Sulfur Springs

by William Kent Krueger

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Got me. This here’s Tohono O’odham land. Some kind of old military training strip, maybe. Peter found it. He uses it as a drop-off and pickup point when he’s leading groups up from the border near Sasabe. Border Patrol knows about it, so I just drop him and take off quick. Maybe he keeps a Jeep out here or has arranged for transport, I don’t know. Could be he just walks.”

  I turned in a full circle. Like everywhere else in that part of Arizona, there were mountains in almost every direction, hard walls that rimmed the horizons.

  “You go far enough north from here, you hit Eighty-Six between Sells and Three Points. It’s plenty walkable, especially if you’ve got someone who knows what they’re doing, knows how to keep the sign cutters from finding their tracks.”

  “Sign cutters? The Border Patrol, you mean?”

  “Exactly. They’re damn good at what they do, and what they do is find people who cross that border illegally. But Peter’s every bit as good at erasing his trail as they are at cutting sign.”

  “So that’s the only way, walking north?”

  “You could also head east, beyond the Santa Margaritas toward Arivaca. Go far enough and you hit I-Nineteen. It’s pretty much impossible if you don’t know what you’re doing, but that wasn’t Peter. I don’t know if he walked his groups to one of the highways, or crossed the mountains, or if there was a rendezvous point where other Desert Angels were waiting with vehicles. Or maybe he used a safe place somewhere as a kind of way station. He didn’t let us in on that part of the operation.”

  “You dropped him here two days ago?”

  “A couple of hours before sunset. Then I flew back.”

  “How did you know when to return to pick him up?”

  “This time it was preset. I was supposed to be here at noon yesterday. I showed up, Peter didn’t. I flew the whole area, a crisscross pattern. Couldn’t see a thing. I went back to my place and took my motorcycle up to the winery to talk to Frank about it. That’s when you folks showed up.”

  “You don’t know where along the border he was going to meet his group?”

  “Only the general area, and I spent a good deal of today flying that. The truth is, finding a body out here, especially when you don’t really know where to look, well, good luck with that one, mister.”

  “I’ve got the coordinates for the spot where the rendezvous was supposed to take place.”

  I could see his surprise. Clearly, he had no idea of Nikki Edwards’s part in all this. Peter’s wisdom. He took a map from the biplane, laid it on the wing, and found the location.

  “How far from here?” I asked.

  “No more than an hour’s walk.”

  “You said good luck finding a body. You think Peter’s dead?”

  “I hope not. But out here, the way things are, it’s best to steel yourself.”

  “When the pickup wasn’t preset, how did he communicate?”

  “Called Old Turtle’s phone.”

  “Used a cell phone?”

  “Coverage is pretty hit and miss out here. Probably a satellite phone.”

  “What if he didn’t?”

  “He’d have to be someplace where he could get a signal. Best bet would be east. The Santa Margaritas.” He nodded toward a wall of mountains in that direction.

  “You know that range?”

  “Not well.”

  “Who does?”

  “The Border Patrol. Also some of the old prospectors, I imagine. That area was part of the Oro Rico Mining District. Some big operations there in the day. All closed down now, I believe. And Oro Rico itself is just a ghost town.”

  “Have you flown over the area?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Could we do that?”

  “Not today. Need to get back before the light’s gone.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  He looked toward the Santa Margaritas. Since we’d departed Coronado County, the sun had dropped low in the sky. The heat was unchanged, the desert still an oven, and the mountains to the east were a blazing wall of red-orange fire against the hard, blue sky.

  “Why not?” He looked at me wistfully and gave a little shrug. “But who knows? Maybe we’ll hear something before then.”

  We took off and flew over the rendezvous point. The border fence there was nothing but strung wire. We stayed low enough that we could scan the desert for any sign of Peter or the people he’d arranged to lead to safety, but like Jocko had said, spotting an unmoving body in that broad expanse would be next to impossible. I had to fight hard against the sense that all this was useless.

  We flew south of the Coronados and came up over the high grassland to Jocko’s little spread and landing strip. I’d thought Rainy would rush out, hoping for news, but no one met us when we climbed down from the biplane. We walked to the ranch house. It was empty. The pickup truck Michelle had loaned us was still parked in front, but Harris’s F-150 was gone.

  “She probably took Frank up on his offer and went back to the winery with him,” Jocko suggested. “Let me give him a call.” He used his landline. “Frank, it’s me. You at the winery? Is that little lady Rainy there, too?” He shook his head. “No, she’s not. Thought maybe she’d gone with you.” He listened and said, “When we know, we’ll let you know.” He hung up and looked at me as if I’d asked a question to which he had no answer.

  I pulled out my cell phone and saw that I had plenty of bars. “Let me try calling her.”

  I punched in her number. A few moments later it began to ring. Outside the ranch house, I heard the notes of “Natural Woman” playing. Rainy’s ringtone. I headed out the door, but the call went to voice mail. The sun had dropped below the Coronados, and I stood with Jocko in the blue twilight and called again. The song played from somewhere in the tall grass that grew beyond the cottonwoods sheltering the house. I followed the sound but didn’t nail its location before my call went to voice mail again. I tried once more. The ringtone came from an area just ahead of me, where the grass was crushed and matted in the way I sometimes found in the foliage of the Northwoods where deer had bedded down for the night. The pale green-yellow of the standing grass was splashed with a darker, rust color. But I knew it wasn’t rust.

  “Jesus,” Jocko said quietly at my back.

  I’d been in this place before, losing someone I loved deeply. The phone sang to me, but for a moment, I couldn’t make my legs move. Then Rainy’s voice came on the line, brightly telling me to leave a message, and I walked forward.

  Her phone lay in the center of the bloody, matted-down grass. Rainy wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER 13

  * * *

  “What were you doing in Mr. Wieman’s biplane?” Sheriff Carlson asked.

  “Sightseeing,” I said.

  Carlson looked at Jocko. “Sightseeing where, Mr. Wieman?”

  It was heading toward dark. The sheriff’s people were still going over Jocko’s property, the bloody matting of grass, mostly with the aid of flashlights now, moving along the perimeter they’d established for their search. I’d already checked the area thoroughly and had found nothing, no sign of Rainy.

  We’d been grilled by a couple of investigators, including Deputy Crockett, who’d been part of the investigation of the bombing that morning. Now the sheriff was going over the same territory, probably trying to get the lay of the land for himself and maybe looking for holes in our story.

  “Like I already told your deputies, I flew Cork over the Coronados, the San Gabriel Valley, showed him a bit of the desert.”

  “What time did you take off?”

  “A little before five.”

  “And you came back when?”

  “Bout eight-thirty.”

  Carlson looked back at me. “She was here when you left?”

  “She was here when we left.”

  “And when you came back, that cell phone was all you found?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she try to conta
ct you while you were gone?”

  “I was out of service range, and she didn’t leave me any messages.”

  “I understand someone was here with her when you left.”

  “Frank Harris, but he was going to head home after Jocko and I took off.”

  The sheriff looked back at the pickup on loan from the minister. “Where’d you get the wheels?”

  “A friend.”

  “I thought you’d never been to Coronado County before, Mr. O’Connor.”

  “I make friends easily.”

  “Know your wife’s blood type?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Can you find out?”

  “I can.”

  He nodded. “We’ve already got a sample from what’s splashed all over the grass. We’ll get it typed ASAP. We’ll be keeping your wife’s cell phone.”

  I knew they’d do this. So while Jocko was making the 911 call from the ranch house, I’d taken a moment to delete the frantic, garbled message Peter had left his mother in which it sounded as if he might be confessing to killing someone named Rodriguez.

  Deputy Crockett came from the search area. His features and colorful hatband continued to make me suspect some Native blood ran in his veins.

  “What do you think, Crockett?” the sheriff asked.

  “From the blood spatter, looks like the shot came from somewhere over there.” Crockett pointed toward the main road. “Probably used a high-powered rifle and scope.”

  “The body?”

  “It wasn’t dragged away. From the signs we could find in the grass, looks like somebody carried it off.”

  “Why take the body?” Carlson said.

  “I can’t answer that yet.” Deputy Crockett looked at me as if he believed I might be able to field that one.

  “Who knew you were here?” Carlson asked.

  “Frank and Jayne Harris,” I said. “Nobody else.”

  “I’ve got someone talking to the Harrises right now.”

  Stars salted the inky blue above us. Beyond the Coronados, the sky was still hazy with a faint lemon glow. Under the cottonwoods, the long fingers of the flashlight beams continued their probing. And I worked very hard at not letting myself believe that Rainy was gone.

  When they’d done all they could do for the moment, the sheriff’s people climbed into their vehicles and headed back to Cadiz.

  Before he left, Carlson said, “Where are you staying, Mr. O’Connor?”

  “The old parsonage of the Methodist church in town.”

  “Grace Church?”

  “That’s right.”

  He glanced at the pickup I’d been driving. “Michelle Abbott wouldn’t happen to be the friend you mentioned?”

  Considering all that had happened, I was reluctant to bring the minister into this any more than I had to. But the evidence was there, all half ton of it.

  “Christian charity,” I said.

  His face changed. It didn’t soften, but something different seemed to shape his features, something that ran deeper than a concern just for law enforcement. I understood that he was a man who cared about those he was trying to protect and serve. “These people, Mr. O’Connor, they kill anything that smells remotely unpleasant to them.”

  “These people? They have names?”

  “I’d say they all go under the same name. Narco scum.” He eyed Jocko. “If I was you, old-timer, I’d make a shotgun my bedmate for a while. I’ll be in touch, Mr. O’Connor.” He put a finger to his Stetson in a parting salute, started to walk away, but stopped and turned back. “It’s pretty clear to me, O’Connor, and it should be to you, that in the bombing this morning your wife was the target and her son was the reason. You? You would just have been collateral damage. If it was me and I really didn’t know the whole story here, I’d be asking myself why.” He eyed me, but if he expected a reply, he didn’t get one. “I’m sure we’ll want to talk to you some more. Not planning on leaving Coronado County, are you?”

  “Not without my wife.”

  “Of course,” he said. Then more gently and with a note of real sympathy, “Of course.”

  * * *

  When we were finally alone, I said to Jocko, “Maybe it’s best you find someplace not so isolated to sleep tonight.”

  “I’m already in spitting distance of my heavenly reward, Cork. I’ll be fine here. What about you?”

  “I’m going to talk to Frank and Jayne, then head back to the parsonage.”

  “Who knows what might be waiting for you there? Hang on a second.” Jocko went into the ranch house and came back with a rifle and a box of cartridges. “I’ve had this Winchester since I was sixteen. I call her Lena. Named after my dog, truest-hearted animal ever lived. She might help you get through the night with a little less worry.”

  Although I’d been a hunter all my life, it had been a long time since I’d carried a firearm as a weapon of defense. That was a part of my life I’d been trying to put behind me. But I was in a war now, in an alien land, and the feel of the Winchester in my hands was satisfying.

  “Cork, I got no words to make any of this easier, except that after more than four score years on this earth, the one thing I’ve found worth believing in is hope.”

  “Thanks, Jocko. You take care of yourself.”

  “You find out anything, you’ll let me know?”

  “That’s a promise.”

  I drove away, leaving Jocko alone. By the time I hit the main road, the lights of his ranch house were little more than fireflies in the night.

  * * *

  Halfway to the Sonora Hills Cellars, I pulled the truck to the side of the road and got out. The moon wasn’t up yet, and even if it had been, the only thing visible would have been a sliver offering no illumination at all. The stars, there were billions of those, more than I’d ever seen in the sky above Minnesota. The dryness of the air, I figured. The dark outline of the Coronado Mountains stood black against the faintest blue along the western horizon, which was mostly the memory of light. All around me was silence, absolute and oppressive.

  You hold it off as long as you can, and then it hits you. The crushing weight of history.

  I slammed my fist on the hood of the pickup.

  “Goddamn it!” I howled. “This will not happen again. I will not lose Rainy.”

  I wanted to hold to the hope that Jocko had advised, which was exactly the advice I knew Henry Meloux would have given me, but strength failed me. Even my body failed me. My knees buckled and I slid to the ground and sat in the dust and gravel on the shoulder at the edge of the road and gave in to despair. How could hope stand against the evidence, all that blood and Rainy’s abandoned cell phone? I knew Sheriff Carlson was right. If I’d been killed that morning, it would have been because of my proximity to Rainy. Whatever the truth she’d been hiding from me, it was a lethal one. Maybe she’d been trying to protect me. Or maybe she simply didn’t love me enough to trust me. Didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered.

  When you begin to wallow in self-pity, you have two choices. You slide into it like you would quicksand and drown. Or you pull yourself out.

  Me, I had help that night. Headlights on the road. They came from the north. I stood up and thought about the Winchester Jocko had given me. I didn’t know if there were cartridges already in it. If not, I knew I wouldn’t have time to load any before whoever was coming was on me. I simply waited. Still as a man wrapped up in barbed wire.

  The vehicle slowed as it approached. The headlights kept me blind. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that my heart had crawled away from my chest and taken up lodging in my throat, which was as dry as the dust I stood in. The vehicle, a pickup, drew abreast of me, the headlights no longer glaring in my eyes, and I could see again. The driver’s window slid down. A man who was probably my own age, wearing a red ball cap, studied me. In the backsplash of the headlights, I could see that his skin was shades darker than mine and the irises of his eyes were large, black seeds on white pillows.

 
“You okay, friend?” he asked.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “Just enjoying the night sky?”

  “Something like that.”

  He peered up at the heavens. “Makes you believe in God, don’t it? Lived here all my life and looking up at that sky never gets old. Also never ceases to make me feel small and humble and grateful all at the same time, know what I mean?”

  I did. And I told him so.

  “You’re not from around here,” he said.

  I told him no.

  “Just a heads-up, friend. Truck like yours stopped along a back road like this, well, it might be interpreted by a lot of folks as an invitation to a particular kind of trouble.”

  “You stopped.”

  He said something to me in a language I didn’t understand, but from the tonal quality and cadence I figured was Native.

  “What’s it mean?” I asked.

  “It’s Apache. Roughly translated, it means “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” He smiled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your reverie. Just wanted to offer a hand if you needed it. Have yourself a blessed night.”

  He drove on.

  I got back into the pickup and returned to my journey.

  Angels come in many forms.

  CHAPTER 14

  * * *

  The Harrises’ home was a blaze of lights in the great dome of night. Frank came out to meet me long before I reached his doorstep.

  “Saw your headlights,” he said. “Thought it might be you or Jocko. Cork, I’m so sorry.”

  A long shadow crossed the glare from the porch. I looked up and saw Jayne coming from the house. When she reached me, she threw her arms around me in a warm hug.

  “Oh, Cork, I don’t know what to say. How are you doing?”

  “Holding up.”

  Around us, illuminated in the porch light, were a thousand winged creatures, darting or hovering. The desert might have looked dead by day, but by night, it was insect Grand Central.

  “Come inside,” Frank said, batting at something in front of his face. “We can talk there.”