Death Song kk-11 Read online

  Before Clayton could protest that he didn’t need any special treatment, Patrick tugged at his hand.

  “I’ll show you where you’re going to stay,” he said with the authority of one who knew exactly where he was going. “It’s got a kitchen, a TV, and two bedrooms. My uncle, aunt, and cousins stay there when they visit. So do my grandma and grandpa.”

  “Okay,” Clayton said as he grabbed his luggage and jacket. “Lead on.”

  Patrick didn’t move. “Are you really my brother? My dad says you are.”

  Clayton dropped down on one knee and looked Patrick squarely in the eye while he continued to hold his hand. “I am your older brother, a Mescalero Apache, and a policeman.”

  Patrick nodded in confused agreement. “That’s what my dad told me. He said you were all those things and a father too.”

  “That’s true. Wendell and Hannah are my children. They’re a little bit older than you. You’ve only met them a couple of times and you were probably too young to remember. What do you think about that?”

  Patrick paused and thought it over. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m too young to be a dad, but someday I’d like to be an older brother.”

  Clayton laughed and looked up at Kerney and Sara. “Maybe someday you will be. You’ll have to talk to your parents about that.”

  Kerney smiled and slipped his arm around Sara’s waist. “He already has.”

  “We’re currently in negotiations,” Sara added. “Dinner’s in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Clayton replied as Patrick led him away.

  Conversation at the dinner table stayed away from weighty subjects such as the homicide investigations and Sara’s combat experiences in Iraq. Instead, the three adults and Patrick talked about family matters. Clayton spoke of Grace’s job as director of the tribal child development center, and Wendell’s and Hannah’s progress in school. Sara talked about the visit her parents had made to the ranch after her release from the army hospital, and Patrick went on at some length about his older cousins in Montana whom he’d visited with Kerney last fall.

  “Are Wendell and Hannah my cousins?” he asked Clayton.

  “No, they are your nephew and niece,” Clayton answered.

  “You’re their uncle,” Kerney added.

  Patrick cast an unbelieving look at his father and turned his attention to Sara for an explanation. “Is Dad teasing me?”

  “No,” Sara said. “You are Wendell and Hannah’s uncle.”

  Disbelieving, Patrick shook his head. “I can’t be. Uncles are grown-ups, not kids.”

  His pronouncement was met with laughter, and it took some patient explaining before Patrick got comfortable with the idea that he was an uncle. By the end of the discussion, he seemed quite pleased with his newfound status in Clayton’s family.

  “But uncles still have to put on their pajamas, brush their teeth, and get ready for bed,” Sara said as she plucked Patrick from his chair and carried him toward his bedroom.

  “I’ll pull KP,” Kerney said, pushing back from the table.

  Clayton joined in to help clear the table and load the dishwasher. Never having served in the military, he’d wanted to learn more about Sara’s combat experiences, but had been reluctant to ask. As he towel-dried a pot too big for the dishwasher, he asked Kerney if she was doing all right.

  “It’s a tough transition to make, especially after getting wounded,” he replied. “But she’s coming along. We’ll be moving to London soon after I retire. She’s being posted there as a military attaché to the U.S. Embassy.”

  “For how long?”

  Kerney took the dried pot from Clayton and stowed it in the appropriate kitchen cabinet. “Three years. Then she’ll have her full twenty years in for retirement and we’ll come back to New Mexico permanently.”

  “That’s a long time to be gone,” Clayton said.

  Kerney closed the dishwasher and turned it on. “We’ll return every year during her annual leave, and I’ll come back with Patrick occasionally on shorter trips.”

  “Are you looking forward to living in London?”

  Kerney folded the dish towel and hung it on the rack. “You know in a way I am, as long as I can get back every now and then for some New Mexico sunshine and a green chili fix.”

  Kerney gestured toward the door to the living room, and after Clayton had settled into one of two oversize easy chairs separated by a hand-carved nineteenth-century Spanish colonial chest that served as a coffee table, Kerney offered him a cordial.

  “No, thanks. It would only make me sleepy.” Clayton leaned forward in the chair and waited until Kerney sat down across from him. “How involved are you in the investigation?”

  “I want it solved, preferably before I retire. Denise Riley’s sister, Helen Muiz, who is also retiring, has been with the department for over thirty-five years. More important, she’s a friend. I don’t want this case hanging over our heads when we both walk out the door for the last time.”

  “Has Sergeant Pino been keeping you briefed?”

  “She has,” Kerney answered, “right down to her concern that Sheriff Salgado may be sabotaging the investigation while spouting platitudes about giving you his full cooperation. What do you need?”

  “I need some fresh eyes to look at everything and everybody again. I need somebody to analyze what’s been done up until now and tell me what we’re missing. I need more people digging deep into Denise and Tim Riley’s lives and their recent activities.”

  “I thought your assignment was to investigate the relationship between the Rileys and sheriff’s office personnel to determine if there are any possible suspects.”

  “It is.”

  “Wouldn’t doing what you suggest mean you’d be stepping on Don Mielke’s toes?”

  “It means stomping on them big-time,” Clayton replied, “but with good cause.”

  Kerney sat quietly for a moment. Without saying it directly, Clayton was asking him to muscle in on the investigation. He had no quarrel with Clayton’s assessment of the situation. He read it the same way. Salgado was at best a lightweight police administrator; his chief deputy, Leonard Jessup, was no better, and Don Mielke was competent but unreliable.

  Ineffective, muddled leadership coupled with a complex, difficult case could only spell disaster. The investigation would most probably bog down and wind up in a cold case file to be trumpeted every few years in the print media as one of Santa Fe’s major unsolved crimes.

  Concerned almost to the point of distraction about the well-being of Sara, Kerney had done nothing on the case other than assign staff to work with the S.O. and ask to be kept informed of the progress, or the lack of it.

  Had he been shirking his responsibility to Helen Muiz, her family, and the men and women under his command? He didn’t like the way that notion made him feel. Clayton’s face—including his eyes—was composed and watchful. Clearly, he wanted Kerney to step up to the plate.

  Kerney leaned forward. “Bring me up to speed on your end of the investigation down in Lincoln County and then we’ll figure out a way to get around Salgado and his underlings.”

  Clayton’s expression lightened and he started talking. By the time Sara brought Patrick out to say good night, the two men were deep in conversation. Much later, when Sara came out of the library to say that she was retiring for the night, they were still at it.

  They decided their best strategy was to have Paul Hewitt ask for additional assistance from Kerney’s department. Because Hewitt had jurisdiction over the Lincoln County homicide, there was no way Salgado could challenge the appropriateness of the request.

  Kerney, in turn, would allocate all available resources of his department to the investigation and assume direct oversight of the joint operation.

  “We’re probably going to need to have Paul come up here for a face-to-face with Salgado,” Kerney said. “I’ll put the idea to him when I call him in the morning.”

  Clayton nodded, yawned, and
stood. “Good deal. Are you and Sara serious about adding to your family?”

  Kerney got to his feet. “Absolutely, but it may not happen as quickly as Patrick would like. Right now Sara’s questioning the wisdom of bringing another child into the world.”

  “That’s understandable seeing what she has been through,” Clayton said.

  “Exactly,” Kerney said. “Do you think, when the time comes, Patrick will enjoy his role as an older brother?”

  The carefully worded, pointed question went right to the heart of Clayton’s uneasiness about his relationship with Kerney. He could either respond to it truthfully or sidestep the issue and give a trite answer.

  Clayton decided to be candid. “We both know that Patrick is much more ready to be an older brother than I was to be a father’s son. I’m sorry it took me so long to warm to the idea.”

  Kerney smiled. “Knowing you as I do, I’m proud to be your father.”

  Kerney’s direct expression of his feelings toward him took Clayton by surprise, and for a moment he didn’t reply. Finally he said, “Thank you.”

  It came out sounding stiff and lame. Embarrassed, he noted the lateness of the hour, said good night, and retired to the guest suite.

  Sunup found Kerney in the horse barn mucking out stalls, laying down fresh hay, and putting out oats for his horse, Hondo; Patrick’s pony, Pablito; Sara’s mare, Ginger; Gipsy, one other gelding; and Comeuppance, Kerney’s stallion at stud. Housed in a separate wing of the barn with his own paddock, Comeuppance sired foals that Kerney and his partner, Riley Burke, raised and trained as cutting horses. It was Riley who did most of the work, but he was away for a few days with his wife and his parents, attending a meeting of the New Mexico Cattle Growers Association in Tucumcari, so the morning chores fell to Kerney.

  Last night’s blizzard had fizzled out, leaving behind less than two inches of snow on the ground that would quickly melt under a clear sky and bright sun. Still, any moisture was welcome, and it gave Kerney hope that more might be on the way, although the absence of clouds argued against it.

  He was breaking the ice in the water troughs when the sound of a car engine caught his attention. Across the meadow he watched Clayton drive away in his Lincoln County S.O. unit.

  Back at the house all was quiet. Sara, who was ranch born and raised, had always fallen asleep easily and was by nature an early riser. But since her discharge from the hospital, her sleeping patterns had been erratic. She would stay awake late into the night and sleep through most of the morning. Or she would fall into a fitful sleep for several hours, tossing and turning, before getting out of bed and dozing on the couch, where Kerney would often find her when he awoke.

  Her doctor saw it as a symptom of depression and gave her a prescription that she’d refused to get filled. Sara had firm opinions about not taking drugs unless it was absolutely necessary. But this time Kerney, who understood and appreciated her point of view, truly believed she was wrong not to take the medication.

  He went into the library, closed the door, found Paul Hewitt’s cell phone number in his address book, and dialed it. Breathing heavily, Hewitt answered abruptly.

  “This is Kevin Kerney. Have I called at a bad time?”

  “No, you haven’t,” Hewitt said, pausing for a breath. “I’m riding an exercise bike at my gym and I’m about out of steam. What can I do for you?”

  “We’ve got a situation up here I think you need to know about.” He filled Hewitt in on the state of affairs with the Santa Fe S.O., laid out the plan he’d hatched with Clayton, and asked Paul if he would be willing to come up to Santa Fe and flex some muscle at Salgado.

  “Sounds like you’re in good enough shape to do it,” he added with a chuckle.

  “Oh yeah,” Hewitt grunted. “I’m looking forward to the day I kiss my health club membership good-bye, sit in my rocking chair, and grow a nice potbelly.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Kerney replied.

  “What time do you want me up there?”

  “If you’d get off the phone, we could stop talking and you could start driving,” Kerney said. “While you’re traveling, I’m going over to Salgado’s house and tell him exactly what we want him to do this morning.”

  “What is it we want him to do?” Hewitt asked.

  Kerney ran it down.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Hewitt replied before he abruptly disconnected.

  From the living room Kerney heard Sara and Patrick talking in the kitchen. He found them at the table reading a picture book together. Although Pablito the Pony remained one of Patrick’s favorite stories, he’d recently expanded his literary horizons to a newly discovered book about Herman and Poppy, two horses who formed a unique and lasting friendship. Patrick hadn’t quite learned all the words yet, so Sara was reading those parts he’d yet to master.

  Kerney poured himself a second cup of coffee, pulled a chair next to Sara, and joined his wife and son at the table.

  When they had finished reading the story, Patrick closed the book. “The end,” he said. “I bet Pablito, Herman, and Poppy would all be friends if they knew each other.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Sara said.

  “Do you think so, Daddy?”

  “They would be best friends,” Kerney replied, turning his attention to Sara, who looked a little more rested and less withdrawn. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Maybe Herman and Poppy could live on our ranch with my pony, Pablito,” Patrick said hopefully.

  “Herman and Poppy are storybook animals,” Sara said.

  “But Pablito was just a storybook pony until Daddy and I went and got him,” Patrick replied with great certainty about his scheme to bring the three horses together.

  “The day will come when you’ll be able to ride every horse on the ranch whenever you want,” Kerney said in hopes of putting to rest Patrick’s idea of adding Herman and Poppy to the herd.

  Patrick thought hard. “Every horse includes Comeuppance, right?”

  “Yes, it does,” Kerney answered slowly as Sara cocked an eye at him. “Your mother and I will decide when that day has arrived.”

  “How about this morning?”

  “No, not this morning. And not tomorrow morning, either. You’ve got a lot more to learn about horses and riding first, and you’ve got to get bigger, too.”

  “How much bigger, Dad? This big?” Patrick held his hand a few inches above his head.

  Kerney raised Patrick’s hand a few more inches. “More like this, Patrick. Don’t worry. You’re growing fast.”

  Patrick smiled at the happy thought, and Sara chuckled. “You got yourself out of a tight spot there, Kerney.”

  Delighted by Sara’s cheerfulness, Kerney asked, “How did you sleep?”

  “Well enough,” she replied. “I see that Clayton has already left. How did the two of you get along last night?”

  “Much better than I anticipated. I think there’s actually a chance we can be friends.”

  “That’s good news.”

  Patrick got down from his chair and went to the glass patio doors that looked out on the meadow and the horse barn. “It snowed last night,” he announced excitedly. “We have to make a snowman.”

  Kerney walked to Patrick, picked him up, and carried him back to the kitchen table. “I can’t help you, sport. I have to go to work today.”

  “That’s okay,” Patrick said, wiggling to be set free. “I can make it myself. Put me down.”

  Kerney lowered Patrick and he ran to get dressed.

  “Will you be working all day?” Sara asked.

  “Yes.” Kerney sat next to her. “Today and every day, if necessary, until we either catch Denise Riley’s killer or I get put out to pasture at the end of the month. Whichever comes first.”

  “That’s a relief,” Sara said.

  “Meaning exactly what?”

  Sara smiled, and for the first time since her return home there was a sparkle in her eyes. “Meaning that I�
��ve been wanting to tell you for days to just leave me the hell alone until I feel better. Just knowing you’re not going to be around every minute worrying about me has already lifted my spirits considerably.”

  “Have I been that much of a nuisance?”

  Sara shrugged. “In a good way.”

  “But you want me gone,” Kerney added.

  “Not permanently.”

  “How reassuring.” He leaned close and kissed her. “Perhaps retiring is a bad idea. I would be constantly underfoot.”

  “There’s no backing out of that now, Kerney.” Sara poked him lightly on the bicep. “We’re all going to London together. That’s the deal.”

  “Yes, it is.” Kerney stood. “So I’d better get cracking.”

  By the time Kerney left, Sara and Patrick were busy building a snowman in the meadow, unconcerned that it would be a melted puddle by noon. He drove the ranch road to the highway with his spirits lifted for the first time in weeks, hopeful that Sara had turned the corner and was on her way to a full recovery.

  Clayton arrived at the law enforcement center to discover that none of the S.O. honchos were around. When he asked Salgado’s secretary if the sheriff was ready to meet with him, he was told without further explanation that Salgado had been delayed and she didn’t know when he would arrive. Frustrated by the sheriff’s cavalier attitude, Clayton went to his borrowed office, where he found the desk piled high with reports, and started the arduous task of reading through every document. Two hours later he looked up to see a clear-eyed Don Mielke standing in the doorway.

  “Come with me,” Mielke said, and without waiting for a response he started down the hallway.

  In the briefing room he introduced Clayton to a state police crime lab tech named Stan Steiner, who had been sent over to take saliva samples from all male personnel.

  Steiner, a young man with a serious hair-loss problem, a high forehead, and wide-set brown eyes, had the look of a person who’d found his calling among test tubes and microscopes and was completely ill at ease in the alien environment of the sheriff’s department. After a limp handshake and a mumbled greeting, he quickly returned to the task of setting up for the onslaught of male deputies and civilian employees who would soon be lining up to have their mouths swabbed.