The sprawling new developments sprinkled on me high plains and the strip businesses along the highway that connected with the interstate depressed Kerney. None of it belonged on the landscape.
On the main street of Estanda, Kerney found Nita Lassiter's office, a one-story white stucco building sandwiched between a movie theater and a boarded-up cafe. A sign on the locked office door listed business hours and telephone numbers. In the alley behind the row of buildings, he found the
trailer Floyd Wilson, the railroad crew chief, had described. A painted sign on the side panel read:
LASSITER VETERINARY CLINIC
Specializing in Livestock & Large Animals
Estancia,New Mexico
From a pay phone at a convenience store, Kerney called Lassiter's office and got an answering service. Lassiter was on a call at the Von Hewett Ranch. The operator gave him directions.
He climbed back in the car wondering what Andy Baca would say if he knew the only lead that had been developed in four weeks consisted of a crazy man who had been seen on the day of the murder talking to a lady horse doctor, who happened to share the same name with a pregnant teenage girl.
If nothing materialized with Lassiter, he would turn in his commission card, thank Andy for the work, and try to figure out what in the hell he would do next, while Gillespie's unsolved murder gnawed away at the back of his mind.
Ten miles out of town and a mile off the blacktop that ran from Estanda to the village of Manzano, Kerney found the Von Hewett Ranch, backed up on the far side of a knoll, hidden from sight, with the mountains rising to the west.
The clapboard house was a two-and-a-half-story affair with five columns running the length of a porch underneath a glassed-in sunroom. Positioned between dormer windows at the roofline, two brick chimneys jutted out from the center of the house. In the front yard was an assortment of restored Depression-era farm machinery, including a spreader, cultivator, and mower, all with oversized metal wheels. The centerpiece of the display, a reconditioned backboard wagon, was
filled with terra-cotta flowerpots.
Kerney walked toward a barn, where two pickup trucks were parked by the open door. The newer truck, an extended-cab, full-size Chevy 4x4, had a magnetic sign on the driver's door that read Nita Lassitor, DVM.
Through the open barn door, he heard two women speaking in anxious voices. He stepped inside. The women were working on a mare that was trying to foal.
The animal lay on a bed of straw in a stall, her front legs tucked under her chest, straining in discomfort. An older woman dressed in work boots, jeans, and a barn jacket held the mare's head and tried to keep it still.
The other woman, in her thirties with short brunette hair, lay on her side at the mare's rump with an arm inserted in the birth canal, trying to dislodge the foal.
She wore a sleeveless undershirt with no bra, blue jeans, and pair of leather work boots.
"What's the problem?" Kerney asked.
Nita Lassiter looked up from the mare and scanned the stranger. She saw a tall man somewhere in his forties, with blue eyes, square shoulders, gentle-looking hands, and an outwardly calm presence. He hunkered down next to her.
"Mama's having a hard time delivering her baby," Nita replied.
"The foal is hung up." Nita sized up the length of Kerney's arms. "I can't reach in far enough to free it. Strip to the waist, slosh some antiseptic on your arm, and coat it with Vaseline. I'll walk you
through what needs to be done."
"You got it," Kerney said as he hurried out of his windbreaker and shirt.
Nita tensed when she saw the badge clipped to his belt and the bolstered gun. He had an ugly scar on his belly. He cleaned his hands with the antiseptic before rubbing Vaseline on his arm.
"We don't want to damage the mare's womb," Nita said, removing her arm from the canal.
She gave up her position to Kerney and watched as he slowly inserted his arm into the mare's vagina.
"Find the foal's head. Have you got it?"
"Yes," Kerney replied.
"Push it gently back toward the mare's abdomen."
"Done."
"Lift the muzzle by the chin and position it toward the vaginal canal."
"Okay"
"Now, find a hoof, cup it in your hand, and pull it forward. Careful. Don't tear the womb."
"It's free," Kerney said.
"Do the same thing with the other hoof."
Kerney felt around but couldn't find it. Nita could see the frustration in his eyes as he searched.
"Push back on the foal's head a little more," she ordered.
Kerney nodded, pushed the head back, and located the hoof with his fingertips. With his arm inside the mare up to his shoulder, he strained for another fraction of an inch to reach the hoof. Slowly, he brought it forward and the foal, no longer hung up, entered the canal before Kerney could extract his arm. At that same instant, the mare dropped a load of horse shit that hit Kerney in the face and chest. He pulled free and moved out of the way as the foal and me afterbirth came into view.
The foal was out and struggling to stand on shaky legs as Kerney got to his feet. The mare snorted once and lowered her head in exhaustion.
Horseshit dripped down the front of Kerney's jeans.
"Don't say it," Kerney warned both women.
Nita tossed him a small towel. "Say what?"
"That I look like shit."
"Well, now that you mention it.. ." She waved off the rest of her comment. "Thank you for your help."
An attractive woman, Lassiter had a finely boned oval face that appeared to be almost symmetrical. Her eyebrows were straight and thick, and her lips were full. She had a small birthmark on her chin.
"I was glad to oblige."
Kerney's thoughts turned to his visits with Lassiter's sister, Lurline Toler, and Verdie Mae McNutt. Had Lurline put him off about how to find Nita? What did Verdie Mae think he was smart enough to figure out?
Nita gestured at her companion. "That's Uddy Hewett. I'm Nita Lassiter."
"Kevin Kerney."
Nita turned her attention to the foal. "It's a girl," she announced.
"Let's get you cleaned up," Liddy Hewett said, as she retrieved Kerney's shirt and jacket.
"That would be nice," Kerney allowed, blinking through the manure, and dabbing the towel around his eyes.
"We don't usually have policemen come calling," Uddy said. She walked him to a utility sink outside the tack room and turned on me faucet.
"Is there a problem?"
"I came to see Dr. Lassiter," Kerney replied. Behind him, Nita Lassiter's stirring ceased and he thought he heard a sudden intake of breath.
"Well, I'm glad you came when you did," Liddy noted.
"We were having a hard time of it with the mare."
"Some births don't come easy." He scrubbed his hands clean, ran the basin full, and started washing the shit off his face and chest. He dirtied one large towel and Liddy handed him another.
"Can I offer you a cup of coffee after you've cleaned up?" Liddy asked.
"That sounds nice."
She handed him the last clean towel. "I'll get the pot going. You and Nita come over to the house when you're ready."
Liddy walked off and Kerney turned to study Nita. She was bent over the mare watching the horse lick the foal clean. She straightened up and forced a smile at Kerney.
"Thanks again. I think we would have lost the foal if you hadn't shown up."
"You're welcome," Kerney said as he tucked in his shirt and put on his jacket.
"So, you're a police officer."
"I'm an investigator with the state police."
"Why do you need to talk to me?" Stiffly, Nita walked to the sink and stood with her back to Kerney. A good five foot eight, she had a slender frame, much like Addie Randall's.
"I spoke with your sister earlier today."
She splashed water on her face, cleaned her arms, slipped on a plaid
work
shirt, and turned to face him.
"Really?"
"And Verdie Mae McNutt."
"I see."
"I also talked with Addie Randall. I understand you paid a visit to her in Socorro."
"Her mother and I have been friends since childhood Addie is someone I care about."
"Verdie Mae made that dear. You were seen talking to Robert Cordova in Mountainair on the day Paul Gillespie was murdered."
"I've known Robert for a long time."
"He was your foster brother."
"That's right."
"What secret do you want him to keep?" Nita's eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me?"
"Where is Serpent Gate?"
"I've never heard of it."
"That's not what Robert said."
Nervously, Nita used her fingers to comb her hair. "If you've talked to Robert, you know that he's not completely rational."
"Not always," Kerney agreed.
"But two thoughts seem to occupy his mind: a place called Serpent Gate and rape. Do you know why he spends so much time thinking about those two things?"
"I have no idea."
"Addie was raped, wasn't she?"
"I think that's a safe assumption."
"Did she tell you who did it?"
"Addie won't talk about it."
"Not with just anybody," Kerney said.
"But maybe she would tell someone close to her. Someone who would understand what happened."
"I don't know what you mean by that."
The more Kerney looked at Nita, the stronger her resemblance to Addle seemed. He decided to roll the dice.
"Does Addie know you're her mother?"
"That's absurd." Nita's voice rose several notches.
"Why would Lurline lie to me about your friendship with Robert Cordova?"
"I have no idea."
"Then lie to me again about your family nickname?
It's Addie, isn't it?"
"I think I've heard enough." Nita walked to her medical bag and started repacking it. Her hands were shaking.
"I think it's more than a coinddence that you and Addie share the same name."
Nita snapped the bag closed. "I have to go now." Her eyes blinked rapidly, filling with tears, and
she walked quickly past Kerney into the biting late-afternoon wind.
"Did you kill Paul Gillespie?"
"Why would I do that?" Nita opened the passenger door to her truck and put the bag on the seat, hiding her face from Kerney.
"Because he raped Addie."
Nita sagged against the door. "Who told you that?"
"Addie," Kerney lied. "Is she your daughter?"
"You'll have to figure that out by yourself." Nita closed the passenger door and walked to the driver's side of the truck. A sheen of perspiration showed on her upper lip.
Kerney followed and stopped at the front fender.
"You need to talk about this, Nita," he said softly. "You can't keep carrying it around. It's eating you up. You're sweating and shaking."
"I don't want to talk to you," Nita responded, her voice drained. She opened the driver's door, got inside, and gave him a feeble smile.
"Good-bye, Mr. Kerney."
Kerney held the truck door open as she tried to pull it shut, and played his last card.
"Robert did tell me one thing that may interest you."
"What's that?"
"He saw you leaving the police station the night Gillespie was shot."
Nita sagged. "Oh, poor Robert." The words came out in a whisper. "Our friendship has cost him so much. Is he okay?"
"You saw him there, didn't you?"
Nita bit her lip and nodded.
"Tell me about your relationship with Paul Gillespie."
"Paul was my classmate in high school."
"Was he a friend?"
"Hardly that."
"You didn't like him?"
"I couldn't stand him."
"You wanted to confront him about Addie. I can understand that. He raped your daughter."
Nita laughed harshly. "Addie was Paul's daughter, too, Mr. Kerney. I left town when I found out I was pregnant. He never knew about Addie and Addie doesn't know about him."
"You're leaving something out, Nita. Finish the story."
Nita's shoulders sagged further. "Paul raped me during my senior year in high school. Robert saw it
happen."
"When did you decide to kill him?"
"When Addie told me what Paul had done."
Kerney sidestepped around the door so he could have a dear view of Nita.
"Tell me how it happened."
"He was cleaning his pistol when I went to see him. I had a gun in my handbag. I was just going to kill him and leave. But I got scared. He grabbed me before I could walk out and gave me this hug--grinding himself against me. I felt like I was being raped all over again. I pushed him away, picked up his pistol from the desk, and pulled the trigger."
"Get out of the truck," Kerney said softly.
"Lurline called me right after you went to see her. I knew you would find me."
"Step out of the truck."
Nita shook her head. She turned her back to Kerney and her left hand disappeared into the center console between the bucket seats.
"Put your hands in plain view and get out of the truck." Kerney unholstered his weapon and leveled the nine-millimeter at Nita.
"I'm not a very good murderer," Nita said. As she turned to face Kerney, her hand came up holding a pistol.
She pressed the muzzle against her temple.
"Too much of a conscience, I guess."
"Drop the gun," Kerney said.
Nita shook her head and began to squeeze the trigger.
Too far away to make a grab, Kerney fired once. The bullet caught Nita below the shoulder and jarred her arm a fraction of a second before she squeezed the trigger.
The round went through the roof of the truck.
He was on her before she could recover. He yanked the gun away, pulled her out of the truck, stretched her on the ground, opened her shirt, and examined the wound. It was bleeding freely but was not life threatening. He had never shot a woman before and it wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.
"Why didn't you just kill me?" she asked.
"Too much of a conscience, I guess," he replied.
***
West of Santa Fe, in a subdivision exclusively for the very rich, Enrique De Leon waited in his expansive living room. Pinon logs crackling in a stone fireplace at the far end of the room provided the only light. De Leon watched the reflection of the flames flickering in the large glass windows, which by day afforded a stunning view of the Sangre de Cristo foothills and mountains. De Leon checked his wristwatch; it was twenty minutes to first light, and according to the timetable he had established, Carlos Ruiz should already have returned. He was about to become annoyed when headlights came into view at the bottom of the private road and paused briefly at the security gate. He watched the vehicle travel up the hill and turn into the driveway. When he heard the quiet whir of the garage door opener from the lower level of the house, he smiled and closed his eyes.
Carlos Ruiz hurried up the stairs. The job had gone well, but he was late. And the jefe expected his instructions to be followed exactly, no matter what got in the way. He walked through the kitchen and slowed his steps down the long gallery hall to the living room. The hand-carved doors stood open, and at the far end of the room a fireplace glow cast just enough illumination for Carlos to see De Leon shape in the chair.
"Shall I turn on a light, patron?" Carlos asked. He spoke in English as De Leon ordered during any visits to the United States.
"That would not be wise," De Leon replied. Only two other houses had a line of sight to De Leon property. Both were million-dollar vacation homes staffed by full-time caretakers,
who, if awake, might find it unusual to see lights on at such an odd time.
"All went well," Carlos sa
id, stepping into the room. His heels clacked on the polished flagstone floor.
"What delayed you?"
"The private elevator was small, patron. Extra trips were required to move the items out of the offices to the garage. The access code to the underground garage had not been changed, so we had no trouble gaining entry to the building."
"Unseen?"
"Yes, patron."
"No one was in the building?"
"Two janitors. Both were on the first floor, cleaning the rotunda. They did not see or hear us. I had Palazzi watch them throughout the operation, with orders to kill them should they become suspicious."
Carlos took a deep breath before continuing. If he left out details, De Leon would become displeased. The patron frequently complained about the slowness of his mind.
"We wore gloves, hats, and masks as you ordered," Carlos noted. "No lights were on, and we disabled the security cameras in the reception area without detection."
"Did you get everything?"
"Yes, patron," Carlos replied.
"The walls are bare."
"Store everything in the wine cellar," De Leon ordered as he stood up.
"It is being done as we speak. The men will leave for Juarez as soon as they are finished."
"Have them wait."
"Yes, patron. And the woman?"
"In a few minutes," De Leon answered as he walked past Carlos. The curtains in the master bedroom were closed and die track lights dimmed low. De Leon looked down at the beautiful, heavily drugged face of Amanda Talley.
He would remember Amanda fondly for a very long time. Her hunger had matched his own, up to a point. He lifted a strand of blond hair away from her cheek and stroked her face. Amanda did not respond. De Leon had promised Amanda a vacation in Belize. A pity she'd never know what she was missing. Her luggage and passport were in Belize right now, at the hotel where one of De Leon most trusted currency couriers--a woman of theatrical temperament who enjoyed playing roles and living well--had registered in Amanda's name. The woman would establish a fleeting presence in the midst of a great many witnesses, and then fake a drowning on a boating excursion, the body never to be found.
Serpent's Gate - Michael McGarity Page 5
