Hermit_s Peak kk-4 Page 14

  He had half a mind to confront Joaquin Sandstevan directly and put the squeeze on him about Rudy Espinoza. What held Gabe back was the nagging idea that Boaz hadn't been killed simply to cover up the wood theft. There had to be more to it than that. For now, he would keep digging and let Sanristevan think he had nothing to worry about.

  As Gabe walked downstairs he decided to follow up on Angle Romero's interesting tidbit about Joaquin's involvement with another woman during his separation from his wife. He found Orlando at the kitchen table looking through his open briefcase.

  "What are you doing?" Gabe snapped.

  Orlando closed the briefcase and turned to face his father.

  "Nothing."

  "You know better than to mess with my stuff."

  "Sorry. I was just…"

  "Just what?"

  "Interested, that's all."

  Gabe pulled the briefcase off the table and studied his son. Orlando kept his eyes glued on the tabletop.

  "You shot Rudy Espinoza," Orlando said.

  "Don't you dare tell anyone about that," Gabe replied as he sat.

  "People are already saying you did it. Are you going to lose your job?"

  "No."

  Orlando shifted nervously in his chair.

  "You could retire."

  "Not while you're in school."

  "I've been thinking about transferring to another school for my senior year."

  "Why? You've got just a little more than a year until you graduate."

  "I'm bored. The classes are too easy. There's no challenge."

  "For chrissake, you're on the dean's list. Where would you go?"

  "Albuquerque."

  "And live with your mother?"

  "Maybe."

  "Have you talked to her about it?"

  "Not yet."

  "Will all your credits transfer?"

  "I don't know. I just know I'm bored with school here and sick of living in Las Vegas."

  Gabe let out a sigh.

  "You're over twenty-one and I can't make you stay, but I think it's a dumb move at this stage."

  "I'm not asking for your advice or help. I plan to do it on my own."

  Gabe shook his head, mostly as a reminder to himself to stop arguing with his son.

  "Do what you think is best.

  But let's talk about this again later, okay?"

  "You wouldn't be pissed at me?"

  "No."

  "You sure?"

  Gabe reached over and rumpled his son's hair.

  "I'm sure. But I'll miss you if you leave."

  "Me, too."

  "Do you still have that baseball card collection?"

  "Yeah, it's in my closet. What made you think about that?"

  "It flashed through my mind a couple of days ago, and I remembered all the time we spent looking for those hard-to-find cards you just had to have. You were nuts about those cards."

  "Yeah." Orlando forced a smile and glanced at the briefcase.

  "Are you still mad at me for looking through your stuff?"

  "No. Just keep what you read to yourself, and don't be sneaky, okay?

  I'd rather have you ask."

  Orlando stood up.

  "Okay. I work from six to midnight."

  Gabe checked the wall clock.

  "Well, you better go flip those burgers."

  "The job sucks."

  "Which makes finishing college all the more important."

  "I'm going to finish. Dad. Just not here."

  "It sure sounds that way."

  "Later."

  "Yeah."

  Orlando left and Gabe stared at the wall while reality bit him in the ass. He knew Orlando's leaving was inevitable, but he'd never imagined it would happen before he finished college. He pushed himself out of the chair, made a sandwich, ate it quickly, went to his bedroom, and put on his shoes and socks. Coming downstairs he could hear his footsteps echo through the house. Maybe he should sell the goddamn place like Orlando suggested, or at least rent it out and move into something smaller.

  He grabbed a jacket from the hall closet. Tonight he would hit the bars and work the Santistevan girlfriend angle.

  Bernardo opened the car door, climbed into the passenger seat, and gave Orlando a broad smile.

  "What's up?"

  Noise from cars crossing the highway bridge over the train tracks vibrated through the open windows.

  "My dad is just working on the Rudy Espinoza shooting, nothing else."

  "He blew Rudy away, didn't he?"

  "I don't know about that."

  Bernardo laughed.

  "Bullshit."

  "Fuck you."

  "Is that all you know?"

  "Luiza's bones haven't been identified, and the two officers who were working on the case have been reassigned."

  "Does that mean they're giving up?"

  "I don't know what it means."

  "It sounds like it to me."

  "Every case stays open until it's solved. I know that much," Orlando said.

  "They're never going to solve it," Bernardo said, putting his hand on the door latch.

  "Stay in touch."

  "I don't think so."

  "Play it that way, if you want."

  Orlando shot Bernardo a hard look.

  "What we did doesn't bother you, does it?"

  "Worrying about it won't change anything."

  "That's cold."

  Bernardo got out and ducked his head inside the open window.

  "You sure you don't want to keep your eyes and ears open, just in case?"

  Orlando shook his head.

  "I'm out of it."

  "Suit yourself."

  "Just split, Bernardo. I'm already late for work."

  Except for a dispatcher and one officer who was finishing her end-of-shift paperwork, the district office was empty. Gabe exchanged a few words with the woman, told the dispatcher he'd stopped by to pick up some personal items, and moved on to the shift commander's cubicle he shared with two other sergeants.

  He booted up the computer, accessed Motor Vehicle records, typed in Joaquin Sannstevan's name, scrolled through the file to the photograph, and printed a copy.

  The photo came out grainy but usable. He stuck it in his pocket and glanced across the corridor at the vacant assistant commander's office.

  He wondered if he would ever get to pin lieutenant bars on his collar and move in. Two days ago, his chances for the promotion looked good.

  Now, maybe they weren't so hot, unless he could tie Rudy Espinoza to the Carl Boaz murder. With Orlando planning to leave home, he wasn't so sure he cared.

  He left the office and drove down the main strip, stopping at each bar along the way, showing Sandstevan's photo and asking bartenders and customers if they knew Joaquin. None of them did.

  He tried the college hangouts near the university with the same results, and dedded on one more stop at the Plaza Hotel bar before calling it quits for the night. Inside, two couples-obviously out-of-town hotel guests-were sitting together at a window table that looked out at the plaza, and three men were at the bar watching a basketball game on the wall-mounted television.

  He approached the bartender and showed her his shield andjoaquin's picture.

  "I know him by sight, not by name," the woman said.

  "But he doesn't drink here. I haven't seen him for a while."

  "Where did you see him?"

  "At the monthly singles party. The local paper sponsors it. They use one of the banquet rooms in the hotel. I work them for the extra money."

  "When was that?"

  "Last year. Maybe April or May, I don't remember exactly. He came three or four times in a row."

  "Did you see him connect with anybody?"

  The woman laughed as she nodded at a customer holding up an empty beer glass and moved away to refill it.

  "Are you kidding?" she said when she came back.

  "Those singles events are nothing but a feeding frenzy for hu
stlers of both sexes."

  "Do you remember anything about Santistevan?"

  "He liked to hit on young, pretty girls."

  "How young?"

  "Young enough to card if they wanted alcohol."

  "Do you know who runs the singles party for the newspaper?"

  "Viola Fisher. She coordinates it. Orders the finger food, pays for the banquet room, signs people in when they arrive-that son of stuff."

  "She keeps a roster?"

  "Oh, yeah. You can't come to the party unless you take out an ad in the personals. It's in the paper every week. Haven't you seen it?"

  "I usually skip over it."

  The woman glanced down at Gabe's left hand. There was no wedding ring.

  "Maybe you should pay more attention. There are a lot of women your age who'd love a shot at you."

  "That's good to know."

  Kerney's apartment felt cold and looked dingy. He roamed around restlessly, tidying things up, trying not to think about Sara. But that was impossible. He stood in the middle of the small living room disgusted with the way he lived. Seeing Sara had made him want more than a crummy place and an empty bed to sleep in. Sara lit him up inside, and he didn't want to loose her or that feeling.

  He was half-asleep on the couch when the telephone rang. He grabbed for it, hoping it was Sara.

  "Are you awake?" Dale asked.

  "More or less."

  "I've been thinking about the partnership idea," Dale said.

  "I'd really like to do it."

  "I don't see how it can happen."

  "Why not?"

  "I'd have to pay six million dollars in taxes to keep all ten sections.

  Erma's lawyer figures the payments to the IRS would be over four hundred thousand a year."

  "What in the hell have you got on that mesa, a gold mine?"

  "It's more like suburban sprawl pushing up land values. Everybody wants five or ten acres of paradise. The real estate developers and some area ranchers are eager to oblige."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I haven't decided."

  "Sell it," Dale said, "and look for something closer to my spread.

  Maybe around Carrizozo, or over in the Black Hills. I know a couple of ranchers who might consider a fair offer. I could put you in touch with them."

  "That's a thought."

  "You don't sound very enthusiastic about the idea."

  "I've been distracted lately."

  "The murder case?"

  "That, and Sara. She showed up at my door Sunday night."

  Dale let out a hoot.

  "No wonder you're distracted. Is she there? Let me talk to her."

  "She's come and gone."

  "What happened?"

  "Damn if I know. I thought everything was going great, then she just up and left."

  "Did you two argue?"

  "No, she just took off to visit a girlfriend in Tucson.

  Said she had some thinking to do."

  "About what?"

  "I don't have a due."

  "You sound pretty low."

  "I guess I am. I miss her. Dale. No woman has ever meant as much to me."

  "I've been waiting a long time to hear you say that.

  You need a woman in you life, Kerney, and Sara's the cream of the crop."

  "What should I do?"

  "Ride it out. She probably just needs some breathing room. Women are like that."

  "I hope so."

  "I'm telling you the gospel truth."

  "I don't want to think about it anymore."

  "So let's change the subject," Dale said.

  "I still think we can put a partnership together."

  "We'll talk about it later."

  "Jesus, cheer up. She'll be back."

  "Yeah." Kerney hung up and headed for the bedroom, hoping he could push Sara out of his mind and get a few hours sleep.

  Kerney arrived at Horse Canyon Ranch as the morning sun washed the deep purple off the mountains. He eyed the headquarters as he drove down the paved ranch road, thinking that sooner or later one of those trendy, glossy magazines would undoubtedly feature Alida Bingham and her marvelous hacienda in an issue on living the good life in northern New Mexico.

  It would be a gross distortion of how the local people in the valley lived in their mobile homes, ramshackle farms, and subdivision-type stick houses plunked down in the middle of five-and ten-acre tracts.

  But it would sell copies, and have people from coast to coast dreaming of pinon logs crackling in a kiva fireplace, sweeping vistas of mountain ranges, and private trophy homes nestled near the wilderness.

  His quick and dirty background check on Alida Bingham had revealed that the woman was an English dozen, part of the Hollywood film scene, divorced, wealthy, and a member of several international horse breeder and riding competition organizations.

  He rang the doorbell at the hadenda and waited, wondering what, other than a love of horses, had drawn Alida Bingham to New Mexico.

  Alida Bingham opened the door and studied the man standing under the portal at her front door. Tall, with wide, square shoulders, brown hair touched with gray at the sideburns, and keen, deep blue eyes, he was quite good looking.

  She took the business card from his hand and glanced at the policeman's badge held up for her inspection.

  "Griffin said you might be stopping by for a chat," Alida said.

  "Do come in. Chief Kerney."

  Kerney stepped inside the vestibule. Along one wall stood a large flowered vase used for umbrella storage. A pair of Wellingtons sat under a coat rack that held an assortment of rain gear, jackets, and barn coats. A three-legged occasional table opposite the coat rack contained fresh-cut flowers in a blue-and-white milk pitcher, a ceramic table lamp, and an assortment of family photographs in gold frames.

  He followed Alida Bingham into the living room.

  Oriental rugs were scattered around the floor, family portraits and photographs filled the walls, and chintz curtains in a spring flower print draped the long windows.

  Deep sofas and chairs, separated by an oversize ottoman used to hold an array of books and magazines, occupied the space in front of a large fireplace. Somehow, the very English decor blended nicely with the clean lines of the double adobe house.

  "Join me in the conservatory," Alida said as she led the way through the room.

  Never having seen a conservatory before, Kerney followed along curiously. It turned out to be a sun room used for dining that took full advantage of the morning light. The round gate leg table centered in the middle of the room was antique oak with matching high ladder back chairs. On an exposed adobe wall hung a nineteenth-century sampler made by Marjorie Higgins, age ten. Below an elaborate alphabet and numbers, young Marjorie had embroidered a three-story Georgian mansion surrounded by lush grounds.

  "Would you care for some coffee or tea?" Alicia asked as she sat.

  "No thank you," Kerney repUed, joining her at the table. He made Bingham to be somewhere in her early forties. Dressed in a, gray-striped cashmere sweater and designer blue jeans, she had perfect teeth, wide set brown eyes, and short, light brown hair that covered her ears.

  "I shouldn't like to rush you, but please ask your questions straight away. I have a very busy morning ahead of me."

  "Emmet Griffin said you might know why Luiza left her position."

  Alicia Bingham smiled.

  "I'm afraid during Luiza's time with us I was frantically engaged in so many different projects, I didn't give her very much attention."

  "She gave you no reason for leaving?"

  "Homesickness certainly was an issue for her. I don't believe she realized that she would be viewed by the local Hispanics more as an Indian than a Latina."

  "She felt shunned?"

  "I would say so. The locals pride themselves on their Spanish heritage. Many view Mexicans with disdain."

  "She made these feelings dear to you?"

  "Yes. Luiza spoke passabl
e English. She attended a Baptist missionary school in Chiapas for several years. I was sorry to lose her. She was a very capable housekeeper."

  "Did she complain of any inappropriate attention from your male employees?"

  "The men flitted around her for a time until I put a stop to it. She was quite an exotic-looking creature."

  "She made no complaints about anyone specifically?"

  Alicia shook her head.

  "She simply asked me to keep the men from interrupting her at work."

  "Was she more agreeable to their attentions on her free time?"

  "Insofar as I could tell, no. She rarely left the ranch when I was here."

  "You don't live here full-time?"

  "Heavens, no. My ex-husband and I own and operate a special effects studio in Los Angeles. I divide my time between here and California."

  "So, you can't say for certain what Luiza did during your absences."

  "Griffin would have advised me of any concerns or issues. There were none as far as I know."

  "Did Luiza leave suddenly?"

  "Yes, but that's not uncommon with immigrant workers. They tend to come and go without much warning."

  "Did she have a green card?"

  "Yes. I follow the immigration rules carefully. Chief Kerney. As an Englishwoman, I certainly do not wish to violate any American laws that would jeopardize my permanent resident status."

  "You have documentation?"

  "In my files."

  "Did Luiza leave any personal belongings behind?"

  "As a matter of fact, she did. A box of clothing, most of which I had passed along to her. We were almost the same size. I still have them stored in the garage. I expected that she would write to have the box sent along by post, but I never heard from her."

  "I'd like to see it."

  "Of course."

  "And the immigration forms for Luiza, if it's no bother."

  "I'll get them for you." Alida rose, left the room, and returned with a slim folder.

  Kerney read through it quickly. It looked to be in order.

  "May I borrow this for a day or two?"

  "Yes."

  "If you don't think it too personal, may I ask what brought you to New Mexico?"

  Alida smiled.

  "When I was a young girl, I had a darling great-uncle who was in his nineties. He was my absolute favorite member of the family. He was the youngest son of a minor peer who struck out for America early in the century. Quite a few of the lads without hopes of inheriting did so during the waning years of the empire. He came to New Mexico and worked on a cattle ranch before World War I. He told such glorious stories of his adventures, I just knew someday I would have to live here."