Hermit's Peak (20 page)

Disappointed, he closed the box, put it away, and looked around the three bay garage. It was finished, insulated, heated, and at least twice the size of his apartment. Along with the Jaguar, Bingham owned a top of the line Range Rover and a four-wheel-drive pickup truck, all in cherry condition.

He walked to his vehicle and saw Alicia Bingham leading a fine-looking saddled mare into a training paddock.

She waved to him cheerily, closed the gate, mounted the mare, and guided the horse over a series of fences and a water jump. She rode beautifully.

Emmet Griffin wandered out of the horse barn, threw a foot up on the fence, and watched his boss put the mare through her paces. Kerney joined him.

“Are you making any progress?” Griffin asked. He opened a tin of chewing tobacco and put a pinch in his mouth.

“It's hard to say. Did Luiza give notice before she quit?”

“Nope. She just left.”

“How did she leave?”

“She walked away.”

“Didn't you think that was unusual?”

“Not at the time. She didn't know how to drive, and most evenings, if the weather was nice, she'd go for a walk. She liked to walk.”

“Was she carrying anything when she left?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“Where would she walk to?”

“Mostly down to Ojitos Frios.”

“Was she visiting somebody in the village?”

“I don't know.”

“How was she dressed that evening?”

Griffin shrugged. “Jeans, some sort of top, I think. That's usually what she wore.”

“Did she ever hitch rides?”

“Only with people she knew from the ranch.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Yeah. Couple of times I'd be on the road and see some guy in front of me trying to pick her up. She'd wave him off.”

“What exactly did she say to you before she left?”

“That she was going home. At the time I didn't think she meant right that minute.”

“Who was here that day?”

“Me, my crew, and Richard, the boss's son. The boss was in Los Angeles that week. Richard brought a friend from college with him for the weekend, a girl.”

“Tell me about Richard.”

“He goes to college down in Santa Fe. He comes up on weekends, when school is out, and during summer vacations. He's twenty. A good kid.”

“Did Richard ever come on to Luiza?”

“Richard doesn't like girls that way, if you get my drift.”

“When did Richard and his friend leave?”

“Soon after Luiza did.”

“What was his friend's name?”

“Nancy something.”

“Does Richard live on campus?”

“No, Alicia bought him a condo in Santa Fe.”

“Do you have the address?”

“Yeah, but I'd rather you got that information from the boss. I'm sure she won't mind telling you.”

 • • • 

Gabe arrived at the newspaper office promptly at eight in the morning and waited for Viola Fisher to show up for work. A big-boned woman with a round, cheerful face, Fisher entered her office at eight-fifteen.

“The receptionist said you were a policeman.”

Gabe had his badge case ready. Fisher took it and studied the credentials before giving it back.

“How can I help you?”

“I'd like information on Joaquin Santistevan. He attended some of your singles parties last year.”

“The name rings a bell.” Fisher turned to the file cabinet behind the desk, pulled out a stack of papers, and ran a finger down the pages. “Yes, here he is. He came to our Valentine's Day event a year ago in February. That's our most popular gathering.”

“Was that his first time?” Gabe asked.

“Yes.” Viola flipped through more papers. “Then he attended in March and April. After that, he stopped coming.”

“Do you know if he met somebody?”

“I really couldn't say,” Viola replied. “We use a voice mailbox system. A customer places an ad, a voice mailbox number is assigned through our special telephone line, and each person records a brief message. If
a caller likes what they hear, they leave a message in return.”

“Do you have records of those mailbox assignments?”

“Not unless they are still active. Once a party drops out or makes a connection, the mailbox is reassigned.”

“What kind of information do you collect from your customers?”

“Age, address, and phone number. Whatever else a person is looking for romantically is usually spelled out in their recorded message and weekly personal ad.”

“I'd like the telephone numbers and names of the women who attended the events from February through April of last year.”

“That information is strictly confidential.”

“One of those women may be able to help me solve a murder.”

“Our policy is very clear. We do not release that information.”

“What you're telling me is that some guy can sign up for this dating service you run, rape and murder one of your female customers, and you can't help me because a policy forbids it.” Gabe got to his feet and played a bluff card. “Tell your boss I'll get a court order.”

Viola looked startled. “Who was murdered?”

“I can't release that information.”

Voila raised herself from her chair. “Let me speak to the city editor.”

“I'll be happy to wait,” Gabe replied.

In five minutes, Viola Fisher returned looking a bit chagrined. “We'll be glad to assist you, Sergeant Gonzales.
All we need is your assurance that the information will be used with discretion. We don't want to create any unnecessary anxiety among our customers.”

“I'll handle the matter delicately.”

“Good,” Viola said as she started pulling files.

Gabe left the newspaper building with the names and phone numbers of sixty-eight women. At home, he called the phone company, read off the names and numbers, and asked to have them cross-checked with Santistevan's home phone, the business phone at Buena Vista Lumber and Supply, and the telephone number of Joaquin's uncle, Isaac Medina.

“Is that all?” the phone company supervisor asked sarcastically.

“If you get any hits, I'd like a record of the calls placed by the women, starting in February of last year.”

“This is going to take a while, Gabe,” the supervisor said.

“Mid-afternoon?” Gabe asked hopefully.

“I'll see what I can do.”

 • • • 

Richard Bingham weighed in at no more than 150 pounds on a six-two frame. He had long, curly hair that fell over his forehead, and he was trying hard to grow a mustache. He sat on a chair with a day pack positioned between his knees, busily filling it with textbooks and papers.

He laughed when Kerney questioned him about Luiza.

“Didn't Emmet tell you I'm gay?” he said as he zipped the pack shut.

Kerney didn't respond.

“It's no secret,” Richard said. He walked to the Murphy bed, folded it against the wall, and closed the doors that hid it from view.

Bingham lived in a studio condominium of no more than 800 square feet, yet given its location in downtown Santa Fe, Kerney figured it was worth a pretty penny.

“I gotta go,” Richard said. “I've got a class.”

“Give me a few more minutes,” Kerney replied, gesturing at the chair Richard had vacated.

Reluctantly, the boy sat.

“Did anything happen to upset Luiza the day she disappeared?”

“Well, Nancy kind of freaked her out.”

“How so?”

“She wanted to get it on with Luiza.”

“Nancy's gay?”

“Yeah, and she can be very butch at times.”

“What happened?”

“She kept grabbing at Luiza and talking sexy to her.”

“Anything else?”

“Luiza slapped her in the kitchen after Nancy grabbed her ass. That chilled Nancy out. Then Luiza split and went to her room.”

“When did this happen?”

“About three o'clock in the afternoon.”

“Did you see Luiza after the incident in the kitchen?”

“Not until we left the ranch. She was walking down the side of the road, about halfway between the ranch and Romeroville, when we passed her.”

“Going in which direction?”

“Toward the interstate.”

“Did you stop?”

“No. After what happened we didn't think Luiza wanted to talk to either of us.”

“What time was that?”

“It was getting on toward dusk.”

“Emmet Griffin said that Luiza never hitched rides with strangers. Did you see anyone on the road who might have given her a lift?”

“No.” Richard paused for a moment. “Well, not right away.”

“What about later?”

“You know where the pavement ends as you make the turn out of Romeroville heading toward Ojitos Frios?”

“I do.”

“Bernardo Barela passed me in his grandfather's pickup.”

“Would that be Nestor Barela's grandson?”

“Yeah. He had another guy with him. I didn't know him.”

“Did Bernardo recognize you?”

“No. We were in Nancy's new Pathfinder. Her father had just bought it for her.”

“Did Luiza know Bernardo?”

“Sure.”

“Would she have accepted a ride from Bernardo?”

“If she wanted to get back to the ranch before dark, she might have. I don't know.”

“How well do you know Bernardo?”

“Not well. He stops by at the ranch every now and then.”

“Did he ever say anything to you about Luiza?”

Richard laughed. “Straight Hispanic dudes don't tend to talk about women with gay men.”

“He knows you're gay?”

“Everybody knows.” Richard stood up. “It's who I am. I have to go now.”

 • • • 

Reese Carson rewound his last roll of film and returned his camera to its case. The day had turned windy and a strong gust coursed down the west slope of the mountains, picked up loose top soil from the clear-cut area, and spun a dust devil up the side of the mesa. As he turned away, his wispy, baby-fine brown hair fluttered in the wind and his red-rimmed gray eyes watered.

“Allergies,” Reese said ruefully to Ruth Pino as he sniffled. “What a find you have here. It's absolutely amazing. This is the last place I'd look for Knowlton's cactus.”

“I agree,” Ruth said. She wiped some dust from her own eyes and watched as her graduate students moved slowly across the clear-cut area. The Knowlton's cactus census was complete—over eight thousand plants had been counted at the two separate sites—and now other indigenous plants were being studied and recorded. “But if you compare soil samples, plant life, and elevation to the San Juan County preserve, it's almost a perfect ecosystem match.”

“You mean it
was
a match,” Reese replied. The devastation of the woodlands turned his stomach. “This site is a disaster waiting to happen. And you could lose the second site when the erosion spreads down the valley.”

“We have to move fast,” Ruth said. “Spring runoff in
the canyon is going to wash away more of the alluvial fan.” She pointed to the mesa. “And summer storms will cut more erosion furrows down from the ridgeline. It will be a double whammy.”

Reese nodded glumly in agreement.

“Protecting the site is essential,” Ruth added. “We need to restore the riparian vegetation along the streambed, reforest the woodlands, and stop the accelerated runoff.”

“And fence it,” Reese said.

“That's a given. Actually, we need a series of fences. One for each site and then a perimeter fence.”

“How much of a perimeter?”

“If I could, I'd do the whole ten sections,” Ruth answered. “The ranches east of the county road are being subdivided and sold off. Eventually, development could spread right to the national forest boundary.”

“Is the leaseholder willing to keep his livestock out of the area?”

“He is, and he's willing to supply the materials so we can do some immediate fencing.”

“That will help,” Reese said.

“What about money to buy the property?”

“Slow down, Ruth. That isn't going to happen overnight.”

“Like hell, slow down.”

“We don't even know what the new owner is willing to consider.”

“What can we offer him as an incentive?”

“For now, our assistance. If you're willing to complete the floral and plant community survey, I'll get a
hydrologist out here to map out an emergency erosion control plan.”

“When?” Ruth asked.

“This week. And I think the state forestry division would be willing to donate seedlings. I can get a volunteer crew to do the planting.”

“How fast can you move?”

“I'll get on it right away. Since the land adjoins the national forest, the feds might be willing to help out.”

“Putting a Band-Aid on this isn't going to solve the problem.”

“I know it. I'll call my chapter board members when I get back to the office, explain the situation, and ask for authorization to begin negotiations with the owner. It shouldn't be a problem. I'll need to borrow your field notes and plant and analysis charts.”

“They're in rough draft form and incomplete.”

“It doesn't matter. After I get the board's permission to move, I'll need to sit down with the owner and find out if he's willing to work with us.”

“He will be.” Ruth reached into her back pocket and handed Reese a folded piece of paper.

“What's this?”

“A check for a thousand dollars. I took the money out of my oldest son's college fund. It's for this project only.”

“You don't have to do this.”

“I want those volunteers here next week and the seedlings on hand for planting.” Ruth waved in response to a call from one of her students and started to walk away.