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.
“Anything else, Dr. Pino?” Reese called after her.
Ruth turned and smiled. “We’re going to have a post-setting, wire-stringing party this weekend. Bring the family, your camping gear, and enough food for two days.”
“You are something,” Reese said.
“Is that an RSVP?”
“I’ll be here.”
9
Although Carl Boaz’s cabin had been thoroughly tossed during the original search, Gabe felt he’d missed something. If Boaz’s journal truly reflected the amount Rudy Espinoza had agreed to pay for access to the woodcutting area, Boaz had settled for chump change.
It was hard to believe Boaz had been that stupid. Boaz had a doctorate, and had put together a sophisticated marijuana production scheme that might have gone undetected if Rudy hadn’t blown him away.
Beyond that, Gabe still couldn’t figure out why Rudy had iced Boaz. Why would Rudy want to kill a conspirator in what amounted to nothing more than a low-grade felony? Assuming Rudy knew about the marijuana cultivation, wouldn’t he think Boaz had every reason to keep his mouth shut about the wood poaching?
He checked the time. He had hours before the phone comp
any records on the women who attended the singles parties would be ready. He searched every nook and cranny of the cabin, the greenhouse, and Boaz’s truck, looking for hiding places that might have been missed. He tore out sections of the cabin walls, shoveled topsoil out of the greenhouse nursery tables, and stripped the interior of the truck down to the metal. He found nothing.
Frustrated, Gabe leaned against the front fender of the truck, and scanned the meadow and the buildings waiting for inspiration. What was he missing? He was about to give up when his gaze settled on the gas-powered electric generator installed on a concrete pad halfway between the cabin and the greenhouse.
He walked to it and took a closer look. The generator, expensive and fairly new, sat on two long metal runners that were bolted to the pad. He found the manufacturer’s plate and a metal tag from an electrical supply company in Lubbock, Texas.
Why would Boaz buy a generator from a company hundreds of miles away when he could get the same item locally? He wrote down the information, went to the greenhouse, and climbed on the roof to inspect the bank of south-facing solar panels. All of them were tagged by the same Lubbock company.
At the water well, he disconnected the power supply, removed the housing cover, pulled up the submersible pump, and found another tag from the Lubbock supply house.
In the cabin, Gabe sat at the table and went through Boaz’s cancelled checks, cash purchase receipts, and lists of expenditures for construction costs he’d checked out of the district office evidence room. Boaz had kept detailed records of his costs to get the operation up and running. None of the items from Lubbock showed up as purchases.
Gabe looked around the cabin. The propane refrigerator and the propane stove looked new. He ran through Boaz’s records again and found no documentation for the purchase of either item.
Where did Boaz get all this stuff?
He pulled the stove and refrigerator away from the wall, wrote down the make, model, and serial numbers, and used his cellular phone to call Russell Thorpe.
“Where are you?” Gabe said, when Thorpe answered.
“Lunch break at the Roadrunner.”
“I need you to run some information through NCIC. Have you got a pen and paper?”
“Roger that.”
Gabe read off the make, model, and serial number for each item and had Thorpe repeat the information back to him.
“How soon do you want this, Sarge?”
“ASAP.”
“I’ll call you right back.”
Gabe used the time waiting for Thorpe to call going over Boaz’s journal line by line, looking for anything that might give him an insight into the murder.
The phone rang and Gabe answered. “What have you got?”
“Three hits, Sarge. The gas-powered generator, solar panels, and the pump were stolen from a Lubbock electrical supply company. The propane refrigerator was boosted from a freight car on a railroad siding in Amarillo, and the propane cooking stove was taken from an appliance store in Midland, Texas. All within the last year. All major heists.”
“Good deal,” Gabe said.
“Where did you find this stuff?” Thorpe asked.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“You got something else you need me to do?”
“I’ll call you back,” Gabe said as he hurried out the cabin door to his vehicle. Angie Romero had a large-screen television in her living room that he wanted to check out.
• • •
Angie opened the front door a crack and gave Gabe a sour look. “What is it?”
“Can I come in?” Gabe asked
“What for?”
“We need to talk about your car.”
“When do I get it back?” Angie asked, swinging the door wide.
“Tomorrow,” Gabe said, stepping inside.
Angie’s smell almost made him retreat to the front porch. She wore a frayed bathrobe, dingy gray pajamas, and a pair of tattered slippers. She ran a shaky hand through her tangled hair and looked at Gabe with bloodshot eyes.
“Mind if I look at your television?” Gabe asked as he walked to the set that stood against a wall.
“Why?”
“Did Rudy buy it?” Gabe pulled the set away from the wall.
“He gave it to me as a present.”
“When?” Gabe found the manufacturer’s information and wrote it down.
“You can’t do that,” Angie said as she crossed the room.
Gabe pushed the set back to its original position. “When did Rudy bring home the TV, Angie?”
“Maybe six months ago. You can’t come in here and paw through my property.”
“Where did Rudy buy it?”
“I don’t know. He just brought it home one day.”
Angie’s closeness made her smell almost unbearable. Gabe moved quickly toward the open door. “Sorry to bother you.”
Angie followed at his heels. “I want my car back.”
“Tomorrow, Angie.” Gabe stepped off the porch.
“It damn well better be here.”
“It will be,” Gabe said with a smile.
He called Thorpe with the information on the television as soon as he was out of Angie’s driveway.
Thorpe called back just as Gabe pulled onto the interstate.
“The TV was stolen from the same store in Midland where the stove was boosted,” he reported.
“Ten-four. Get me complete reports from the Texas authorities on all three heists.”
“What have you got, Sarge?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out. Do one more thing for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Have Angie’s Mustang towed back to her house tomorrow morning.”
“That car can’t be driven until it’s fixed. The front end is totalled.”
“I know it.”
• • •
Before leaving for his class, Richard Bingham provided Kerney with his friend Nancy’s full name and address. The girl lived in a dormitory on the college campus.
A private institution with a small enrollment, the school was situated in the Santa Fe foothills. The nearby mountains, million-dollar homes, and an adjacent private prep school insulated the campus and its carefully tended grounds.
Kerney found Nancy Rubin in her dorm room, introduced himself, and asked a few questions. No more than nineteen years old, Nancy had a slim, lanky body, short curly blonde hair, and a heavy New York accent. She wore three diamond studs in her right earlobe.
The girl confirmed Richard’s version of the events at the ranch involving Luiza, and Kerney left feeling fairly certain that he’d gotten candid answers.
• • •
In Las Vegas, Kerney stopped at the county sheriff’s office and got directions to the Box Z Ranch, where Luiza San Miguel had once been employed. The route took him along a state highway that cut through high, rolling plains and onto a narrow two-lane road that provided a panoramic view of the mountains. Where the dun-colored plains ended, massive, dark opal peaks swept beyond the limits of perception and faded into a rippling, miragelike vagueness.
The road curved away from the view and Kerney saw the first sign of a deep trough that pierced the hilly grasslands. Soon he was hugging the lip of a canyon that cut a thousand feet below the plains and opened out in a widening valley flanked by red-rimmed tabletop mesas.
The pavement turned to dirt, and the road crossed and recrossed a rocky, shallow river, and then rose to expose an expanse of rangeland that seemed to push back the mesas. After navigating a boulder-strewn bypass bulldozed around the remnants of a washed-out wooden bridge, Kerney topped out at a small rise, and stopped to take a look around.
Ten miles south, a lone butte towered where the canyon lands ended. Stands of piñon and juniper trees peppered lush pastures filled with bluestem and Indian rice grass. Patches of spring wildflowers threw color against the foot of the mesas.
Kerney drove toward the butte, taking it all in. Here the l
and dominated, making the small herds of cattle moving across the valley look like dots; turning the ranch road into a vague incision that faded away to nothing in the distance; putting fences, windmills, feed troughs, and stock tanks into a perspective that made man’s efforts seem inconsequential.
Sheltered at the foot of the butte, the Box Z headquarters was surrounded by groves of cottonwood trees. The houses, barns, sheds, outbuildings, and corrals were made of rock and in perfect condition. Behind the barn stood a pitched-roof garage with a red 1930s gasoline pump off to one side. The main ranch house was a two-story Queen Anne Victorian. The roofline was broken by two shingled dormers, and round columns supported the deep front porch.
The man who opened the front door wore a straw cowboy hat pushed back to reveal a high forehead and eyeglasses with plastic frames. Somewhere in his sixties, he had straight lips beneath a pudgy nose and deep creases in his cheeks that ran down to his chin.
“I’m looking for the owner,” Kerney said.
“You found him,” the man replied, glancing at Kerney’s open badge case. “I’m Arlin Fullerton. What brings you out this way, Officer?”
“I have a few questions to ask you about Luiza San Miguel.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I just need to find her,” Kerney replied.
“She took a job last year at Horse Canyon. My wife sure hated to lose that girl,” Arlin said. “If she’s not there, I don’t know where she’s working now. We haven’t kept track of her. Have you checked at Horse Canyon?”
“Yes. What was her reason for leaving the Box Z?”
“She just decided to move on, I guess.”
“Did you hear from her after she left?”
“We got a card from her sometime back.”
“What did it say?”
“Just that she liked her new job.”
“How did you come to hire her?”
“I pay a fair wage, but not too many locals—especially the younger ones—want to work six days a week on a remote ranch. So most of my employees are Mexican. They’ve got their own grapevine when it comes to finding work. My wife was looking for a housekeeper when Luiza showed up.”
“How did she learn about the job?”
“Word of mouth would be my guess.”
“Not one of your employees?”
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