Hermit_s Peak kk-4 Page 17

  Kerney asked Roque.

  "Not likely," Roque said.

  "I always drive my own truck."

  "So, who was riding with you?" Kerney asked Bernardo.

  "Like I said, maybe one of my bros," Bernardo said, jamming his hands into the pocket of his jeans.

  "Maybe I gave somebody a ride. Who said they saw me?"

  "Do you remember if you gave somebody a ride that day?"

  "This is bullshit," Bernardo said.

  "Why the fuck are you asking me these questions again? I already answered you."

  "I'm just trying to find somebody who may have seen Luiza."

  "I didn't see her."

  Roque jabbed his finger hard against Kerney's shoulder before he could ask another question.

  "Don't jack my nephew around because my father won't turn over his lease to you."

  "I'm sorry if you have that impression," Kerney said.

  "That's the way it sounds to me," Roque said.

  "You go to my father's house, lie to him about who you are, and now you show up here playing some sort of hardass cop game. Just leave."

  "Whatever you say," Kerney said as he locked on to Bernardo again.

  "Did Luiza leave her Box Zjob because of you?"

  "Because of me? That's crazy."

  "We'll talk again," Kerney said, to raise Bernardo's tension.

  "I'll listen to anything you have to tell me."

  Bernardo turned his head, cleared his throat, spit on the ground, and said nothing.

  Kerney waited a few beats, nodded good-bye to Roque, gave Bernardo a quick, even stare, and left.

  The grandeur of the valley and canyon lands didn't hold Kerney's attention on the drive back. His mind stayed focused on Bernardo.

  Perhaps the kid had simply made some Don Juan moves on Luiza, got rejected, and-like a lot of young studs-moved on to greener pastures.

  But too many issues led Kerney away from such a generous conclusion.

  Bernardo knew the victim, had shown an interest in her, and could be placed near where Luiza had last been seen, on the same day, and at approximately the same time as her disappearance.

  More damaging was the fact that some of Luiza's bones had been found on land Bernardo's family controlled.

  That, coupled with Bernardo's uneasiness under questioning-his body language, his defensiveness, his vague answers-raised Kerney's suspicions. He stopped at the Las Vegas district office and called Emmet Griffin.

  "You said you saw Luiza occasionally refuse rides from strangers when she went out walking."

  "That's what I said," Griffin replied.

  "Did you ever see her refuse a ride from someone she knew?"

  "I can't say that for sure."

  "Meaning?"

  "Once I saw Nestor Barela's grandson driving real slow on the wrong side of the road, talking to her while she was walking. It went on for maybe a minute or two.

  He spun his wheels and threw up a lot of dust when he left. You know, show-off kid stuff."

  "You mean Bernardo?"

  "That's the only grandson I know."

  "Did you ask Luiza about the incident?"

  "No, I didn't think anything of it at the time. She waved and smiled when I drove by. I figured she was just out on one of her evening walks."

  Kerney thanked Griffin and hung up. What had Bernardo said at the line camp? He took out the pocket-size microcassette recorder he'd used to surreptitiously tape the conversation with Bernardo and Roque and played it back. On the tape Bernardo said he hadn't talked to Luiza after she started work at Horse Canyon.

  According to Emmet Griffin's recollection, mat was a lie. him Anton Chico, Gabe took a look around to familiarize himself with the terrain. The phone company's records showed a customer named Bernadette Lucero had made a number of calls to Buena Vista Lumber and Supply.

  Bernadette had been a participant in the singles events sponsored by the Las Vegas newspaper.

  A cross-check revealed frequent calls from Joaquin Santistevan to Bernadette during the workday from his office phone and late at night from his home. The pattern of calls suggested thatjoaquin's reconciliation with his wife hadn't kept him from keeping company with Bernadette.

  Anton Chico was Spanish for Little Anthony. Some held that the village was named after one of the original Hispanic settlers, others that it was a corruption of and6n chico, which meant "little bend."

  Gabe cast his vote for the little bend theory. The village sat on a gentle rise above the Pecos River where it curved out of a progression of low-lying barrancas and flowed toward the eastern plains. Old cottonwoods graced the wide fields and pastures along the river, and the houses and farms perched above the flood plain were almost all nineteenth-century stone and adobe structures, with a few modern additions tacked on here and there.

  Anton Chico and the neighboring settlements were part of a Mexican land grant still controlled by the descendants of the original colonists.

  Halfway between Las Vegas and Santa Rosa-a city that thrived on the tourist traffic along Interstate 40-the village was off the beaten path, and provided no amenities for travelers.

  Aside from a modern public school and a post office housed in a mobile home on a large dirt lot, the village center consisted of old territorial buildings. A mercantile store, a church, a rectory, some traditional long adobe houses with narrow portals, and old stone cottages with tin roofs faced two parallel lanes.

  There were no gas stations, motels, restaurants, or markets. Where the lanes converged at the outskirts of the village, the pavement ended, and dirt roads wandered to nearby farmhouses and ranches.

  Gabe stopped at the post office and approached the clerk after waiting for several locals to pick up their mail and leave. A round-faced woman with silver hair, she reached for reading glasses that hung from a cord around her neck and studied Gabe's credentials.

  "Do you know Bernadette Lucero?" he asked.

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "She applied for a job as a police dispatcher. We do a background investigation on every job applicant. It's required."

  "You must mean Gloria's daughter," the woman said.

  She removed her glasses and let them dangle against her chest.

  "Is there more than one Bernadette Lucero living in Anton Chico?"

  "Not as far as I know."

  "What can you tell me about her?"

  "She's turned into a real good mother since she had the baby" "How old is her child?"

  "About two months. She had a boy."

  "Do you know the baby's father?"

  The woman shook her head.

  "Bema isn't married."

  "How can I find her?"

  "She lives next door to Gloria and Lenny."

  "Can you give me a last name?"

  "Alarid. Gloria is Bema's mother. She married Lenny after divorcing her first husband."

  "What else can you tell me about Berna?"

  "She's never been in trouble, as far as I know. She went to college up in Las Vegas for a couple of years, driving back and forth to her classes. She dropped out when she got pregnant."

  "How do I get to Bema's house?"

  With directions in hand, Gabe sat in his car and thumbed through the quick field notes he'd made after his last visit to Buena Vista Lumber and Supply. Twenty years as a cop had taught him to write everything down, no matter how inconsequential it seemed at the time.

  Lenny Alarid's name popped up, followed by the notation that he hauled pinon chips to Texas under contract to Buena Vista.

  He had no idea how everything would shake out when the dust settled.

  But he found the developing connections intriguing.

  Bernadette Lucero and the Alarids lived behind the church and rectory.

  A fenced lot enclosed two houses and a free-standing carport large enough for a semi tractor. Surrounding the carport was an assortment of large truck trailers, a stack of spare tires, and accumulated junk.

  A
full-size domestic sedan and a pickup truck were parked in front of a pitched roof adobe house. A smaller double-wide manufactured home, with full skirting and an add-on deck, stood nearby. At the front of the deck steps was a late model sport utility vehicle.

  Behind the carport, among some cedar trees at the backside of the lot, was an old garage with an attached shed. Next to the shed was a major pinon and juniper woodpile.

  Gabe drove past the open gate, turned around, parked between the two homes, and knocked first at the adobe dwelling. After a few minutes and no answer, he tried the manufactured home.

  The young woman who greeted him cradled a baby in one arm. She was bright-eyed, wore her long brown hair in soft curls, and was dressed in a dark blue sweatsuit.

  "Bernadette Lucero?" Gabe gave her a reassuring smile and flipped his badge case open.

  "Yes."

  "Do you have time for a few questions?"

  "I guess so. About what?"

  "May I come in?"

  "Sure."

  Gabe followed Bernadette inside and waited until she settled on the couch with the baby before sitting across from her.

  "What a beautiful baby," he said.

  Bernadette's face lit up.

  "Everybody says that." Holding the infant under his arms, she placed him on her knee facing Gabe.

  "You must be very happy."

  "I am. He's my little jito." She kissed the baby on the top of his head.

  "Does he look like you or like his father?"

  "Oh, his father, of course."

  "Joaquin must be very proud."

  Bernadette's smile vanished.

  "You know about Joaquin?"

  "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

  "Only my mother and Lenny are supposed to know."

  "Debbie doesn't know?"

  "Why should she? Besides, Joaquin is leaving her soon."

  "Is he going to marry you?"

  "In the summer," Bernadette said, her smile returning.

  She bounced the baby happily on her knee and it gurgled in response.

  "I really stopped by to see Lenny."

  "Lenny and my mother are out of town. She goes with him sometimes on his short runs."

  "I'm sorry I missed him. Maybe you can help me. Did you know Rudy Espinoza?"

  "I knew Rudy. He used to cut wood for Lenny."

  "Lenny sells wood?"

  "He takes truckloads to Texas every fall and sells them there."

  "And Rudy supplies the wood?"

  "He did last year."

  "What kind of truck did Rudy drive?"

  "It's in the garage behind the carport. Rudy always left it here. He didn't like to drive it every day because it used too much gas. He just used it mostly when he went woodcutting."

  Gabe suppressed a smile.

  "I hope Joaquin is taking good care of you and the baby."

  "He bought me my house, my car, the furniture, and he pays all the bills. He's a good man."

  "I bet he is. Joaquin and Lenny must do a lot of business together."

  Bernadette nodded in agreement.

  "He keeps Lenny working a lot."

  "A lot?"

  "Well, for Lenny it's one of his biggest contracts."

  "When will Lenny and Gloria get home?"

  "Not until tomorrow sometime."

  "Mind if I take a look at Rudy's truck in the garage?"

  "Go ahead."

  Gabe walked into the garage and let the grin he'd been holding back break across his face as soon as he saw the vehicle. He put on a pair of plastic gloves, opened the truck door and popped the glove box. It contained a handgun. Gabe didn't touch it. He looked closely at the exterior of the doors. On the driver's side was a random pattern of minute brown specks, quite probably Boaz's blood. He checked the tires; the tread pattern matched with those found at Boaz's cabin.

  Outside, he called Thorpe on his cell phone.

  "We've got a bunch of stolen stuff out of Angle's house," Russell said, before Gabe could start talking.

  "Good deal. Is Art Garda with you?"

  "Roger that."

  "I want you both down in Anton Chico, pronto, with a crime scene unit.

  I've found Rudy's truck and the handgun."

  "Ten-four." Russell's voice rose in excitement.

  "Give me your twenty, Sarge."

  Gabe gave Thorpe the directions he'd asked for, disconnected, and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.

  It was time to talk to Bernadette again. Since she had been willing to let him in the garage, she just might give him permission to take a look inside Lenny's house.

  Gabe figured Bernadette was an innocent, gullible kid with nothing to hide, other than her relationship withjoaquin. He decided the best approach would be to convince Bernadette that Rudy Espinoza was the sole object of his investigation.

  A brief conversation with Bernadette yielded a signed form giving Gabe permission to search, and a key to Lenny's front door.

  After his phone conversation with Emmet Griffin, Kerney felt he finally had a suspect. He stopped off at a Las Vegas hardware store, bought a lock and chain for the gate to his property, several tools, and a pair of work gloves. Then he drove out to Erma's old cabin.

  All the crime scene activity had occurred on the mesa, and no one had yet searched the cabin for evidence.

  Dale's discovery of Erma's love letter should have triggered Kerney's interest. He wondered if anything else-like the missing skeletal remains-might be hidden under the rotting hay. It was worth checking.

  He got to the cabin and started bailing out the deep, wet layer of hay with a long-handled pitchfork. Two feet down, the prongs struck a solid surface. Kerney scraped a section clean and exposed a partially rotted plank floor.

  He kept bailing, throwing the hay out the open door, until the pitchfork prongs twanged against rock. He brushed away the last bit of black decomposed hay, and found the edge of the old fireplace hearthstone. The planking that butted against the stone was warped and saturated with moisture. He dug his fingers under the board and pulled it free. Wood joists for the floor rested on the original hard-packed dirt surface.

  He cleaned out the rest of the hay, stood in the center of the cabin, and looked around. All he'd uncovered were the nests of pocket mice and pack rats-no bones.

  Except for one small section at the side of the hearthstone, the floor squeaked and sagged under his feet. He took a closer look. The nails holding down four boards were not the same as the others.

  He pulled the boards free one at a time and found another rat's nest next to a partially chewed-up, disintegrating cardboard box filled with water-stained faded stationery. Carefully, he peeled away one pulpy sheet, held it up to the sunlight that poured through a hole in the roof, and read the salutation.

  Kerney scanned the contents and didn't bother to look for the signature; he recognized the handwriting.

  He gently removed the cardboard box, carried it to his car, popped the trunk, wrapped the box in a blanket, and put it inside.

  He closed the cabin door, drove through the gate, locked it, and headed for Las Vegas. He'd promised Nestor Barela a key to the new gate lock, and it was time to deliver it.

  Nestor Barela's living room was a combination of old and new. Two hand-carved, antique pine blanket chests served as side tables for an overstuffed couch and an imitation leather reclining chair that faced a television set.

  On one wall was a handmade shelf containing an array of framed family photographs, the largest of which, draped in black bunting, Kerney took to be of Nestor's wife. Beneath the shelf was a low wooden stool on which Nestor parked his work boots.

  On the wall behind the television were two paintings.

  One was a portrait of a much younger Nestor Barela, and the other was a landscape of the cabin at the foot of the mesa. Both were dearly Erma's work.

  Nestor sat on the edge of his reclining diair, holding the forgotten key in his hand, staring at the cardboard box on
the coffee table in front of him.

  Kerney said nothing and waited.

  Finally Nestor looked warily at Kerney.

  "What happened between Erma and me occurred many years ago.

  I would rather my children not be told."

  "From what I could tell, Erma stopped writing to you thirty years ago."

  "You read them?"

  "Not really."

  "Our affair ended after three summers. Erma was not comfortable with it. After she stopped coming to the mesa, I hid her letters in the cabin. I couldn't bring myself to destroy them."

  "I understand."

  "I loved my wife, Mr. Kerney."

  "You don't have to explain anything to me, Mr.

  Barela."

  "I remained Erma's friend until she died."

  "You could do no better than to have Erma as a friend."

  "She used to speak to me of a young man who went to the university. The son of her college roommate."

  "That was my mother."

  "Erma had great affection for you."

  "We were both lucky to have her friendship. Did you go to the cabin yesterday to remove Erma's letters?"

  Nestor rose from his chair.

  "Yes. I feared the cabin might be searched because of what happened on the mesa. I didn't want the letters to be found. Will you keep my secret?"

  Kerney got to his feet.

  "Your secret is safe with me. I do have one question for you, on a different subject.

  Does Bernardo frequently use your truck?"

  "No. Why do you ask?"

  "I'm looking for a witness who may have seen a young woman on the day she disappeared. A vehicle much like yours was reported in the area on that same day."

  "Bernardo can only borrow my truck for work. That is my rule."

  "Is it a hard and fast rule?"

  "On occasion, when his car has not been running, I have let him use the truck."

  "Do you remember when that was?"

  "The last time was just after Thanksgiving. He needed to get a new water pump for his car."

  "And before that?"

  "It was last spring, in April, I believe. Bernardo's car would not start, and he had a friend to meet."

  "Do you remember who he was meeting?"

  "No."

  "Do you remember the day?"

  "It was on a weekend."

  "I doubt it's important," Kerney said with a shrug as he held out a business card.