Mexican Hat Read online

  PJ called out in an excited voice just as Kerney finished photographing the tire tracks. Kerney jogged to catch up with the boy and his father, who stood looking down into a rock crevice. A bear cub, huddled behind the dead body of a sibling, whimpered as PJ bent over with his hands on his knees for a closer look.

  Phil turned to Kerney and said something that was lost in the sound of an arriving helicopter.

  “What did you say?” Kerney shouted.

  “I said it’s a damn shame,” Phil Cox shouted, as they walked to where the chopper landed.

  The pilot shut down the engine as a man disembarked and ran, head lowered, through the dust cloud kicked up by the rotor wash. He nodded at Phil Cox and turned his attention immediately to Kerney.

  “You’re Kerney,” he snapped. He was a man in his early thirties, with a serious face and sharp brown eyes. Sand-colored hair flapped over his forehead. He wore a yellow firefighter’s jumpsuit and hiking boots.

  “That’s right,” Kerney replied.

  “Charlie Perry,” he said, brushing his hair back into place. A strand fluttered back down his forehead. “I sure hope you haven’t fucked everything up.”

  The helicopter blades slowed to a dull thudding sound. “That would be embarrassing,” Kerney replied.

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed at the sarcasm. “What have you done so far?” he demanded.

  “Staked evidence. Took photographs. Did a field search.”

  “Show me the carcass,” Charlie ordered, as he started walking away from Kerney.

  Kerney didn’t move. After a few steps Perry turned to face him.

  “There are two cubs over where PJ is standing,” Kerney said, motioning toward the boy. “One is dead. The other one looks sickly.”

  Charlie walked back to Kerney and gave him a sour look. “Why didn’t you call it in, for chrissake?” he demanded. “I would have brought my wildlife manager with me.”

  “We just found those cubs,” Phil interjected. “Get off your high horse, Charlie.”

  Charlie gave Phil a tight smile and looked at Kerney. “Wait here,” he ordered, as he turned on his heel and went to the chopper.

  As he talked to the pilot, Phil nodded his head in Charlie’s direction. “Now, isn’t he a piece of work?”

  “I like his warmth,” Kerney replied.

  Phil chuckled. “He sure puts a man at ease, doesn’t he?”

  Charlie returned carrying a canvas duffel bag. “I’m sending the chopper back for my wildlife manager after you’ve shown me what you’ve done,” he said to Kerney. “The pilot will drop you off at your vehicle. I’ll take it from here.”

  Kerney gave Perry a tour, while Charlie fired questions at him, each one more terse than the last, his tone peevish. When Charlie finished grilling him, Kerney turned over the Polaroids, exposed film, and evidence and stepped back to take another look at the man. Perry had close-set eyes and a pinched nose. His fingers were long and nervous. Almost skinny, Perry stood just under six feet tall. His shoulders sloped a bit.

  Charlie flipped through the Polaroids without comment and stuck them in the breast pocket of his jumpsuit. He looked up at Kerney without any change in expression. “You can take off. Get back on patrol.”

  Dismissed, Kerney nodded wordlessly, gathered up his gear, and headed for the helicopter.

  Phil Cox walked along with him. “It seems to me you did a damn good job out there.”

  “Thanks. This was my first case where the victim was a bear,” Kerney admitted.

  “What other kind of cases have you had?”

  “The two-legged variety,” Kerney said as he climbed into the helicopter. “But that was some time ago.”

  The pilot cranked up the engine. Phil stuck his head through the open door into the cockpit as Kerney strapped on the seat belt. “I didn’t mean to sound so pissed off at you.” He finished the apology with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “You didn’t. Thanks for your help. And thank PJ for me.”

  “I’ll do it. Stop by for a visit when you have the time.”

  “Be glad to,” Kerney answered.

  Phil waited for Kerney to ask for directions. “I’m over by Old Horse Springs,” he finally added, when Kerney remained silent. “Turn off at the Slash Z sign on the highway.”

  Kerney smiled. “I know where it is.”

  THERE WAS NO ANSWER to Kerney’s knock at the door of the Triple H ranch house. A station wagon with an Albuquerque car dealer’s decal on the tailgate was parked in front of a double garage. He knocked harder and waited. The limbs of an old cottonwood at the back of the house overhung the roof. The home, a contemporary single-story ranch-style, was neat as a pin on the outside. The landscaping, apple trees bordered by a moss rock planting bed filled with flowers, was carefully tended. Against a small hill within hailing distance stood a weathered horse barn with a corral and a loading chute built out of old railroad ties nearby.

  Kerney knocked again, got no answer, and gave up. On his way to the truck, he heard a woman’s voice calling from the backyard.

  “Cody, you get in here right this minute! I mean it, young man!”

  He turned the corner of the house in time to see a shirtless, shoeless boy scoot up some steps and fly through the open door of an enclosed screened porch into an old stone house set back against a ridgeline. The screen door slammed closed behind him. It must be the original ranch house, Kerney thought. Square and chunky, it had a big stone chimney at one end, a rock foundation, and old-fashioned casement windows.

  Kerney knocked at the screen door. The porch floor was stacked with moving boxes in various stages of being emptied. From inside the house he heard two children, a boy and a girl, arguing over who had been given permission to feed a puppy. The animal, a short-haired mongrel no more than twelve weeks old, answered Kerney’s knock with a wag of its tail, pushed the screen door open with its nose, sniffed Kerney’s boots, and wandered down the steps into the yard.

  “Hello,” Kerney called out.

  The children’s chattering stopped, followed by their rapid arrival at the porch door. They were attractive kids with brown hair, fair skin, and bright, inquisitive faces.

  The girl, about eight years old, had long braids that she twisted absentmindedly with her finger. She gave Kerney a shy smile. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hello. Are your parents home?”

  “My father doesn’t live here.”

  “Can I speak to your mother?”

  “We’re very busy right now,” the girl replied.

  “I won’t take much of her time.”

  “I’ll ask her.” The girl retreated into the darkness of the front room.

  The boy, about five, dressed in cutoff jeans, stood directly in front of Kerney, squinting up at him. He peeled an orange with his fingers, stuffed a wedge into his mouth, and dropped the rind on the floor.

  “What kind of policeman are you?” the boy asked as he inspected Kerney’s holstered handgun and the badge pinned on his uniform shirt.

  “I’m a ranger with the Forest Service.”

  The boy swallowed the orange slice. “I’d like to be a policeman when I grow up,” he said. “Or a rancher like my grandfather.”

  Kerney hunkered down to get at eye level with the boy. “Which job do you think you’d like best?”

  “Ranching,” the boy replied. “You get to ride horses and drive trucks. I like driving the tractor best. My grandfather lets me sit on his lap and steer. That’s fun.”

  “I bet it is.”

  The boy held out his orange. “Want some?”

  Kerney pulled off a portion and thanked the boy.

  A woman wearing shorts and a peach-colored sleeveless jersey stepped through a side door that led from the kitchen to the porch. She glanced at Kerney, who rose to greet her, and paused to look into some open boxes. “That’s where my saucepan is,” she said to herself, taking it out of the carton. “Cody, pick up that orange peel and go help your sister. I see Cody has been
feeding you,” she said to Kerney as she approached.

  “He gave me a piece of his orange,” Kerney answered.

  Cody gathered up his litter, stuffed it into a pocket, and refused to budge. He wrapped his arm around his mother’s leg as soon as she moved into striking range. Her hand dropped gently to his bare shoulder. “Your fingers are sticky,” she said.

  Cody smiled up at her.

  “My parents are in Silver City for the day,” the woman said. “Is there something I can do for you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s not a forest fire, I hope. That damn helicopter flew over twice this morning.”

  Kerney shook his head. “No.” With creamy skin, cobalt-blue eyes, and black hair that spilled against her shoulders, the woman was very good-looking. The bones of her face, fine and delicate, were set off by a strong mouth that hinted at toughness. Late thirties, Kerney guessed. He looked down at the boy, who still had his arm firmly wrapped around his mother’s thigh. Slightly above average height, the lady had long, well-formed legs.

  “Somebody killed a black bear on the mesa,” Kerney explained. “I’m looking into it. Have you seen any unfamiliar vehicles go by recently? Or any strangers?”

  “Why do people do that?” she demanded, stomping her foot. “That makes me so mad.” She shook her head in disgust. “Just a minute.” She pried Cody’s arm from her leg. “Go,” she ordered, in an even tone of voice.

  Cody didn’t move.

  “Right now, young man,” she added, with the hint of a threat in her voice.

  Cody groaned, gave her a dirty look, and shuffled off to the kitchen.

  “I’ve been so busy moving in, I haven’t noticed anything except this mess,” she answered, gesturing at the boxes. “Besides, that damn house my parents built blocks my view of the road. I swear I’m going to tear it down after they die. I just hate it. If they want to live in a house like that, they should move to Albuquerque.”

  “It looks well cared for,” Kerney noted, trying to remain neutral.

  “My father prides himself on keeping things in perfect order. But the house belongs in a subdivision, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “It does seem a bit out of place.” Kerney took out a business card and wrote his name on the back. “Could you have your father call me?” he asked, handing her the card.

  The woman studied the card. “Kevin Kerney,” she said, looking over his shoulder. “Bubba, get over here!”

  Kerney turned. The puppy was busily digging up a flower bed. It took one short leap, then wheeled and trotted off toward the house the woman hated.

  “Cody. Elizabeth. Go get Bubba before he destroys all of Grandmother’s flowers.”

  The children tumbled down the porch steps and started chasing Bubba.

  “I named him Bubba because he’s so damn stupid,” the woman explained.

  She looked at the card again, then back at Kerney and caught him staring at her legs. Her eyes measured him directly. He was tall, with square shoulders, brown hair with a hint of gray at the sideburns, and calm blue eyes that looked back at her without flinching. His features, angular and strong, were offset by a mouth that seemed on the verge of a smile.

  “I’ll give Dad your card.”

  “Thank you,” Kerney said, smiling in earnest now.

  She watched him walk down the flagstone path with a limp that threw him slightly off-center. She switched her attention to her children, who had chased Bubba back into the yard and were trying to tackle the puppy as he barked and ran between their legs. She smiled as the chase turned into a game. She tapped the business card against the back of her hand and looked at it once more. Kevin Kerney. She liked the name.

  She stuck the card in the frame of the screen door where she wouldn’t forget it and went inside. There was an incredible amount of unpacking still left to do.

  STOPS AT THE LAST RANCH in the canyon and at the bar, store, and two restaurants in Glenwood yielded no information on possible suspects. Kerney drove the short distance down the highway to the district ranger station, checked in with Yolanda, the secretary, found an empty desk in a back office, and started writing his report. He was almost finished when Charlie Perry came in and stood over the desk, looking down at him. Kerney glanced up, said nothing, and returned to his writing. The expression on Perry’s face was enough to tell him that Charlie was steamed.

  “I don’t recall giving you permission to continue the investigation,” Charlie said sharply.

  “You didn’t,” Kerney allowed.

  “That’s right. I understand you have some law enforcement experience. I relieved you on the mesa and sent you back on patrol. You should know what that means.”

  “I do.”

  “Are you always so fucking insubordinate?”

  “Not always.”

  Charlie scowled. Kerney locked his gaze on Perry’s face and settled back in his chair to wait the man out. Charlie blinked first.

  “Okay,” Charlie finally said, “you’re new and you’re seasonal, but this isn’t the Luna office. I handle all the investigations in the district.”

  “I understand from Phil Cox that you’re good at it,” Kerney replied.

  “That’s nice to hear, but it’s not the point,” Charlie shot back. “Poaching and illegal trophy hunting are a way of life for most of the people in this district. It’s part of their culture. They do it to feed themselves, to make money, or just for sport. There are twenty-five hundred people spread out over almost seven thousand square miles in Catron County. A hell of a lot of them are poor as church mice, and they know the forest better than any ranger. Catching them isn’t easy.

  “You’re wasting your time canvassing. You got two kinds of people who live here—the minority who want poaching stopped, but who aren’t going to snitch on their neighbors, and all the rest, who see it as a birthright. Folks poach depending on how hungry they get, how broke they are, or how bullheaded they feel. You can’t approach it like a criminal investigation. It doesn’t work that way. And the locals aren’t going to talk to some newcomer they don’t know or trust.”

  Charlie was still scolding. Kerney didn’t want to make it worse. “I understand,” he said.

  “Good. I’ll be at the Blue Range burn for the rest of the day. Finish your patrol shift and report back to the Luna office in the morning. Leave your report with Yolanda. I’ll read it later.”

  Kerney tapped his paperwork with the tip of the ballpoint pen. “Do you have any poaching files I can look at?” he asked. “I’d like to learn more about it.”

  “You don’t have the time.”

  “I’ll do it after work,” Kerney countered.

  Charlie considered Kerney. He hoped to God he was never in the man’s predicament. He knew Kerney was a medically retired cop from Santa Fe hired on an emergency basis by Samuel Aldrich in the Albuquerque Office to fill in for a permanent employee on extended sick leave. The rest Charlie could see for himself: a hobbled-up, middle-aged man in a temporary job that would end no matter how hard he worked or how much he tried to please—not that placating people seemed to be much of a concern to Kerney. There were simply no permanent staff vacancies, with all the budget cuts.

  “Catching poachers isn’t your job,” Charlie said. “I thought I made that clear.”

  “You did.” Kerney leaned back in the chair and smiled at Charlie. “Explain something else to me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Why are you pulling my chain? I don’t think asking a few questions has damaged the investigation.”

  “That’s your point of view,” Charlie replied bluntly.

  “Is there more to this case than meets the eye?”

  Charlie exhaled loudly through his nose and shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s not your case. It’s not your business. End of discussion.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Charlie left, and in a few minutes Kerney heard the helicopter lift off to take Perry back to his fire. As he paper-clip
ped the report together, Kerney wondered why Charlie had stonewalled him about the case. It made no sense, and dismissing Perry as an arrogant, hard-nosed son of a bitch wasn’t a completely satisfying explanation.

  Kerney walked down the hall and gave his report to Yolanda for typing. She promptly dumped it on the top of an overflowing tray. A heavyset, slow-moving woman with expressionless eyes, she held Kerney back from leaving.

  “Charlie said for you to work a double shift,” she informed him.

  There was a bite to the announcement. Charlie had obviously made his feelings about Kerney known to Yolanda.

  “Did he really? What does he want me to do?”

  “Campground patrol.” She pulled open the desk drawer and handed him two keys on a chain. “For gasoline and the office,” she explained. “Just leave your paperwork on Charlie’s desk.”

  “Anything else?”

  Yolanda shook her head and turned back to the typewriter.

  It looked like the dead black bear was going to be the high point of his day.

  THE DISTRICT OFFICE WAS DARK and locked when Kerney returned from his double shift. He sat in Charlie’s office reading closed poaching cases he’d found in the bottom desk drawer. It was meager stuff; mostly small-fry poachers who had been snitched off, caught taking game out of season, or found spotlighting prey at night. A few trophy hunters had been busted while transporting carcasses out of the forest.

  Charlie’s open cases were stuffed in a file cabinet and consisted of a mixture of poaching and trophy kills, with no solid leads, witnesses, or hard evidence. All of Charlie’s attention seemed focused on game-taking within the Glenwood District. Kerney wondered about similar activity in other areas. He scanned through a stack of game-kill bulletins from other agencies. One bighorn sheep had recently been taken on state land by a poacher using an ATV, and several exotic ibex from the herd in the Florida Mountains east of Deming had been harvested earlier in the year. An all-terrain vehicle had been seen in the vicinity by a Bureau of Land Management officer.

  With the bear kill on the mesa, that would make at least three cases where an ATV had been used to get to the killing ground. It was enough to raise Kerney’s interest. He went to the map posted in the front lobby and studied it. Aside from Forest Service land, there were large parcels under the control of the Bureau of Land Management and smaller sections owned by the state. Maybe Charlie Perry had tunnel vision.