look. “Rape.”

  “Really?” Marcia replied, unable to mask a hint of surprise in her voice. “I’d like to hear about it.”

  “No way. Women aren’t supposed to hear about shit like that.”

  “That’s not fair,” Marcia responded gently.

  “I can’t talk about it,” Robert said. “Besides, Addie doesn’t want me to.”

  “Who is Addie?” Kerney asked as he moved to a chair across from Robert and Marcia. He wanted a clear view of Robert. He could hear Robert’s heel slapping against the shower sandal.

  Robert hesitated. “Somebody who talks to me.”

  “Is Addie short for Adele or Adelaide?” Kerney asked. />
  “Addie’s not short for nothing.”

  “And you talk to her?” Kerney prodded.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Do you talk to her in your head?” Marcia suggested.

  “Yeah,” Robert said, relief showing on his face. The foot wiggling stopped.

  “Okay,” Marcia said. “Addie is a voice you hear.”

  “That’s right.”

  Marcia nodded and switched gears. “Mr. Kerney needs to ask you some questions.”

  “Sure.” Robert glanced at Kerney. “What about?”

  “Addie isn’t a real person?” Kerney asked.

  Robert tensed. “I don’t want to talk about her. It makes me nervous.”

  “Okay, we won’t. On the day Officer Gillespie was shot, you were seen talking to a woman in a pickup truck with a stock trailer,” Kerney said. “Is she someone you know?”

  “What did she look like?” Robert asked.

  “I thought you could tell me. The trailer may have belonged to a veterinarian.”

  “I don’t know anybody like that,” Robert said. His foot wiggle started again. He lit another cigarette and took a deep drag.

  “Do you remember talking to the woman?”

  “No.” He blew smoke in Kerney’s direction and flicked a cigarette ash on the carpet. “Sometimes I ask people to give me a smoke or some money.”

  “So, it was no one you knew?”

  “I don’t think so.” Robert swallowed hard and looked away.

  Robert was lying. Kerney changed the subject again. “Several days before Gillespie was shot, you were seen outside of town on the railroad tracks.”

  “I like to walk along the tracks sometimes,” Robert said.

  “Do you go to any particular place?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Does the place have a name?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What do you call it?”

  “I don’t call it nothing.” He turned and spoke to Marcia. “Do I have to go back to the hospital?”

  “Are you hearing voices?” Marcia replied.

  “Not now. Not since yesterday.”

  “When yesterday?” Marcia asked.

  “Before lunch.”

  “Maybe I can get you in a halfway house in Albuquerque,” Marcia said.