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  Her narrow face seemed completely asymmetrical, her lips and fingernails were painted blueberry, and she wore a wrinkled pair of black jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and no shoes. Her dull, watery eyes looked sunken against the contrast of her rouged cheeks.

  Gabe figured Angie had dressed-as best she could in an alcoholic daze-to be a lady in mourning.

  "Do you know who called Rudyjust before he left the house?"

  "No, he answered the phone and then said he had to leave. When do I get my car back?"

  "Soon."

  "It better not be wrecked."

  "There is very little damage. Was Rudy working anywhere?"

  "Not since last summer."

  "How did he get money?"

  "Odd jobs."

  "What was he doing?"

  "He didn't say."

  "Not a word?"

  Angie shrugged her shoulders.

  "He had money. I didn't ask where he got it."

  "A lot of money?"

  "I don't know if it was a lot. He borrowed some from me before he took the Mustang and left."

  "Did he say where he was going?"

  "No."

  "Was he tight withjoaquin?"

  "What are you getting at?" Angie asked as she got up and went to the kitchen. She returned with a full mug.

  "All these questions. Rudy got killed by a cop, that's all I know."

  "Something made him run."

  "Who wants to be hassled by cops?"

  "I'm trying to find out what happened. Was Rudy tight withjoaquin?"

  "He was his brother-in-law."

  "But not good friends?"

  "They got along."

  "Did he ever talk about Joaquin?"

  "Only to say that Joaquin had some woman problems."

  "With his wife, Debbie?"

  "Her, and with some other girlfriend, while he was separated."

  "Does the girl have a name?"

  "I didn't pay any attention. Are you finished? I have things to do."

  "Take care of yourself, Angie."

  "Just leave me alone, okay?"

  Kerney did a house-to-house canvas of San Geronimo and the surrounding countryside, asking questions about a young Mexican woman who had either lived or worked in the area. Not surprisingly, no one recalled a woman who matched the description Kerney had compiled from the information supplied by Melody Jordan's analysis.

  What Kerney did find surprising was the number of new homes in tucked away places. Aside from upscale vacation cabins and summer homes sprinkled throughout the valley, there were houses of year-round residents in several rural subdivisions and on small parcels of land adjoining some of the large ranches.

  Very few people were home. But from the number of swing sets. sandboxes, and basketball hoops outside it was dear that working couples with children were migrating to the once remote, rural setting.

  North of San Geronimo, above Mineral Springs in the pine forest at the edge of Johnson Mesa, he quesoned caretakers at three youth and church summer camps, and came up empty again.

  The afternoon wore on as he stopped at the larger ranches in the valley before looping back through San Geronimo and picking up the county road that paralleled the mesa.

  He couldn't quite think of the mesa as his land. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  The old stone cabin came into view with a pickup truck parked inside the open gate. He turned in and recognized Nestor Barela walking toward the cabin.

  Barela heard the sound of Kerney's vehicle and reversed his direction.

  "So, it is the policeman who now owns the Fergurson land," Barela said when Kerney approached. His tone wasn't friendly.

  "Mr. Barela," Kerney replied.

  "I do not like being made to a seem a fool," Barela said.

  "You came to my house under false pretenses."

  "I saw no need at the time to tell you who I was."

  "Because you suspected me of wrongdoing?"

  "The thought crossed my mind."

  "And now?"

  "I haven't reached any conclusions," Kerney replied.

  "I would never spoil this land."

  "I'm not saying you did. Why are you here, Mr.

  Barela?"

  "To see for myself what was done." Barela gestured at the cabin.

  "The wood covering the door must be replaced, and the gate must be locked."

  Kerney shook his head.

  "Not until the police investigation is concluded. When it is, I'll close the cabin up, buy a lock for the gate, and give you a key."

  "When will that be?"

  "It could be days, maybe a week."

  "Make sure you do as you promise," Barela said, turning away abruptly.

  Kerney watched as the old man got into his truck, wondering why Barela even cared about a worthless structure on the verge of collapse.

  He closed the cabin door, got a crime scbnb warning placard out of his unit, and taped the warning on the door. He taped another placard to the gate and closed it before leaving.

  Emmet Griffin opened the door to the Horse Canyon Ranch foreman's residence holding a bowl of stew in one hand. Kerney displayed his shield, identified himself, and asked for a few minutes.

  "I thought you might be a cop," Griffin said as he motioned with his head for Kerney to enter.

  "What gave me away?"

  Griffin padded across the hardwood floor in his stocking feet. A pair of cruddy work boots were carefully placed on some newspapers by the door.

  "I used to talk the talk, and walk the walk. Spent five years as a deputy sheriff in Texas before deciding working with animals was a hell of a lot safer." Griffin sat in a worn wicker armchair with a matching ottoman, pulled the ottoman close, placed the bowl of stew on it, and started eating.

  "No lunch," he said between spoonfuls.

  "You don't mind?"

  "Not at all."

  Besides the chair and ottoman, the only other furniture in the room consisted of a small TV on a low table and a floor-to-ceiling pole lamp with three light canisters that was right out of the 1950s.

  "One of your officers stopped by earlier," Griffin said.

  "A Sergeant Gonzales. He was asking about Rudy Espinoza."

  "What did you tell him?"

  "That I had to let him go because he wasn't worth a damn. About a week after he started, we began losing things." Griffin paused to wipe his mouth on a shirt y sleeve.

  "I didn't pay much mind to it at first. Stuff can get misplaced. But when a couple of good saddles turned up gone, I fired him."

  "Did he admit to taking the saddles?"

  "No."

  "Did you report it to the sheriff's office?"

  Griffin laughed.

  "A lot of good that did. The deputy came out and took a report. End of story."

  "Did you ever actually catch Espinoza stealing?"

  "Nope. But I knew the rest of my crew wasn't doing it. They've been with me since I moved over to this job."

  "Where were you working before?"

  "The Box Z down on the Conchas River."

  "Did Espinoza cause any other problems?"

  "Not with me."

  "With somebody else?" Kerney asked.

  "The housekeeper didn't like him. He kept pestering her. She complained to the boss."

  "What was he doing?"

  "Making excuses to go up to the house, trying to get alone with her-at least that's what she said." Griffin dropped the spoon in the empty bowl.

  "He wasn't the only one to show interest in her. Luiza attracted men.

  Cute little thing. Real pretty in a shy sort of way."

  "Can you describe her?"

  "She was about five four, in her mid-twenties. Dark hair, dark skin.

  Her left arm was skinnier than her right arm. She said she broke it when she was a kid."

  "Do you know her full name?"

  "Luiza San Miguel was her Spanish name. But she was mostly Indian."

  "You talk about her in
the past tense."

  "Yeah, she quit and went home to Mexico. She was from somewhere in Chiapas, the southernmost state, on the border with Guatemala."

  "You knew her fairly well?"

  "Not really. But my old boss at the Box Z gave her a good recommendation when she came to work here." Griffin took his bowl into the kitchen, returned, brushed the dirt off his boots, and pulled them on.

  "Did you work with her at the Box Z?"

  Griffin shook his head.

  "Nope, she didn't start there until after I left."

  "When did she quit working here?"

  "Soon after I fired Espinoza. Sometime in April last year."

  "Did she give a reason for leaving?"

  "Not to me. Maybe the boss knows."

  "Where is your boss?"

  "Santa Fe," Griffin said as he reached for his work jacket.

  "Won't be back until late tonight."

  "What about tomorrow?"

  "She'll be here all day, far as I know," Griffin replied.

  "I can't say I liked Rudy much, but I sure didn't wish him dead. You boys are taking some shit about that shooting."

  Kerney held out a business card.

  "Please give Ms.

  Bingham my card. Tell her I'll stop by to speak with her in the morning."

  "I'll do that." Griffin took the card and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

  Kerney inserted his card key in the electronic lock and walked down the empty corridor past silent offices. The majority of the civilian workers and headquarters staff was gone for the day, but lights were on in the vestibule to the crime lab. He thought about checking in with Melody Jordan-if she was still working-but decided he had no reason to do so, and walked up the stairs to his second-floor office.

  Kerney often worked late to compensate for his totally nonexistent social life. Tonight he was even less inclined to go home. The place would only seem more empty than usual with the departure of Sara and the dog.

  A message that Andy Baca had called from Florida was taped to the handset of his telephone. He called Andy, who was about to leave for a cocktail party at the convention center, and enlightened him on the events of the week.

  He rang off after reassuring Andy that everything was under control, and started in on the paperwork. He was halfway through a proposed plan for a narcotics raid when his telephone rang.

  "Good, you're there," Melody Jordan said when he answered.

  "I've got something to show you. Chief."

  "Come up."

  "See you in a minute."

  Kerney's attempt to refocus on the plan failed as his gaze kept wandering to the open office door. He thought about asking Melody to join him for a drink.

  Since he did not directly supervise Melody, it would not violate policy to do so.

  Why not? Kerney thought. He was a free man with no obligations, and the company of a pretty woman might be the right tonic for his blues.

  Melody walked in just as he forced his attention back to the text. She wore a black V-neck top under a waist-length lightweight jacket and a short pleated skirt that accentuated her trim figure.

  He put the report aside and smiled.

  "What have you got?"

  "Test results on the bones," Melody replied, "confirming Dr. Lawrence's assessment. The victim suffered from rickets. That strengthens the possibility she was Latin American."

  "That's good to know. Are you heading out?"

  "You bet." Campbell Lawrence was waiting for Melody. He'd proved to be a very horny man, and she was enjoying every minute of it.

  "So am I," Kerney said, standing up.

  "Do you have time to join me for a drink?"

  "That's a lovely idea, but I'm afraid I can't tonight.

  Rain check?"

  "Let me know when you're free."

  "Sure thing."

  Melody smiled, thinking that when it came to men in her life it was either feast or famine. Still, she felt pleased with the notion that she'd finally turned Kerney's head.

  Melody left and Kerney tried without success to concentrate on work. He finally gave up and put the document away. He'd felt both annoyed and relieved when Melody turned down his invitation. He tried to think it through, but nothing came except a vague, dissatisfied feeling.

  He stepped to the office door and hit the light switch.

  He had to get back into sync. Somehow, he didn't think that would be easy to do.

  Sara woke to the aroma of coffee and found herself on Susie's couch covered with a lightweight throw. She sat up and looked at the night sky through the picture window.

  The lights of Tucson flickered, flowed, and gathered along the major roads and highways that bisected the desert floor.

  She combed her fingers through her hair and found Susie in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta.

  "What time is it?"

  "Almost dinnertime," Susie answered.

  "Welcome back to the living."

  "When did I fall asleep?"

  "About three o'clock this afternoon, right in mid-sentence."

  "Can I help?"

  "Pour yourself some coffee and sit yourself down.

  Warning: I only brew leaded sludge."

  Sara got coffee, sat at the Shaker-style table, and watched Susie spear a green bean out of the pot and taste it.

  "A few more minutes," Susie said, turning to face Sara.

  "This is simple fare. I'm not much of a cook."

  "What were we talking about before I lost it?"

  "Your extraordinary discovery of an honest man."

  Susie brought over some flatware and place mats, and arranged them on the table.

  "If you decide you don't want Kerney, would you arrange an introduction for me?"

  Sara laughed.

  "He sounds that good, does he?"

  "He sounds yummy," Susie said, putting a salad bowl between the place mats.

  "Tonight's menu is store-bought spaghetti sauce, frozen green beans, and salad with bottled dressing. However, I did cook the pasta to perfection."

  "You're quite domestic."

  "That's not where my charm lies," Susie said as she strained the pasta.

  "Nor yours. Do you really think you can't be a career officer, mother, and a wife?"

  "I could handle two out of three fairly well."

  "So, which one goes by the boards?" Susie asked as she slid into a chair and handed Sara a plate of food.

  "I haven't a due."

  "Why not have it all?"

  "I don't think Kerney would be willing to follow me around from post to post for the next ten years. Besides, neither of us discussed getting married."

  "Maybe you haven't mentioned the M word to him.

  But you've come close, with all that talk of a stud book and getting pregnant."

  Sara poked into the pasta and twisted it around the prongs of her fork.

  "I guess I have."

  "You amaze me."

  "Why?"

  "You have one of the best tactical minds of any serving officer I know, and yet you don't have the foggiest notion of how to reel Kerney in."

  "I'm not sure I want to be that calculating. I don't see you baiting the hook when it comes to men."

  "Oh, you're so wrong. I'm just waiting for the right one to swim by."

  "Okay, how would you reel Kerney in?"

  "I'd ask him flat out if he's interested in marriage."

  "I don't know if I'm ready to do that," Sara replied as she stabbed a green bean.

  "Why not?"

  Sara placed her fork on the edge of her plate.

  "I'm not the wife type."

  "You're sure of that?"

  Sara picked up her fork and then placed it back on the plate.

  "I don't know if I'm sure of anything anymore."

  "That's promising."

  "You think so?"

  "Do you care for Kerney?"

  "I feel more connected to him than any man I've ever known."

  S
usie shook her head and her chestnut hair covered her eyes. She brushed it away and grinned.

  "Jesus, Sara.

  Listen to yourself."

  "I guess I'm confused."

  "Finally, we're getting somewhere," Susie said.

  "Eat your dinner."

  Ruth Pino removed her reading glasses, rubbed the bridge of her nose with a thumb, closed her notebook, and glanced at her wristwatch.

  Dinnertime had come and gone, and by now her ever tolerant husband had their two boys bathed and ready for bed.

  The morning's chance encounter with Nestor Barela had turned out to be serendipitous. He had guided Ruth and her team to another site in the narrow valley away from the alluvial fan, where a large, undisturbed colony of Knowlton's cactus thrived. The sight of it nearly made Ruth shiver with delight.

  She had no classes to teach tomorrow and would be back in the valley at first light with her graduate students.

  There was an incredible amount of mapping and census taking yet to be done.

  To protect the plants adequately a good square mile of land, perhaps more, would be needed for a preserve. Although he had no legal responsibility to do so, Mr. Barela had volunteered to supply all the fencing material to temporarily protect the two separate sites.

  She would tell Kevin Kerney about Barela's generosity the next time they spoke.

  Ruth reached for her address book, and dialed Reese Carson's home telephone in Santa Fe. Reese handled all land protection programs for the New Mexico Nature Conservancy.

  "Reese, Ruth Pino. I thought you might like to come up to Las Vegas tomorrow for the day."

  Reese groaned.

  "Is this another last-minute plea to get me to lecture to your undergraduates?"

  "No, I've found something I think you might like to see."

  "Don't keep me hanging, Ruth. Tell me what you've got that would be worth my time."

  "Knowlton's cactus," Ruth said with a smile as she settled back in her chair.

  "You're joking."

  "Outside San Geronimo."

  "You're serious."

  "Completely."

  "Jesus, you know what you've got?"

  "You bet I do."

  Gabe turned off the shower, dried himself quickly, pulled on a pair of jeans and a lightweight sweatshirt, and slipped his feet into a pair of shower dogs.

  A full day of fieldwork hadn't gotten him anywhere.