“That’s him.”
“You’re sure?”
Contreras nodded once more. Kerney left while the old man stood waiting for another question.
• • •
Jesus wanted Robert to leave Nita’s house. With his cracked rib and broken arm in a cast, Robert couldn’t get both thumbs in his ears to fight off the voice inside his head.
He’d been awake all night in the guest bedroom with the door locked and the window open, smoking cigarettes. Robert had tried to obey Nita’s ban on smoking in the house, but he couldn’t do it. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and an ash fell on the new shirt Nita had given him. She had bought him a whole new set of clothes, including a winter coat. The smell of something burning made Robert look down at his chest; he spit on his finger and rubbed it on the burn hole in the shirt to make sure it was out.
Robert’s legs felt nervous and itchy. Walking back and forth all night in the bedroom didn’t make the feeling go away. He had stopped pacing when Nita came to the door and asked if he was awake. He didn’t answer and soon heard the sound of her truck leaving the driveway.
He stayed in the bedroom for a long time. When he finally went out, the living room with the long row of windows that looked out on the road and the rangeland beyond made him nervous. Somebody could be out there watching, spying on him.
He went into Nita’s bedroom, where the curtains were drawn, and searched through a chest of drawers until he found her panties and underwear. He took each piece out of the drawer, smelled it, and dropped it on the floor. Nita’s panties had no scent, but Robert liked the feel of them in his hands.
The telephone rang and he ignored it until it stopped. He went into the bathroom with a pair of panties, sat on the toilet, and masturbated. He wiped himself with the panties and dropped them in the toilet. He felt better: Jesus had stopped talking to him. But his legs were still jittery and itchy. He needed to walk.
Robert dressed to go out. He took the laces out of the shoes—they were some kind of insulated boots—and slipped his bare feet into them. He draped the coat over his shoulders because the sleeve was too small for the cast on his arm.
At the front door, he stopped, unsure of where he should go. Maybe if he talked to Kerney, he could go back to jail. He liked jails with bare walls, small cells, and no windows. Jails helped him relax. Robert dug through all his pockets until he found his wallet with Kerney’s phone number in it. He called, but Kerney wasn’t there. A woman asked him to leave a message.
“Tell him I’m going away,” Robert said.
“May I have your name, sir?” the woman asked.
“Satan,” Robert said.
Outside, heavy clouds hid the sun and a cold wind blew in his face. He put the hood of the coat up, lowered his head against the wind, and started walking.
• • •
The two men traveling with Carlos said nothing to him or each other. Carlos knew he was way out of his league; both men were former Mexican intelligence agents who had been trained by the U.S. Army Special Forces, the CIA, and the FBI. Each had carried out a number of high-profile political assassinations under contract with the Mafiosios.
Relegated to the role of driver, Carlos cruised past the county jail on Airport Road and then up to the courthouse, near the downtown plaza. Felix, the older of the two men, sat in the front seat, while Delfino rode in the back.
Carlos circled the courthouse. At the rear of the building warning signs restricted parking to police vehicles only, and a single security door was the only access to the inside. Parked against the curb was a television transmission truck with a satellite dish mounted on the roof.
“Go around again,” Felix said. “Slowly.”
Carlos drove past the church on the corner before turning down a narrow street of old brick houses used as offices. An elementary school stood at the end of the block, catty-corner to the courthouse. A row of small casitas and an apartment building faced the rear of the courthouse. A rental sign was posted on the porch to one of the casitas.
“Drive past the school and let me out at the traffic light,” Felix ordered. “Park in front of the post office, and wait for me there.”
Ten minutes later Felix returned. “A cottage across from the courthouse is vacant,” he said to Delfino. “I can enter through a back door without difficulty.”
“Unseen?” Delfino inquired.
“Yes. A wall behind the alley blocks the view.” Felix handed Carlos a pair of binoculars. “You are my spotter. Make certain, this time, you identify the correct man. Park across from the school facing the courthouse. It provides the best view of vehicles approaching from any direction.”
He gave Delfino a radio transmitter and stuck a receiver with an earplug in his coat pocket. “I’ll need no more than ten seconds after your signal to make the kill. As soon as you see Watson fall, have Carlos drive slowly to the alley. I’ll be waiting.”
“And if the police should return fire?” Delfino asked.
“Only Watson dies, unless something goes wrong,” Felix replied as he grabbed his briefcase and opened the car door. “But if necessary, we will kill them all.”
He turned back to Carlos. “Do you understand what you are to do?”
“I will follow your orders,” Carlos replied.
They had to wait an hour before Felix could put his plan into action.
• • •
Nita let the telephone ring repeatedly before hanging up in frustration. She’d been calling home between appointments and Robert hadn’t answered. She was worried about him, but couldn’t break away from the office. After her arrest and all the press coverage that came with it, she’d expected business to fall off, but exactly the opposite had occurred. Not only were most of her regular clients sticking by her, a flood of new appointments had come in from area residents she had never seen in the clinic before. They came with their household pets, wanting annual shots, deworming, or examinations.
She knew damn well they were there for the gossip value the visit would generate, but she took the cases anyway. And while none of them dared to raise questions about her status as an accused murderer, she felt their intense curiosity when they brought their perfectly healthy dogs, cats, and gerbils into the examining room. Being in the presence of an indicted cop killer obviously had high entertainment value.
Nita finished her last case for the day and called home again, with no luck. She drove west at high speed into a setting sun shrouded by clouds, worried sick about Robert. Maybe she’d made a mistake in bringing him home. But he’d seemed so coherent in the hospital, and so pleased with the idea of staying with her.
She ground the truck to a stop in front of her house and hurried inside. Robert was nowhere to be found. In her bedroom, all her underwear had been scattered on the floor. In the guest bedroom, even with the open window, the smell of cigarette smoke lingered. The bed hadn’t been slept in. In the bathroom, she found a pair of her panties floating in the commode.
She had to find Robert, and she needed help to do it. Calling the county sheriff wasn’t an option. She doubted any of the deputies would be willing to assist a confessed cop killer. Her only course of action was to call Kevin Kerney. He was unavailable when she tried to reach him, so she left her name, and a message reporting Robert’s disappearance.
Light snow had begun to fall and the temperature had dropped by the time she got in her truck. There were hundreds of miles of back roads that crisscrossed the rolling plains between the two state highways that cut south to Mountainair. Robert could be on any one of them, or so far away that it would be impossible to find him.
If bringing Robert home resulted in his death, she would feel like a murderer twice over.
• • •
Bucky Watson lay facedown on the pavement with his hands cuffed to the small of his back and his skull blown apart. Brain matter and blood splatter fanned out in an arc that spurted up the stairs and flecked the glass courthouse door.
; Both the parking lot and the house across the street had been roped off, portable lights had been set up, and crime scene technicians were working the area. A state police agent and a city detective were talking to the officer who had brought Bucky to the courthouse.
Kerney stayed outside the police line and waited until they finished before calling the officer over.
The man came toward him shaking his head. Dried blood covered the front of his uniform shirt. “I don’t know what to tell you, Chief. It happened so damn fast, I didn’t see it coming.”
“You weren’t supposed to see it,” Kerney replied. Although he had a good idea what the answer would be, he asked his next question. “Did you hear the shot fired?”
“I didn’t hear a damn thing. The back of Watson’s head just exploded. I hit the ground, rolled in front of my unit for cover, and drew my weapon. But there was nobody there.”
“Did you see any traffic on the street?”
“I heard a car, but didn’t see it. I took a quick look, but it was gone. From the sound it made, it wasn’t speeding, or anything like that.”
“Were you alone in the parking lot?”
“Just me and Watson.”
“Are the investigators finished with you?”
“Yeah, except for the paperwork I need to do.”
“Write your report at the office, then pack it in for the night and go home.”
“Thanks.” The man smiled and tugged at the front of his shirt. He wore gold piping and two stripes, denoting his rank as a senior patrol officer. “You know what my wife is going to say when she sees this mess?”
“Probably something about a career change.”
“You got it,” the officer said as he walked off.
The radio in Kerney’s unit squawked and he went to answer it. He had two messages; one from Robert saying he was Satan and he was going away, and a confirming report from Nita Lassiter that Cordova had disappeared.
Kerney gave the dispatcher a description of Robert, ordered a statewide APB, and suggested that the search should be concentrated in the Mountainair area.
“That’s not going to be easy,” the dispatcher said. “We’ve got blizzard conditions down there, Chief. Heavy snow and high winds.”
“Understood,” Kerney replied. “If Cordova is found, have him placed in protective custody on a mental hold. He’s not a criminal.”
“Ten-four.”
As Kerney clicked off, Joe Valdez opened the passenger door and got in the unit. He had his jacket collar turned up and he rubbed his hands together to warm them.
“It’s too damn cold, Chief.”
Kerney turned the car heater up a notch. “Are you finished with the DA?”
Valdez snorted. “While Bucky was getting himself killed, the DA was busy doing a little dance on my head. He feels his office ethically can’t take action against Springer and Cobb, since both have served as special prosecutors in civil cases.”
“That’s standard protocol. Who is he farming the case out to?”
“The attorney general’s office. I think the decision was made before I even got there.”
“Where are Cobb and Springer?”
“They’ve walked. I didn’t even get a chance to lock them up. They’re both threatening to sue for false arrest.”
“Did the DA challenge the probable cause?”
“No, but he and his chief deputy went over everything with a fine-tooth comb. I had to produce all the evidence, including the videotape of Watson’s confession.”
“Did you keep copies of everything?”
“Multiple copies. I’m not going to let this case bite me in the ass.”
“Did you get anything out of Cobb and Springer?”
“Not a damn thing,” Valdez answered. “Know what I think, Chief? It’s gonna be years before those two go to trial, if ever. In fact, I don’t think there’s even a remote chance they’ll be indicted. Not with the potential star witness for the prosecution so conveniently dead.”
Valdez put his hand on the door handle. “Gotta go. The AG wants to meet with me pronto.”
“Do you want someone to go with you?”
Joe took a minute to consider the offer. “No thanks, but I’ll call for backup if he starts busting my balls. So who killed Bucky Watson, Chief?”
“I don’t know who pulled the trigger. But whoever he is, he’s damn good at his job.”
• • •
Robert trudged through two feet of fresh snow down the side of the highway toward the village of Punta de Agua. Only the vague shapes of the mile-marker posts and road signs kept him headed in the right direction. He was off the plains and in the foothills, and wind-driven snow obscured everything. The road was buried by deep drifts and no cars had passed in either direction, not even a snowplow.
Cold to the bone, his feet felt frozen, and his side ached from the cracked rib. El Malo kept laughing at him inside his head. Everything felt heavy: his breath, his feet, the top of his head—even his eyes.
He walked on with his head lowered. When he finally stopped and looked up, he was in the middle of the village, across from a church. Robert remembered that the Evil One didn’t like churches, but Jesus did. He walked to the church door and found it locked. A side door was also locked. Next to the stoop was a small pile of firewood. Robert picked up a stick, broke a window, and crawled inside.
Out of the wind and protected by thick adobe walls, Robert started to warm up a bit. He groped his way in the darkness to the altar at the front of the church and fumbled around until he found a candle. He lit it with a match and looked around. A woodstove stood against a wall in the middle of the sanctuary. He opened the firebox door and found that a fire had been laid. He put the flame of the candle against the kindling and sat down to watch it burn. The heat felt good against his face and hands.
He began to feel light-headed. Did he leave Nita’s house because he did something wrong? Did he hurt her? He hoped not. But what happened?
Paul Gillespie would know, Robert thought as he curled up in front of the stove. Paul was always at Serpent Gate. He would go there in the morning and talk to him.
• • •
“Has the governor fired you yet?” Kerney asked as he joined Andy in his office.
“There’s been nothing but ominous silence,” Andy said. “Aside from the fact that Bucky Watson was assassinated, what else can you tell me about the shooting?”
“Not much,” Kerney admitted. “But I’ll bet Carlos Ruiz didn’t pull the trigger this time.”
“This time?”
“I’ve got him nailed to the Martinez murder.”
“How so?”
Kerney told him about the Buick and getting an ID on Carlos from Ruben Contreras.
“We have to get to Ruiz somehow,” Andy said.
“I agree. What’s happening with the sanctions against DeLeon?”
“His assets are being frozen, his drug distribution network is shut down, and he’s about to lose his diplomatic immunity. It may not bring him to his knees, but it will make him buckle a bit.”
Kerney nodded. “The DA has kicked Springer and Cobb loose and passed the ball to the attorney general. Joe Valdez is with the AG now. He made need you to backstop him.”
“The fucking politics never end,” Andy said sourly as he watched Kerney head for the door. “Where are you going?”
“South.”
“It damn well better not be Mexico again.”
Kerney laughed. “Mountainair. Robert Cordova is missing.”
“That crazy guy in the Gillespie murder case?”
“That’s the guy.”
Andy looked out the window. Freezing rain was pinging against the glass, and the neon lights from the bar down the highway, usually so bright, were just a shapeless blur. “Be careful driving,” he said.
• • •
Carlos had no doubt that he would be killed as soon as Kerney was dead. Since meeting Felix and Delfino at the airport, he’d
been under close observation and never left alone. Whenever Felix looked at him, Carlos felt like he was a walking dead man.
He still retained his pistol in the shoulder holster, but it gave him no comfort. Any attempt to reach for it would be fruitless; Delfino would cut his throat before he could clear the piece. To survive, Carlos needed some kind of opportunity and a good deal of luck.
He drove the two men to the house where Kerney stayed, only to find an unoccupied state police patrol car parked in front of the residence. There were no cars in the driveway and lights were on inside the dwelling.
“Is that the gringo’s police car?” Felix asked.
“No,” Carlos replied. “He drives an unmarked vehicle.”
“This is where you killed the wrong cop, is it not?” Delfino asked with a chuckle.
Carlos grunted a response as he turned the car around at the end of the lane.
“Where is the gringo, Carlos?” Felix asked.
“If he is not here, he’s working,” Carlos said.
“Then let us go to the place where he works,” Felix said.
Carlos drove to the state police headquarters building and parked across the highway. Using binoculars, he found Kerney’s official vehicle in the parking lot and pointed it out to Felix.
“We will wait for the gringo to leave,” Felix said, “and kill him on his way home.”
Within a matter of minutes, a fast-moving storm bringing wind-whipped, freezing snow made it impossible to see the police parking lot. At full speed the windshield wipers barely cleaned the glass, and visibility dropped to less than twenty feet.
“Is there no other vantage point we can use?” Felix asked in disgust as he took the binoculars away from his eyes.
“None that provides a clear view of the exits from the parking lot,” Carlos replied.
“We cannot even see the parking lot, let alone who comes or goes,” Felix said as he stared into the whiteout. “Get us closer. Cross the highway and drive past the building.”
Carlos did as he was told, and in the vaporous light of the parking lot lamp they saw the empty space where Kerney’s car had been.
“Go back to the house,” Felix said in disgust. “We will kill him there.”
Serpent Gate Page 24
