“I really stopped by to see Lenny.”
“Lenny and my mother are out of town. She goes with him sometimes on his short runs.”
“I’m sorry I missed him. Maybe you can help me. Did you know Rudy Espinoza?”
“I knew Rudy. He used to cut wood for Lenny.”
“Lenny sells wood?”
“He takes truckloads to Texas every fall and sells them there.”
“And Rudy supplies the wood?”
“He did last year.”
“What kind of truck did Rudy drive?”
“It’s in the garage behind the carport. Rudy always left it here. He didn’t like to drive it every day because it used too much gas. He just used it mostly when he went woodcutting.”
Gabe suppressed a smile. “I hope Joaquin is taking good care of you and the baby.”
“He bought me my house, my car, the furniture, and he pays all the bills. He’s a good man.”
“I bet he is. Joaquin and Lenny must do a lot of business together.”
Bernadette nodded in agreement. “He keeps Lenny working a lot.”
“A lot?”
“Well, for Lenny it’s one of his biggest contracts.”
“When will Lenny and Gloria get home?”
“Not until tomorrow sometime.”
“Mind if I take a look at Rudy’s truck in the garage?”
“Go ahead.”
Gabe walked into the garage and let the grin he’d been holding back break across his face as soon as he saw the vehicle. He put on a pair of plastic gloves, opened the truck door and popped the glove box. It contained a handgun. Gabe didn’t touch it. He looked closely at the exterior of the doors. On the driver’s side was a random pattern of minute brown specks, quite probably Boaz’s blood. He checked the tires; the tread pattern matched with those found at Boaz’s cabin.
Outside, he called Thorpe on his cell phone.
“We’ve got a bunch of stolen stuff out of Angie’s house,” Russell said, before Gabe could start talking.
“Good deal. Is Art Garcia with you?”
“Roger that.”
“I want you both down in Anton Chico, pronto, with a crime scene unit. I’ve found Rudy’s truck and the handgun.”
“Ten-four.” Russell’s voice rose in excitement. “Give me your twenty, Sarge.”
Gabe gave Thorpe the directions he’d asked for, disconnected, and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.
It was time to talk to Bernadette again. Since she had been willing to let him in the garage, she just might give him permission to take a look inside Lenny’s house.
Gabe figured Bernadette was an innocent, gullible kid with nothing to hide, other than her relationship with Joaquin. He decided the best approach would be to convince Bernadette that Rudy Espinoza was the sole object of his investigation.
A brief conversation with Bernadette yielded a signed form giving Gabe permission to search, and a key to Lenny’s front door.
• • •
After his phone conversation with Emmet Griffin, Kerney felt he finally had a suspect. He stopped off at a Las Vegas hardware store, bought a lock and chain for the gate to his property, several tools, and a pair of work gloves. Then he drove out to Erma’s old cabin.
All the crime scene activity had occurred on the mesa, and no one had yet searched the cabin for evidence. Dale’s discovery of Erma’s love letter should have triggered Kerney’s interest. He wondered if anything else—like the missing skeletal remains—might be hidden under the rotting hay. It was worth checking.
He got to the cabin and started bailing out the deep, wet layer of hay with a long-handled pitchfork. Two feet down, the prongs struck a solid surface. Kerney scraped a section clean and exposed a partially rotted plank floor.
He kept bailing, throwing the hay out the open door, until the pitchfork prongs twanged against rock. He brushed away the last bit of black decomposed hay, and found the edge of the old fireplace hearthstone. The planking that butted against the stone was warped and saturated with moisture. He dug his fingers under the board and pulled it free. Wood joists for the floor rested on the original hard-packed dirt surface.
He cleaned out the rest of the hay, stood in the center of the cabin, and looked around. All he’d uncovered were the nests of pocket mice and pack rats—no bones.
Except for one small section at the side of the hearthstone, the floor squeaked and sagged under his feet. He took a closer look. The nails holding down four boards were not the same as the others.
He pulled the boards free one at a time and found another rat’s nest next to a partially chewed-up, disintegrating cardboard box filled with water-stained faded stationery. Carefully, he peeled away one pulpy sheet, held it up to the sunlight that poured through a hole in the roof, and read the salutation.
Kerney scanned the contents and didn’t bother to look for the signature; he recognized the handwriting. He gently removed the cardboard box, carried it to his car, popped the trunk, wrapped the box in a blanket, and put it inside.
He closed the cabin door, drove through the gate, locked it, and headed for Las Vegas. He’d promised Nestor Barela a key to the new gate lock, and it was time to deliver it.
• • •
Nestor Barela’s living room was a combination of old and new. Two hand-carved, antique pine blanket chests served as side tables for an overstuffed couch and an imitation leather reclining chair that faced a television set. On one wall was a handmade shelf containing an array of framed family photographs, the largest of which, draped in black bunting, Kerney took to be of Nestor’s wife. Beneath the shelf was a low wooden stool on which Nestor parked his work boots.
On the wall behind the television were two paintings. One was a portrait of a much younger Nestor Barela, and the other was a landscape of the cabin at the foot of the mesa. Both were clearly Erma’s work.
Nestor sat on the edge of his reclining chair, holding the forgotten key in his hand, staring at the cardboard box on the coffee table in front of him.
Kerney said nothing and waited.
Finally Nestor looked warily at Kerney. “What happened between Erma and me occurred many years ago. I would rather my children not be told.”
“From what I could tell, Erma stopped writing to you thirty years ago.”
“You read them?”
“Not really.”
“Our affair ended after three summers. Erma was not comfortable with it. After she stopped coming to the mesa, I hid her letters in the cabin. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy them.”
“I understand.”
“I loved my wife, Mr. Kerney.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Mr. Barela.”
“I remained Erma’s friend until she died.”
“You could do no better than to have Erma as a friend.”
“She used to speak to me of a young man who went to the university. The son of her college roommate.”
“That was my mother.”
“Erma had great affection for you.”
“We were both lucky to have her friendship. Did you go to the cabin yesterday to remove Erma’s letters?”
Nestor rose from his chair. “Yes. I feared the cabin might be searched because of what happened on the mesa. I didn’t want the letters to be found. Will you keep my secret?”
Kerney got to his feet. “Your secret is safe with me. I do have one question for you, on a different subject. Does Bernardo frequently use your truck?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I’m looking for a witness who may have seen a young woman on the day she disappeared. A vehicle much like yours was reported in the area on that same day.”
“Bernardo can only borrow my truck for work. That is my rule.”
“Is it a hard and fast rule?”
“On occasion, when his car has not been running, I have let him use the truck.”
“Do you remember when that was?”
“The last
time was just after Thanksgiving. He needed to get a new water pump for his car.”
“And before that?”
“It was last spring, in April, I believe. Bernardo’s car would not start, and he had a friend to meet.”
“Do you remember who he was meeting?”
“No.”
“Do you remember the day?”
“It was on a weekend.”
“I doubt it’s important,” Kerney said with a shrug as he held out a business card. “But I do need to talk to Bernardo. Would you ask him to call me when he has a chance?”
“I will see that he does.”
“Thank you.”
Kerney left the Barela compound thinking that digging up Nestor Barela’s long-buried secret had unearthed another reason to suspect Bernardo. His next step was to identify the passenger in Nestor’s truck, find the kid, and take a statement.
The evening wind blew hard out of the mountains. It swirled last fall’s leaves into the air, whipped through tree boughs dense with buds, and shouldered the car toward the center of the roadway.
Kerney headed for the district office. He would check in with Santa Fe, deal by phone with whatever required his immediate attention, and stay the night in Las Vegas. In the morning, he’d start looking for Bernardo’s bros.
10
Minutes after checking into a Las Vegas motel, Kerney got a phone call that took him to Anton Chico. He arrived to find a group of locals lined up along the fence of the Alarid property, watching crime scene technicians gathering evidence from a pickup truck inside a garage. Several uniforms were searching large trailers parked on the lot. On the wooden deck of a modular home, a young woman barely out of her teens watched the activity with wide eyes. She wore a warm coat and held a baby bundled in a blanket against her hip.
Kerney spotted Captain Garduno in front of a single-story adobe house. Garduno, red-faced and angry, had Gabe Gonzales, Russell Thorpe, and another uniformed officer braced. Kerney stayed back and listened while Garduno butt-chewed Gabe for pursuing an investigation while on administrative leave. When Garduno finished ragging at the other two men for helping Gonzales, he saw Kerney, and walked to him.
“You heard that?” Garduno asked.
“I did. You need to know that I authorized Sergeant Gonzales to continue his investigation.”
Garduno’s face turned red. “We got a chain of command here, Chief. You should have informed me.”
“You’re right, I should have.”
Garduno pulled his chin back and scanned Kerney’s face. “If you want to take over my job and run the district, at least tell me to my face.”
“That was not my intention, Captain.”
Garduno squared his shoulders. “This is a policy violation. I have to document it for the record.”
“Write it up, Captain, and make it clear in your report that I assume full responsibility for the infraction.”
“Are you serious?”
“You bet I am. Send your report directly to Chief Baca.”
“You mean that?”
“Consider it an order, Captain.” Kerney took a step away from Garduno and stopped. “It looks like Gabe has made some progress in the case, doesn’t it?” he added.
Garduno opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and clamped his lips together.
Gabe, Russell Thorpe, and the patrol officer—a man Kerney didn’t know—nodded when he drew near. The officer wore corporal chevrons and hash marks on his uniform shirt denoting a senior patrolman with ten years of service. His name tag read Art Garcia.
“Is everything squared away?” Gabe asked.
“I think so.”
Gabe introduced Kerney to Art Garcia. After shaking Garcia’s hand, Kerney asked for a status report.
“We’ve recovered a handgun, a chain saw, and a pair of wire cutters from the truck,” Gabe replied. “The gun is the same caliber used in the Boaz shooting. There’s blood splatter on the driver’s door, and the tires match the tread impressions we took at Boaz’s cabin.”
“Do you have any idea why Rudy killed Boaz?”
“According to Boaz’s journal, he was squeezing Rudy for more money. I figure he knew that Rudy was pulling jobs in the San Geronimo area, and fencing hot merchandise out of Texas. My guess is Rudy wanted to make sure Boaz didn’t talk.”
“That’s a damn good motive for murder. Have you tied Rudy into any of the San Geronimo burglaries?”
Gabe shook his head. “Not yet. But I think Lenny Alarid and Joaquin Santistevan were in on them with Rudy. I doubt Rudy was the brains behind the operation.”
“Run it down for me.”
“Rudy was part of an interstate burglary and fencing scheme operating between here and West Texas. We’ve recovered a number of items from the Boaz cabin and Angie Romero’s house that were taken in major West Texas heists. I believe Rudy kept some of the stolen merchandise for himself and gave some to Boaz as partial payment for access to the woodcutting site.”
“What else have you got?”
Gabe nodded at the girl on the deck. “Joaquin is supporting a wife at home, as well as Berna over there with her new baby. He bought Berna a house, a car, and furniture, which I don’t think he paid for out of the salary his daddy gives him.
“Berna is Lenny’s step-daughter. He makes frequent runs to West Texas, hauling firewood and wood chips for Santistevan. I don’t think that’s all he’s been freighting.”
“Do you have any hard evidence?” Kerney asked.
“No, but Berna said Lenny keeps a semitrailer on the property that he uses for special runs. She doesn’t know what kind. He moved it off the property yesterday.”
“You think he transferred the stolen goods?”
“That’s what I would have done,” Gabe replied. “I’d like to send Thorpe and Officer Garcia down to Santa Rosa to poke around. If Alarid did move the stolen merchandise, Santa Rosa would be a good spot to store it.”
“Do it.”
Gabe turned to Thorpe and Garcia. “Take off, guys. I want every warehouse, storage unit, or possible hiding place in Santa Rosa covered by morning. Call me at home if you find anything.”
Thorpe grinned and Garcia nodded.
Kerney waited to speak until the two men were on the way to their units. “What can you tell me about Bernardo Barela that isn’t in the background information Captain Garduno prepared for me?”
“Not much. He had some juvenile arrests when he was in his early teens. Mostly for getting into fights and underage drinking. Nothing serious enough to get him locked up. He was released to the custody of his parents.”
“No juvenile probation?”
“Not that I know of. I think maybe he got some informal counseling.”
“What kind of fights did he have?”
“Pushing and shoving matches. The usual teenage stuff.”
“And the drinking?”
“Open six-packs found in a friend’s car. Stopped and questioned at rowdy parties. Nothing more than that.”
“Anything since then?”
“No. He seems to have straightened himself out.”
“So, he’s a good kid?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Gabe considered his answer. “There’s an edge to Bernardo. He’s respectful with me, but I get the feeling it’s just surface bullshit. You know how some kids cover up their insolence by acting super polite?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“That’s Bernardo. Underneath, he thinks he’s a tough guy.”
“Does he have any gang connections?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know who he hangs with?”
“My son, Orlando, might. He’s known Bernardo since high school. They played varsity baseball together.”
“How can I contact Orlando?”
“He’s at work.” Gabe gave Kerney the name of the fast-food burger joint. “Can I ask what you’ve got going, Chief?
”
“I’ve got a possible ID on the dead woman, and information that Bernardo may have had more than a passing interest in her.”
“That’s it?”
“He was seen in the company of an unknown companion on the road to Ojitos Frios the day the dead woman disappeared.”
“That’s worth checking out. Is the victim on our missing persons list?”
“She was never reported as missing.”
Gabe waited for more but Kerney remained silent. “Orlando may be able to help you. He doesn’t pal around with Bernardo all that much, but he probably knows who does.”
“I’ll stop by and talk to him.”
“Captain Garduno is going to ding me for working this case, Chief. I’m getting a letter of reprimand for my personnel jacket.”
“No, you’re not. Garduno is going to write me up.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m serious. In fact, I made it an order.”
Speechless, Gabe watched Kerney leave. Never in his career had Gabe ever known of a commander or supervisor ordering a subordinate to write him up. Kerney’s action took Gabe off the hook, big time. The chief knew how to keep his word.
He thought about calling Orlando at work to let him know Kerney would be coming around to ask questions, and decided against it. Orlando could handle the situation without any fatherly advice.
He walked toward Berna’s house. It was time to sit down with the girl and take a written statement.
• • •
Although the day had not been overly hot, the cool of the evening brought many Tucson residents out on the streets. Most stores and small businesses stayed open late to accommodate shoppers, and the wide boulevards buzzed with traffic.
Susie had made dinner reservations at a restaurant located in one of Tucson’s original shopping malls. Sara expected to be dining in an enclosed, air-conditioned space filled with franchised businesses and chain department stores. Instead she found herself seated on the open patio of a bistro in a single-story, block-long building that had a mission-style feel to it.
After the meal and a lot of small talk, they wandered in and out of the bookstores, art galleries, boutiques, and antique shops that opened onto interior patios nicely landscaped with mesquites, paloverde trees, and creosote bushes.
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