Mexican hat (27 page)

"You broke my fucking nose," he gasped.

"Isn't this fun?" Kemey replied, as he backed up a few steps, out of Amador's range. "Now, very slowly, I want you to drop to your knees and lie facedown on the ground with your arms and legs spread out at your sides. You know the drill."

"Are you going to kill me?" Amador whined. His stomach heaved and his breath came in quick gasps.

"Do it!" Kemey snapped.

Ortiz sank down and assumed the position.

Kerney walked behind him, cocked the pistol, and patted Amador down. He had no weapons.

"I had a little chat with Steve last night before he died," Kerney said. "He told me you knew about his freelance poaching job. In fact, he said you let him take time off from work to go hunting."

Mexican Hal ■ 24?

Amador grunted.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"I knew about it."

"That makes you an accessory to murder."

"You're a fucking murderer yourself."

"I guess we're both in a shitload of trouble. Who told you to call Jim Stiles and tell him about Padilla Canyon?"

"Nobody."

"Don't lie to me, Amador."

"Let me get up," Amador begged. "My nose hurts real bad."

"Come slowly to your knees and keep your arms outstretched."

Amador complied.

"Who told you to call Jim Stiles?" Kerney repeated.

"Gatewood has me by the balls, man. 1 did a burglary three years ago. I needed money, so I hit one of the vacation cabins. The owner had it wired with a silent alarm. Gatewood got a call from the alarm company and caught me on the road with all the goodies."

"So you're Gatewood's snitch," Kerney said. "Did he tell you to call Jim Stiles?"

"That's what I'm saying, man."

"Thanks, Amador. You can go home now."

"You mean it?"

"I sure do. Get that nose looked after."

As Amador started to rise, Kerney cold-cocked him.

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n

Kerney left Amador where he fell. A bad feeling about beating up the man left a sour taste in his mouth. He cursed himself for giving in to the anger and drove away. From the number of the squad cars patrolling the streets of Reserve it looked as though Gatewood, all his deputies, and the state police were out searching for him. Fortunately they weren't looking for him in Jim's truck. On the highway to Silver City, Kerney considered his options. With a murder-one APB out on him, playing hide-and-seek with Gatewood and his cronies wasn't an appealing idea. He could go to ground, stay in the open and risk the possibility of the danger inherent in a felony arrest, or turn himself in to the Silver City police and deal with Karen Cox. He had no place to hide

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and no desire to get conveniently shot for resisting arrest—which was a distinct possibility, given Gatewood's culpability. That left jail as his only option. He would have to gamble that Karen Cox would play by the rules.

In Silver City he called Charlie Perry from a pay phone, told him what he planned to do, and asked him to get in touch with Karen and fill her in on the facts about Steve Lujan's murder. Perry was willing to oblige: Spence's handgun had been recovered, ballistics had matched the weapon to the slugs in Steve Lujan's body, and Spence's fingerprints had been lifted from the gun.

"I'll tell Gatewood to cancel the APB and void the arrest warrant," Perry added.

"Leave Gatewood out of it," Kerney snapped. "According to Amador Ortiz, it was Gatewood who told him to set up Jim Stiles for the ambush at Padilla Canyon."

"That's serious shit," Perry said.

"You bet it is," Kerney replied.

"Where's Ortiz now?" Perry asked.

"I had to beat the truth out of him. He's probably home with a broken nose."

Perry sighed. "You're some kind of hot-dog cowboy, aren't you?"

"Whatever," Kerney said. "One more thing: talk to Karen Cox in person, okay?"

"Are you paranoid, Kerney?"

"No, cautious," Kerney answered. "Paranoia is an FBI trait."

"Not anymore. J. Edgar Hoover is dead," Perry replied and hung up.

It was well into the graveyard shift when Kerney turned himself in to the on-duty commander at the police department. He was

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photographed, fingerprinted, booked, and placed in a holding cell. After about an hour, the commander, a young lieutenant with a washed-out complexion, tired eyes, and a weight lifter's body, returned and squinted at him through the bars of the cell.

"Looks like you've had a busy night," the lieutenant said. "There are additional charges pending on you out of Catron County. Seems you forced some guy off his property at gunpoint and pistol-whipped him. Do you want to call a lawyer?"

"No," Kerney answered without hesitation. For now, he was in the safest room in town, and it wasn't costing him a dime. "Call the ADA in Catron County for me and tell her what's happening. Her name is Karen Cox."

The lieutenant nodded. "I'll give her a call." He passed a brown bag through the bars, "Sack lunch," he explained. "Left over from the morning prisoner run to the courthouse."

Kerney took the bag and opened it. It contained a bologna sandwich on white bread, an orange, and a cookie. "Thanks."

"No problem."

The lieutenant stayed put and watched Kerney eat his meal. When he'd finished, Kerney crumpled up the bag and gave it back to the officer.

"I hear you were a good cop in your day," the lieutenant said.

"I like to think so," Kerney allowed.

"That guy you cold-cocked must have really pissed you off."

Kerney laughed and stretched out on the cot.

"Did I say something funny?"

"Yeah, in a way, you did. It reminded me of the old saying 'There's no such thing as a free lunch.' Nice try, Lieutenant."

The lieutenant shrugged lazily. "You can't blame me for trying."

e X i c a n Hat ■ 25

"I don't. But a stale sandwich, a cookie, and a piece of fruit

won't get you a confession."

"It might help if you talked about it. I'm a good listener." "And I'm an innocent man," Kerney said. He waited until the

lieutenant gave up and walked away before closing his eyes. He was

asleep within minutes.

"I WANT TO MAKE SURE I'm doing the right thing," Mfs. Wheeler said.

Emily Wheeler, age eighty-five and the author of The People of Pie Town: The Last of the Frontier Homesteaders, smiled at Jim Stiles and Molly Hamilton as they sat close to each other on the sofa. A nice-looking young couple, she thought to herself, but the young man would look better without those nasty scratches on his face, the eye patch, and his arm in a sling.

"I understand, ma'am," Jim replied.

The front room of the small house had pictures everywhere: in frames on the bookcases, in carefully placed arrangements on the walls, and lined up on the top of an upright piano. Many of the photographs were old, dating back to anywhere from the turn of the century through World War II. Emily Wheeler kept her memories right where she could see them.

"What can you tell us about Louise Cox?" Molly asked,

Mrs. Wheeler, perched at the edge of a Victorian chair, placed her hands firmly in her lap. A slight woman, she sat as erect as a young girl. She wore a housecoat and slippers. Her round face, widely spaced eyes, button chin, and full lips gave her an appearance of perpetual cheeriness.

252 ■ Michael McGarrity

"She was just a sweetheart," Emily said. "The schoolchildren absolutely adored her. She was an excellent teacher."

"I'm sure she was," Jim said. "When was the last time you had any contact with her?"

"I'm not sure Louise would want me to tell you anything more. Is she in some kind of trouble?"

"No, ma'am. We just need to talk to her."

Emily eyed the young man cautiously.

"Can you tell us how to contact her?" Jim prodded.

"I really don't feel comfortable betraying a confidence," Emily replied.

On the end table next to the sofa was a copy of Emily Wheeler's book. Molly picked it up. "What fun it must have been to write this book," she said.

"Have you seen it before?" Emily asked.

"Oh, yes. We have the copy you donated to the library at Western New Mexico University. I keep it in the reference section."

Emily smiled at the young woman. "I'm pleased to hear that. Do you work at the library?"

"Yes. You did an amazing amount of research. You must have spent a lot of time tracking people down."

"It was a lot of work. I spent a great deal of time trying to locate people who had moved away. I had some luck, too." Emily hesitated.

"What sort of luck?" Molly asked.

"Oh, it was very serendipitous. Once or twice I heard about the whereabouts of somebody from one of the folks I had contacted."

"Did that happen with Louise?" Molly asked.

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"Yes. Some old Pie Town residents ran into her shortly after they moved from New Mexico to a retirement community in Arizona. They sent me Louise's address,"

"Did you write to Louise?"

"I did. She sent me a short note back saying it would be better if she left the past alone. She asked me not to tell anybody where she was living."

"I wonder why she felt the need to do that," Molly said.

"I have no idea. I never saw her again after she moved away and married. Nobody did. That was a very long time ago."

"If we can find her, it would be a great help," Molly urged. "We need to speak to her about her ex-husband. It is really nothing more than a family matter. Do you have her address?"

"I believe it would be best if you found her on your own."

"There is some urgency," Molly countered. "And if we can find Louise, she may be able to help her family."

Emily Wheeler considered the young woman for a long moment before reaching for her address book from the side table. "I hope I'm doing the right thing."

"I think you're a dear to trust us," Molly replied.

"She lives in Green Valley, south of Tucson. It's a retirement community." Emily Wheeler put on her glasses and slowly read Louise Cox's address so the young man could write it down accurately.

"Thank you for your help," Molly said.

MOLLY BACKED HER CAR, a year-old Mustang hardtop, out of the driveway and headed for Reserve.

"You're going the wrong way," Jim said.

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She braked and pulled to the shoulder of the road. "I have to be at work in the morning. I have a job, Jim. Remember?"

"Call in sick and go to Green Valley with me," he proposed.

"I don't have a change of clothes or anything I need."

"Fll use my credit cards. We can drive straight through, get a room, catch a few hours' sleep, and buy some fresh duds in Tucson."

"Are you serious?"

"You bet I am. Besides, I may need you to sweet-talk Louise Cox the way you did Emily Wheeler."

"I was pretty good, wasn't I?"

"More than good. You were great."

"Green Valley it is," Molly replied, after a momentary pause. "But it's going to cost you."

"I certainly hope so."

A PREDAWN RAINSTORM, usually a delight to Karen, only served to reinforce her bitchy mood. She hated saddling her father with Elizabeth and Cody and breaking her promise to visit Mom at the hospital, but three phone calls—one from Omar Gatewood, one from a police lieutenant in Silver City, and one from Charlie Perry, asking her to stop by his office—made it necessary. She started with Gatewood. In the sheriffs office, she stood in front of his desk and read Amador Ortiz's sworn statement accusing Kerney of an unprovoked attack. Omar watched her from his chair with a look of satisfaction on his face, then pushed an arrest warrant across the desk.

"I'm not signing it," Karen said, looking down at the document.

"What's the problem?"

"You went over my head on the murder warrant. I don't appreciate your little bullshit game."

e X i c a n Hat ■ 255

"I had sufficient probable cause," he argued, stung by Karen's bluntness.

"Maybe so, but you still went around me."

Gatewood waved the paperwork at her. "This is a solid criminal complaint."

"That's my decision to make. I want to talk to Kerney before I decide. I want to make absolutely sure the complaint is reliable."

"Amador has no reason to lie," Gatewood rebutted.

"It's one man's word against another," Karen replied, "and it's my call to make."

"Whatever you say," Omar replied, forcing a compliant smile.

"Don't even think about blindsiding me this time, Omar," Karen said, her eyes locked on his.

She left Gatewood, his frozen smile still plastered on his face, and headed down the road to find out what Charlie Perry wanted to see her about.

OMAR GATEWOOD sank against the cushion of his chair, stared at the ceiling, cracked his knuckles, and rubbed the back of his neck. Karen Cox was turning out to be nothing but trouble. He didn't know if she was fucking with him or just acting like a gung-ho, know-it-all rookie who wanted to do everything herself. He did know that there wasn't a damn thing wrong with the arrest affidavit.

He stood up, took his handgun from the desk drawer, and slipped it into the high-rise holster. Maybe he'd better talk to Amador one more time, just to make sure he really hadn't told Kerney anything.

The phone rang, and he grabbed it. "What is it?"

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"What happened?" a voice asked,

"She wants to talk to Kerney first before she signs the warrant. Don't sweat it—Silver City will hold him on the murder-one charge. He's not going anywhere."

"See that he doesn't. What does Kerney know?"

"Nothing," Gatewood replied.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm going to talk to Amador again."

"If Amador lied to you, get him out of town until this blows over."

"This is turning into a real pile of shit," Gatewood hissed into the telephone.