Nothing But Trouble Page 12

  “Where’s my father?” Julia asked.

  “Took off some time ago,” Shaw replied.

  “We didn’t pass him on the road,” Kerney said.

  “Didn’t go that way,” Shaw said, nodding in the opposite direction. “He’s two pastures south, where we’re gathering the cattle.”

  “Are you building the horse corral for the movie?” Kerney asked.

  “Yep, but we get to keep it after you folks are long gone,” Shaw replied. “Bought and paid for by Hollywood. Can’t beat that, I’d say.”

  “No, you can’t,” Kerney said, looking at the four men who were busy setting posts. Two of them were the cowboys who had stopped at the accident scene on the highway. “Is this your permanent crew?” he asked.

  “They’re day hands I hired on for the job,” Shaw said. “My two full-time wranglers, Kent and Buster, are busy gathering. We’re planning to bring the cattle up here nice and slow.”

  Kerney nodded and asked if the slot canyon through the mountains was Granite Pass, and Shaw allowed that it was, noting that the smelter sat one valley over, due southwest of their location.

  Ranch raised, Kerney knew better than to ask about the size of the spread, which was akin to asking how much money the Jordan family had in the bank. But he did ask Julia how close the ranch came to the Mexican border.

  “About twenty miles,” Julia replied. She went on to explain that the high country on the ranch was mostly leased state and federal land, while the valley land was all deeded property.

  Behind Julia, twenty feet away, the two cowboys Kerney had seen yesterday were eyeing him and talking to their companions.

  When Shaw turned to check on his crew, the men quickly broke off their conversation and got back to the job of securing a crossrail to a post.

  With Shaw and Julia at his side Kerney walked to the corral, inspected the work in progress, and praised the sturdy construction to Shaw.

  “It should still be standing here long after I’m gone,” Shaw replied.

  Kerney nodded in agreement as he admired the handiwork and made a mental note of each of the workers, whom Shaw introduced by first names only. The two cowboys Kerney had seen on the highway were Mike and Pruitt, and their coworkers were Ross and Santiago.

  On the way back to the cabin Kerney commented to Julia about the panel van. “You don’t see many cowboys driving one of those.”

  “That’s Walt’s,” she said. “When the weather’s good and the roads aren’t muddy, he uses it as his portable workshop. Carts just about anything he might need in it: wire, pipe, tools, spare parts.”

  “I didn’t see it at the ranch headquarters,” Kerney said.

  “He keeps it at the Harley homestead that Daddy bought about twelve years ago. Walt uses the old barn there for storage and repair work. It’s centrally located and a lot more convenient than having to run back and forth to ranch headquarters.”

  “Has Shaw been here long?” Kerney asked.

  “Almost twenty years,” Julia replied. “He’s like family.”

  “Does he have one of his own?”

  Julia laughed liltingly. “He’s a confirmed bachelor, although he has been known to flirt with the idea of marriage every now and then.”

  “With you?” Kerney asked.

  Girlishly, Julia bumped him with her hip. “I knew you were going to ask me that. Walt gave up on that notion a long, long time ago.”

  Julia had resumed her flirting full bore, but it seemed so disingenuous Kerney decided not to take it personally. He quickened his pace, wondering what dynamics in the Jordan family could have caused such arrested development in the two offspring.

  During the remainder of the afternoon the crew moved from location to location, and the planning went smoothly until Charlie Zwick announced that actually filming a fifty-mile cattle drive would put the movie way over budget.

  Quite simply, the problem was logistics. Johnny Jordan, who had done the initial location scouting, had assured Zwick that transporting equipment and personnel to the various sites on the ranch would be easy. In fact, some of the locations were barely accessible by four-wheel-drive vehicles. Getting the necessary equipment to the sites would be a slow, time-consuming process, add several days to the shooting schedule, and cost thousands of dollars in overtime pay.

  Zwick explained all this to Usher as the production crew stood on a ledge looking down into the narrow canyon that cut through mountains. It had taken them a half hour to traverse the rough jeep trail and reach the overlook.

  Usher nodded as he stood enchanted by the view. Below him the canyon walls were sheer and imposing, and the view toward the valley was vast and forbidding. He could visualize the cattle entering the canyon, pushed along by the cowboys, police vehicles streaming across the basin in hot pursuit, helicopters dropping low, stampeding the herd.

  He turned to Zwick. “I want this location.”

  “I’m not suggesting we drop it,” Zwick said. “But we could easily film the roundup and the cattle-drive sequences down in the valley near the cabin, and not have to move to three other locations that are difficult to reach at best.”

  “Dropping those locations would screw everything up,” Johnny said hotly. “How in the hell can you film the roundup and the cattle drive in one place? It will look completely fake.”

  “Not necessarily,” Usher said. “We can shoot the sequences from various directions. Use different angles, different shots. Focus on the actors, their horses, the cows. Believe me, on film it will look real.”

  “Or like some cheap B Western,” Johnny replied.

  Usher’s jaw tightened. “On film it will be just fine. Let me worry about what the audience sees.”

  “I’ve got a say about what goes into this film,” Johnny retorted, “and the shooting script calls for a fifty-mile cattle drive.”

  Usher pushed his new straw cowboy hat back on his head and smiled thinly. “And that’s exactly what you’ll get, done my way.” He turned to Zwick. “We’re finished here.”

  Johnny kicked a rock into the canyon and stomped off. Kerney glanced at the faces of the crew as they dispersed toward the vehicles. None of them seemed the least bit upset by Johnny’s childish outburst.

  At the vehicles Ethan Stone joined Kerney. “Not to worry,” he said gaily as he slid into the front passenger seat and waved a hand in the air. “These little catfights break out all the time.”

  “That’s good to know,” Kerney said as he crammed himself into the backseat next to Julia, who’d kept up her tiresome coquettish behavior all afternoon. He’d decided she did it solely to entertain herself.

  On the drive down the mountain a dust devil churned across the valley, lifting sand several hundred feet into the sky as it churned on its thin axis. Kerney tuned Julia out and turned his thoughts to Walt Shaw and his panel van.

  Shaw seemed to be a good guy and solid citizen, but that was no reason to discount him as a person of interest in the Border Patrol officer’s death. However, Kerney decided it would be premature to point Shaw out to Agent Fidel as a possible second suspect until he learned more about the man. He would do some digging and if Shaw came up clean, he could drop the matter and avoid stirring up any unnecessary trouble for Joe and Bessie.

  During the course of the afternoon the production team had traveled up and down the valley, and Kerney had learned a good deal about the lay of the land. With that, and what Julia had told him about the location of the Harley homestead, he felt fairly certain he could find his way to the barn where Shaw kept the van.

  He’d come out to the ranch tonight, try to take a closer look at the van, and then decide on a course of action if one was needed.

  They arrived at the copper smelter, the last stop of the day, right on schedule an hour before sunset. To the west the bare, blinding sand of the playas stretched like a ribbon on the desert floor, and the grim Animas Mountains sloped upward, craggy and inky black in long shadows that masked the eastern slope.


  The warning beacon on the smokestack blinked faintly in the glaring light of a hot yellow sun, and the metal roofs of the smelter buildings reflected the sun’s glow in shimmering waves.

  Usher and Johnny looked completely exhausted, and the remainder of the crew not much better. With bottled water in one hand and shooting scripts in the other, they followed Usher as he walked to the area he had chosen for the brawl between the cowboys and the cops. He stood on the rail spur near the ore delivery dock and explained what he wanted: cattle running loose among the ore cars, cowboys scattering as police cars careened over railroad tracks, vehicles overturning, cops on foot chasing mounted riders, cowboys roping cops—all of it to be filmed against the backdrop of the smelter and the mountains.

  Fortunately for Kerney, Julia had elected not to accompany the production crew to the smelter. Freed from her company he gave his full attention to learning more about the intricacies of motion picture making, which in this sequence included some major stunts.

  By nightfall the team had finished their work, except for Charlie Zwick, who continued talking on his cell phone to the mining company’s corporate attorney as he negotiated the details for using the smelter in the film. He was still on the phone, talking to somebody else about preparing a location lease agreement, when the weary crew wandered into the old mercantile store for a late dinner.

  Kerney had hoped to eat quickly and then get back out to the Granite Pass Ranch for a surreptitious look at Walter Shaw’s panel van. But Susan Berman, the unit production manager, delayed his departure.

  She’d approached him at his table with a slightly worried look on her pretty face, asked for a moment of his time, and explained that the county sheriff, because of staff shortages, had turned down her request to do background checks on all the cast and crew members before actual filming got under way.

  Berman was a tiny, attractive brunette in her late thirties, no more than five two, with blue-gray eyes and a confident, businesslike demeanor.

  “Since nine-eleven we’ve become much more security minded,” she said as she sat with Kerney, “and because Playas is now being used for antiterrorism training, we have to satisfy the government that there are no criminals, insurgents, fanatics, or terrorists working on the film. Thank God, they haven’t as yet told us to exclude hiring any bleeding-heart, progressive Hollywood liberals. That would totally shut us down.”

  Kerney laughed. “When would you need the information?”

  “After the cast, extras, and crew hiring has been done. About a week before we start actual production.”

  “How many people?”

  “Over a hundred,” Berman replied.

  “Get me names, social security numbers, and birth dates, and I’ll have my department do a computer check for wants and warrants.”

  Berman smiled warmly. “That would be great. I’ll fax the information to you in Santa Fe as soon as it’s complete. Did you have fun today?”

  Kerney nodded. “The complexity of making a movie seems staggering.”

  Berman laughed. “This is the mellow part of putting a film together. Wait until the cameras start rolling.”

  “How does Johnny figure into the filming?” Kerney asked.

  “His participation will be limited, but we’ll do our best to keep him happy. But as you saw this afternoon, it doesn’t always work out that way. Do you know him well?”

  “Yes and no,” Kerney replied. “We go back a long way, but it’s been years since we’ve had any close contact.”

  “Have you got any tips on how to deal with him?” Berman asked.

  Kerney gave the question some thought as he looked at Johnny, who was sitting with Usher at another table. Usher was talking with his arms spread wide, as though he was framing a camera shot for Johnny to visualize. Johnny looked totally bored.

  “I think Malcolm already has Johnny’s number,” he said. “Overwhelm him with technicalities and facts he knows nothing about while you stroke his ego—if you can stand to do it.”

  Berman stuck the three-ring binder under her arm and smiled appreciatively. “That’s a no-brainer, Mr. Kerney. I started out in this business years ago as a script girl, and, believe me, I’ve got lots of experience feeding male egos.”

  Berman left and Kerney soon followed, saying good-night to Gus and Buzzy on his way out the door. The dark sky was awash with stars, and a cool, downslope breeze rustled through the trees. At the ranch property he swung south on a cutoff dirt track near the rodeo arena that paralleled a pasture fence line. He passed through two gates, a dry wash, and made a wrong turn to a dead end before finding his way to the barn where Shaw garaged his van.

  Kerney parked behind the barn and sat in the dark for a few minutes to let his eyes adjust before he circled the structure on foot. Built from scrap slat boards, the barn had a pitched tin roof, no windows, and a padlocked double door. There was no way he could get inside without leaving behind clear evidence of a forced entry.

  He was about to leave when he saw two sets of headlights approaching in the distance. He hid behind a stone foundation of a cylindrical water tank that stood next to an empty water trough and watched as the vehicles arrived and stopped in front of the barn doors.

  In the glare of a pickup truck’s headlights Walter Shaw got out of the panel van, unlocked the barn doors, and drove it inside. Then, with the help of the man driving the pickup, Shaw unloaded the contents of the van. When the chore was finished, he backed the van out of the barn and locked the doors. Shaw’s helper climbed into the van and it traveled south into the valley.

  Kerney waited at his hiding place until the red glow of the taillights disappeared from view. Following the men wasn’t an option; he’d be spotted immediately. When the sound of the engine had faded completely away, he fired up the truck and drove in the opposite direction with the headlights off until he dropped over a small rise in the valley floor.

  Back on the highway Kerney sorted through what he’d seen. Shaw had removed all his tools, equipment, and supplies from the panel van at a remote, secure location and then had driven away in the direction of the border. He could think of no legitimate reason to do that so late at night. Were Shaw and his helper engaged in smuggling? People? Drugs? Some other form of contraband? And who was Shaw’s companion? A rancher? A hand? In the darkness Kerney had been unable to get a good look at the man.

  He’d memorized the license-plate numbers of both vehicles. Using his cell phone, he called the regional dispatch center in Santa Fe, asked for a motor vehicle check on the van and pickup, requested an NCIC wants and warrant check on Shaw, and told the dispatcher to call him back on his cell.

  As he made the turn at Hachita on his way back to Playas, a small airplane flew overhead out of the south, its anticollision beacons clearly visible in the night sky. The sight of the airplane made Kerney’s excursion on the ranch all the more interesting. While he wasn’t about to jump to any conclusions about Walter Shaw and his unknown companion, his misgivings had been raised. Tomorrow he would find an excuse to break away from the production crew and pay another friendly visit to Joe and Bessie at the ranch to see what more he could discover about their ranch manager.

  Chapter Six

  A cloud-covered sky veiled the mountains and hid the rising sun, and a stiff, moisture-laden breeze flowing up from Baja California carried a refreshing chill to the air that lingered until midmorning. Jackrabbits skittered across the empty streets of Playas, and a resident roadrunner stood frozen on its large feet for a long moment before it pumped its tail feathers up and down and trotted away.

  Under the overcast sky the expanse of the valley yawned as far as the eye could see to the faint outline of the Animas Mountains, which hovered at the edge of the basin like a misty mirage. In the dull gray light the colors of the desert were muted and the sands took on a soft, pearl-white sheen.

  The agenda for most of the day had the crew working on locations in and around Playas, which made for less traveling. By late morni
ng the wind had subsided and the sun broke through the clouds, only to dim and fade as a gentle rainstorm moved across the hazy valley, creating a gray sky that bled yellow shafts of light through the patchy cloud cover.

  The work for the day had nothing to do with police procedure, and consigned to the role of onlooker, Kerney followed the crew around from location to location as they discussed the specifics of what would be needed for each scene. Earlier in the morning Johnny had driven off to Duncan, Arizona, some seventy miles northwest, to arrange to use the rodeo arena on the county fairgrounds. As a result of his absence the work of the production crew seemed to proceed at a more rapid and relaxed pace.

  Kerney used his time to talk to some of the town residents who’d assembled to watch the filmmakers. Those he spoke with knew about the death of the Mexican on the highway, and several people wondered if it meant that smuggling activity along the border was on the upswing. Kerney probed a bit deeper and learned that over the past six to eight months, border-related incidents had dropped. One man recounted stories of how half-starved migrants had once routinely wandered into town, and speculated that they now avoided Playas because it was an anti-terrorism training center. While the man’s argument made sense, Kerney wondered if the fall-off in immigrants passing through the town was also tied to the smuggling operation Fidel’s undercover agent had infiltrated.

  A woman he spoke with criticized the Mexican government for handing out desert survival pamphlets to the illegals who were planning to cross the border, calling it nothing less than an attempt to flood the United States with undocumented workers. Her husband, an older man with a U.S. Navy anchor tattooed on his arm, thought the problem was tied to not having enough Border Patrol agents assigned to the Bootheel.

  When Kerney asked about drug trafficking, he was told that the unmanned drones the Border Patrol had put into service to track aircraft crossing from Mexico hadn’t reduced the number of nighttime flights by any significant degree. Rumor had it that large amounts of marijuana, cocaine, and heroin were still being flown in on a regular basis, off-loaded at remote locations, and trucked north.