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  Those kids make a mess when they party at the river, and I don't pay my people to spend their time cleaning up beer bottles, garbage, and broken glass."

  "I'd like to talk to the man who first spotted the car," Kerney said.

  "You'll find him at the old Callon La Liendre headquarters.

  His name is Marcelo. He doesn't speak much English. It's the last ranch house on the way out."

  "I've seen it from the road," Kerney said.

  Although he was tired, Russell Thorpe's enthusiasm for his first solo surveillance assignment hadn't diminished.

  He'd followed Bernardo to an early-morning stop at a hardware store, and then to a ranch and farm supply business where Bernardo loaded up an order of steel fence posts and rolls of wire.

  From there, Bernardo drove out of town on the frontage road to the San Geronimo overpass and took a blacktop highway that turned to gravel a few miles outside the village. Thorpe used the dust trail kicked up by the tires to follow Barela through the settlement to Chief Kerney's property.

  With binoculars he watched Bernardo unlock the gate, drive through, and park. After twenty minutes, Ruth Pino and her students arrived in a van. He saw Bernardo and the professor exchange a few words and then drive down the ranch road in a caravan, Bernardo leading the way.

  Several hours passed before Bernardo returned alone with an empty truck and headed toward town.

  Russell stayed well back of the pickup to avoid being spotted. He caught sight of the truck on the ramp to the interstate and closed the gap, keeping two cars between himself and Bernardo. Back in town, Bernardo led Russell down the main drag and onto a side street adjacent to the university, cruising through a residential neighborhood of old homes that had been converted into duplex and apartment rentals for college students.

  Several blocks into the neighborhood, on a tree-lined street, Bernardo pulled to the curb, parked, and walked to a waiting car. A middle-aged man got out, shook Bernardo's hand, and took him up the sidewalk to a small two-story Victorian cottage. The man unlocked the front door and gestured for Bernardo to enter first.

  Russell waited for a minute, then drove by the house slowly, jotting down the phone number on a rental sign in the front window, and the license plate number of the man's car. He circled the block and parked at the end of the street. A few minutes passed before Bernardo and the man came out and stood on the sidewalk talking. Whatever the man said made Bernardo shrug his shoulders and shake his head. The man handed something that looked like a business card to Bernardo, went to his vehicle, and drove away.

  Bernardo waited until the man was out of sight before he dropped the card into the gutter and crossed to his truck.

  Russell retrieved the card after Bernardo left, caught up with him at a red light, and tailed him across the main drag to a street that fronted the old railroad station and hotel. Bernardo parked and went inside the Rough Rider Bar.

  Russell sat in his hot car. The day had warmed considerably and Thorpe's air conditioner didn't work. His face and hands were covered in dust from driving with the windows down on dirt roads and his mouth felt like dry cotton.

  After ten minutes of waiting, Russell decided to eat lunch. He wiped his gritty hands on his pant legs and unwrapped the sandwich he'd packed. The bread was mushy and the meat was limp. He ate it anyway, and washed it down with a warm soda, thinking that sitting inside the Rough Rider Bar with a cold beer was a much more appealing idea.

  He crumpled the wax paper, tossed it on the floorboard, and looked at the business card Bernardo had thrown away. It was from a local property management company. The phone number on the card matched the number on the rental sign in the window of the house.

  Maybe Bernardo was thinking about getting a place of his own.

  Russell's shirt collar felt sticky against the back of his neck and he could feel sweat dripping down his armpits.

  He checked the time. In ten minutes he was due to call in on the secure channel and give an update to dispatch.

  Eating something hadn't been a good idea. After yesterday's double shift, and only a few hours of sack time, the food in his stomach made him drowsy.

  His eyes closed and when his head dropped to his chest, he woke up.

  Startled, he shook off the drowsiness.

  Bernardo's truck was gone and the dispatcher was calling his unit number. He pushed the transmit button on the handheld and answered.

  "You're five minutes late on your call-in," the dispatcher said.

  "Is everything ten-four?"

  Russell cursed, put his car in gear, gunned it to the main drag, and checked both directions for any sign of Bernardo. Nothing. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration.

  "Respond," the dispatcher said.

  "Negative," Russell said, "I've lost the subject."

  "Standby."

  Russell waited with a sinking feeling that he'd fucked up.

  "Return to station," the dispatcher said.

  Russell swallowed hard.

  "Acknowledge."

  "Ten-four," Russell said.

  Gabe rattled his unit over a flagstone outcropping that bisected the ranch road. The vehicle bottomed out and Kerney's head hit the roof.

  They drove past a stock pen that looked large enough to hold five hundred head of cattle, and into the old La Liendre ranch headquarters.

  At the north end of Fullerton's half-million-acre spread, the ranch compound charmed Kerney's eye.

  Two side-by-side houses surrounded by mature trees faced a stone barn and horse stable that was bermed into the ground and covered with a slanted tin roof.

  The older clapboard house looked to be a Victorian-style craftsman model popular during the 1920s.

  Ordered by catalog, the complete building package was shipped by rail, hauled to the building site, and assembled following step-by-step instructions. The screened front porch sagged a bit and a fresh coat of paint was in order, but the house looked to be in fair shape.

  The newer house was flat-roofed, stuccoed, and bordered by a low fence that kept a dark-haired, four-year-old boy in and a small herd of nearby goats out. A satellite television dish was anchored to the side of the dwelling.

  Gabe ground to a stop in front of the gate. The boy ran inside the house as the goats scattered to the horse stable and clattered over the tin roof, raising a racket with their hoofs.

  "I'll take this one," Gabe said as he got out of the unit.

  Kerney followed Gabe up the walkway, stepping around the toys the boy had been playing with. A man in bare feet, with a chubby unshaven face, stepped out to meet them.

  He eyed Gabe's uniform and in Spanish asked what Gabe wanted.

  "Are you Marcelo?" Gabe replied in Spanish as he stepped onto the porch. Through the screen door, Gabe could see a television. It was tuned to a Spanish-language afternoon talk show.

  "Yes."

  "What time yesterday did you discover the abandoned car?"

  "Eleven, no later."

  "And you saw no one?"

  "No. I was in the feed truck. I just stopped and wrote down the license number so I could give it to the boss."

  "Where were you before you found the car?" Gabe asked.

  "Loading the feed truck," Marcelo said.

  "I always put out range supplement the day before we move cattle to a new pasture. It keeps them nearby and easier to find."

  "Did you see anybody while you were loading the truck?"

  "The Barelas drove by."

  "How could you see them from here?"

  Marcelo pointed to the large three-bin feed storage unit that stood opposite the stock pens. On high stilts with chutes under each bin, the unit was designed to fill feeder trucks quickly and easily.

  "I was on top of the bins, checking to see if I needed to reorder,"

  Marcelo said.

  "I can see the road from there."

  "You're sure you saw Bernardo and his uncle?"

  "I just saw their pickup.
I don't know who was in it."

  "What time was that?"

  "Maybe ten or a little later."

  "Which way was the pickup traveling?"

  "Toward their ranch. They were in a hurry. Driving fast. I think maybe Bernardo was by himself and late getting to work. His uncle doesn't let him drive that way when he's around."

  "Did you see any other vehicles on the road?"

  "No. This is not a place where people go driving, except for the town kids who want to drink away from their parents' eyes. But they don't come out here much until the weather gets warmer. Did you find the owner of the car?"

  "Not yet."

  "I hope he's not injured up in one of those canyons," Marcelo said.

  "We've got bear, mountain lions, and coyotes out here that will take down a sick or crippled animal very quickly. We lose stock to them every year. If he's hurt, he could be in big trouble."

  Gabe turned away from Marcelo.

  "Thanks for talking to me."

  "Sure."

  Gabe walked past Kerney, his face pale, his mouth drawn in a hard line.

  Kerney gave Marcelo a business card, asked him to call if he remembered anything else, and joined Gabe in his unit.

  "Did you get any of that?" Gabe asked as he backed up and started down the ranch road.

  "I got it all."

  "Let's go get Bernardo," Gabe said.

  "Not yet."

  "What more do you want, for chrissake? We got Bernardo calling Orlando at home, and a witness who puts Bernardo in the immediate vicinity an hour before Orlando's car was discovered."

  "I want the same thing you do, Gabe. But first we find out what everybody working the case has uncovered."

  "My son could be out there hurt or dead."

  "I know how you feel."

  "No, you don't know. You just think you know."

  Kerney's call sign came over the radio. He picked up the microphone and responded.

  "Go to secure channel," the dispatcher said.

  Kerney switched over.

  Garduno came on the horn.

  "Our subject has eluded surveillance."

  "When did it happen?"

  "At twelve hundred hours."

  "Where?"

  "The Rough Rider Bar."

  "Bring Thorpe in and have him stand by."

  "He's standing by."

  "Swarm the city with every available officer," Kerney said.

  "I want that subject found."

  "We're already looking. Nothing so far. Stop and detain. Chief?"

  "Negative. Locate and follow only. Morfin gets the call as soon as the subject has been spotted."

  "Ten-four."

  "Anything from search and rescue?" Kerney asked.

  "No sign of any campers in the canyons. The dogs are out and the team is still looking. They'll shut it down at nightfall."

  "Ten-four." Kerney's head hit the roof as Gabe gunned the unit over the flagstone outcropping.

  "We're on our way back."

  "This is bullshit," Gabe said as he spun the wheel and made the last turn before the county road.

  "For chris sake, tell Garduno to pick Bernardo up. We've got enough to hold him for questioning."

  The unit hit a series of bowling ball-size rocks and Gabe fought the wheel to keep control. The ruined undercarriage jolted Kerney's head into the roof again.

  "We do it my way, or you go home," Kerney said.

  One block over from Jessica Varela's apartment, Bernardo waited in his truck until the lunch hour ended and students were hurrying out of their apartments headed to afternoon classes. He walked down the alley between the two streets, past the detached garages at the back of the lots. He stopped, pushed against the side door to the garage in Jessica's backyard, and stepped inside. Except for some old garden tools, a rusty green push lawn mower, and several cardboard boxes, the garage was empty. A small window facing the back porch of the house let in a shaft of light. The garage and the window would give Bernardo a perfect hiding place and vantage point.

  He left the garage and continued down the alley, watching and listening for dogs. On his past visits he'd seen only one, a young puppy kept on a leash in the front yard at a corner house. It was far enough away from Jessica's apartment for Bernardo to easily avoid it. But he wanted to be completely sure he hadn't overlooked any other dogs that could draw attention to him. He heard no barking as he walked, and saw no evidence of animals kept in the yards.

  The alley wasn't used much. Weeds, leaves, and small branches from backyard trees carpeted the lane and there was no evidence of recent tire tracks. Bernardo figured only meter readers and utility trucks used the alley.

  He didn't see anybody outside, but a few backyard windows were open and he could hear the sounds of music every now and then. Since just about everybody in the neighborhood attended the university, Bernardo guessed some students were home studying or kicking back after morning classes.

  He ran over his plan as he walked to the truck. The only access to Jessica's apartment was through the front door that led to the ground floor apartment and a staircase to the second story. He would have no trouble getting into the building. During his tour of the empty apartment with the property management dude, he'd unlocked the back door and unlatched a kitchen window.

  Once inside, breaking into Jessica's apartment would be no sweat. Her apartment door had been hung with the hinges on the exterior side. All he had to do was pop off the hinges and he'd be in. Then he'd rehang the door and be waiting when Jessica got back from her night class.

  Bernardo had given the man from the property management company a fictitious name and a story that he was moving to town from Santa Fe to attend summer school and looking for a place to rent. If the cops questioned him it would be enough to throw them off.

  He lit a cigarette and drove away, wondering what he would do to Jessica after she got home. There were so many options to consider.

  But he had all day to decide.

  The thought struck him that Jessica's long blonde hair would be a trophy worth keeping.

  Russell Thorpe stopped talking and sat on the edge of his chair in the conference room with his knees locked together, looking like an overgrown, burly schoolboy who'd been sent to the principal's office.

  He didn't know which made him feel worse, blowing his assignment or lying about it with a lame story about how a beer delivery truck had blocked his view of the bar just long enough to allow Bernardo to leave unnoticed.

  Russell kept his gaze fixed on the wall behind the four men sitting across the conference table and waited for the ax to fall.

  Captain Garduno consulted the notes he'd made while Russell had been talking.

  "What exactly happened at the vacant apartment?"

  Russell blinked and met Garduno's hard stare.

  "Uke I said, Bernardo met this man from a property management firm. They were inside the apartment for maybe five minutes. When they came out, they talked briefly, the man gave Bernardo his card, and then left.

  Bernardo threw the card away. I guess he didn't like the place."

  Kerney read the name on the business card.

  "Aside from Ruth Pino and this Chuck Beasly, did Bernardo talk to anyone else?"

  "Not as far as I know. Chief. He may have when he was in the bar."

  "He didn't stop to take a piss or make a phone call?"

  Art Garda asked.

  "No, Sergeant."

  "So, Bernardo went directly from the hardware store to the ranch supply store, to the mesa, and then met with Beasly at the apartment," Gabe said.

  "That's right. Lieutenant."

  "Did he buy anything at the hardware store?" Gabe asked.

  "I didn't see him walk out carrying anything," Russell said.

  "That's strange," Kerney said.

  "How long was Bernardo waiting for the hardware store to open?"

  "Ten, fifteen minutes."

  "You don't wait for a store to open, go in, and buy
nothing," Art Garda said.

  "Maybe they didn't have what he needed," Russell suggested.

  "Maybe," Gabe said.

  Kerney looked at Gabe.

  "We'll follow up with Beasly and the hardware store."

  Gabe nodded.

  "That's all, Thorpe," Garduno said.

  Russell stood up.

  "Where do you want me. Captain?"

  "Out looking for Bernardo."

  "Don't leave until I talk to you, Thorpe," Kerney said flatly.

  "I'll just be a few minutes."

  "Yes, sir."

  Kerney waited to speak until the door closed behind Thorpe.

  "Do we have anything from the field?" he asked Garduno.

  "With the exception of Gabe, the teller at the bank, and the burger joint manager, so far nobody has seen or talked to Orlando since yesterday morning."

  "What about the student who called and asked to borrow Orlando's class notes?"

  Garduno consulted his paperwork.

  "We've talked to every student enrolled in Orlando's classes. No one admitted to making any such call."

  "So the only verified early-morning call to Orlando we've got is from Bernardo."

  "That's right. Chief."

  "Do we have Kerri Crombie covered?"

  "We've got her buttoned down," Garduno said.

  "The ADA has been calling. She wants a meeting with Gabe ASAP.

  Otherwise she's going to release Santistevan and Aland."

  "Let them walk," Gabe said.

  "We can arrest them again later."

  Kerney switched his attention to Art Garda.

  "Can you handle the meeting with the ADA?"

  "No problem. Chief."

  Kerney got to his feet and looked at Gabe.

  "I'll meet you at your unit."

  Til be there."

  Outside the conference room, Kerney found a nervous Russell Thorpe waiting for him. He led the young man to Garduno's office, closed the door, and searched Thorpe's face.

  "You fell asleep on duty, didn't you?"

  Russell blushed and nodded.

  "I tried not to."

  "It happens to every officer at least once," Kerney said.

  "Most are lucky and don't get caught."

  "Are you going to fire me, Chief?"

  "No. But if you ever lie to me or any other supervisor again, you'll be driving that imaginary beer truck that stopped outside the bar. Do I make myself dear?"