Serpent Gate kk-3

by Michael Mcgarity

  Kerney wheeled to find Robert and Nita at his side. Frozen snot hung from Robert's nose. He wiped it away with a sleeve.

  "No," Kerney answered.

  "Did you kill one of them, Addie?" Robert's eyes were jumpy and big as saucers.

  Nita stiffened as though she'd taken a body blow.

  "No."

  "Yes, you did," Robert said, inclining his head.

  "I saw his body over there. You killed the motherfucker."

  Kerney eyed the crazy grin on Robert's face.

  "Do you need a ride to jail, Robert?"

  Robert nodded.

  "Let's go." Kerney led Nita and Robert away from Kerney drove to the highway and found a car blocking their way through the ranch road gate.

  He keyed the handheld radio, made contact with the state police officer he'd left at the Shafier Hotel, reported the shootout, and requested a tow truck.

  "Send a snowplow also," he added as an afterthought.

  "We'll need the road cleared to the crime scene."

  "And an ambulance," Nita said as she dropped Robert's boots on the floorboard.

  Robert was in the back of the extended-cab. Kerney looked over his shoulder. Robert's feet were badly frostbitten.

  Kerney relayed the message.

  "Get me some snow," Nita said.

  He got out of the truck and passed handfuls of snow to Nita, who rubbed it on Robert's bare feet. Robert howled, kicked wildly, and tried to fight his way out of the truck. Kerney popped the driver's seat forward on its tracks and pinned Robert down while Nita finished the job.

  "How bad?" he asked.

  Nita answered with a wary shrug.

  The ambulance arrived with the state police unit.

  Kerney carried Robert to the vehicle. He struggled fiercely as Kerney put him on the gurney. It took all of his strength to hold Robert while the paramedics strapped him into the restraints.

  Robert screamed in protest.

  The ambulance pulled away for the trip to Albuquerque just as a tow truck arrived. Kerney looked around for Nita. She was in her 4x4, behind the steering wheel.

  He walked to her and she rolled down the window.

  "Did you hear what Robert said to me?" she asked, without looking at Kerney. Her eyes were fixed on something-or nothing-outside the windshield.

  "I may have missed it."

  Nita kept looking away. Her hands gripped the steering wheel and her knuckles were white.

  "He said he raped me."

  "He didn't mean anything by it."

  "I think he believes it."

  "Gillespie left a lot of victims behind."

  "Addie is going to come and live with me, at least until my trial is over," she said without emotion.

  "That's good." Kerney watched the officer guide the tow truck into position behind the car.

  Slowly Nita switched her attention to Kerney. Her eyes were empty.

  "Do I have to stay here?"

  "You can leave as soon as the way is dear," Kerney said.

  "Who were those men?"

  "Killers hired by a Mexican drug lord. They were after me, not you."

  "Have you killed men before?"

  Kerney didn't reply. The rear wheels of the car were off the ground.

  The operator stopped the winch, got in the truck, and pulled the vehicle out of the way.

  "It's not a good feeling, is it?" Nita added, directing the question to herself.

  Kerney answered anyway.

  "It never is, and never should be."

  "Can I go now?" Nita asked.

  Kerney nodded. A highway department snowplow came over the hill and stopped at the side of the road.

  Nita smiled stiffly.

  "I guess I'll see you in court someday, Mr. Kerney."

  "Someday you will, Ms. Lassiter."

  Nita drove away and the patrol officer brought Kerney a jacket to wear.

  He put it on and went to the cruiser to get warm, while the officer talked to the snowplow operator. The driver dropped the blade and started the truck down the ranch road.

  Kerney thought about the three dead men in the snow, and about Nita, Robert, Addie, Paul Gillespie, and Serpent Gate. He wondered if Robert would ever go back there again, and if Nita would be able to leave it behind for good. the morning after the gunfight at Serpent Gate, Kerney found his way to a new residential subdivision off Airport Road. The houses were pueblo-style one and two-story structures on small lots. He parked at the curb in front of the Martinez family home.

  Gilbert had only recently bought the house and moved in. It had yet to be landscaped, and snow covered the raw patch of land surrounding the house. Railroad ties were stacked against the side of the garage.

  Kerney wondered, now that Gilbert was dead, who would build the flower beds and plant the trees and shrubs when warm weather returned. The thought made his gut feel like a lead ball.

  He got out and rang the doorbell.

  Sandra Marrinez, Gilbert's widow, used the partially open front door as a barrier, and studied the stranger standing on die porch.

  "What is it?"

  She had dark, intelligent eyes, a grief-filled face, and spoke in a drained voice.

  "Mrs. Martinez, I'm Kevin Kerney."

  Sandra's hand tightened on the doorknob. She forced back a response, while the man who should have been killed instead of her husband looked at her.

  "Is there anything I can do for you or your family?" Kerney asked.

  "No," Sandra said.

  "Thank you for stopping by." She closed the door in his face.

  Kerney hesitated before ringing the bell again. After a minute, it grudgingly opened.

  "Mrs. Martinez-" he said.

  Sandra raised a shaky hand to cut him off, and her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed hard.

  "I know you came here with good intentions."

  "I liked and respected your husband very much."

  She forced a thin, dry smile.

  "Gilbert liked you, too."

  "I feel responsible for your loss."

  "You may be responsible, but you can't make amends for it, can you?"

  "No, I can't."

  "Then there's nothing more to say." She slowly closed the door again. andy stuck his head inside the conference room and found Kerney pecking away at the keyboard of an old computer that he'd scrounged from supply.

  "Paperwork?" Andy asked.

  Tm just finishing up."

  "I can get you a new computer, Kerney. All you have to do is ask."

  "This one will do for now." Kerney hit a function key. The printer whined as it fed a sheet of paper into the rollers.

  De Leon has left Mexico," Andy said.

  "Where is he?"

  Andy shrugged.

  "The Mexican authorities say they don't know. And if they do, they aren't telling. They did identify the two hit men De Leon sent after you."

  "So quickly?"

  "Both were former federal intelligence agents cashiered for being on the cartel's pad. They're wanted on multiple murder charges. It seems they assassinated a judge, a prosecutor, and a district police commissioner in Chihuahua."

  "Nasty boys."

  "The Mexican government is sending you a citation."

  "I don't want it," Kerney said gruffly. The printer spit out a sheet of paper. Kerney plucked it out of the tray and gave it to Andy.

  Andy read it. It was an official request to award the police medal of valor posthumously to Sergeant Gilbert Martinez.

  "Would you like to make the presentation to Gilbert's widow?" he asked.

  "That's not a good idea."

  "Stop blaming yourself, Kerney. What happened to Gilbert wasn't your fault."

  "That's not the way Sandra Martinez sees it."

  Andy studied Kerney's face and decided to drop the subject.

  "Are you planning to stick around for a while?

  I've got six major cases I need you to bird-dog. And I don't want you creating a vaca
ncy Vance Howell can fill."

  Kerney cracked a small smile.

  "You think the governor would dump Howell on you if I left?"

  "In the blink of an eye."

  "Are you catching any flak from Springer?"

  "Not yet. The department has gotten too much good press lately. But the word is out on the governor's staff that I'm insubordinate and not a team player. My reputation is getting as bad as yours."

  "I've worked hard to build that reputation, Andy.

  Don't butt in on my turf. Are you going to stick it out?"

  "Hell, yes, I am. I took this job because I wanted to do some good. I need you to watch my back while I push my budget through the legislature."

  "Do you think Springer might torpedo the budget as a payback for busting his nephew?"

  "That thought has crossed my mind."

  "I'll think about staying around for a while."

  "Good deal," Andy said.

  "But I need a few days off for personal business."

  "Take as much time as you need," Andy said from his door.

  "I'll see you when you get back."

  On the conference table was a box of five hundred freshly printed business cards that had arrived in the mail. Kerney hadn't asked for the new cards-probably a clerk had automatically ordered them when his promotion had been posted.

  He took one card from the box and slipped it in his wallet. an entirely different climate greeted Kerney in Mexico. Even in the late afternoon, the day was warm, the sky a rich blue, and a dry breeze from the open truck window felt good against his face.

  He drove the highway south of Juarez, and passed the turnoff to De Leon hacienda without stopping.

  Since his only other visit, the access road had been paved and an electronic security gate barred entry.

  Probably De Leon restoration of the hacienda was complete. Kerney looked forward to seeing it.

  He traveled past a long sweep of hills that blocked the Rio Grande from view, and took a dirt road that led to a constricted basque along the river. He parked out of sight from the highway, got his gear, and started walking.

  The brown, slow-moving river sucked up the fast fading light, giving back no reflection, and it stank with a foul combination of human and industrial waste. On the Mexican side, there were holes cut in the twenty foot-high chain-link border fence big enough for three men to pass through side by side.

  The basque gave out where the river carved through some hills, and Kerney hiked up a rock-strewn incline.

  He reached the top as the last rays of a setting sun dimmed to dusk.

  Below, the bosque reappeared, not very wide, but thicker than before.

  The hacienda stood nestled against the side of the hill with a view that took in the sloping river valley.

  De Leon had brought the estate back to life, and the hacienda with its long, two-story sweep looked grand.

  Plastered mud brown with small shuttered windows that marched along the wall on either side of massive center doors, it resembled a fortified citadel.

  When Kerney had last seen it, the building had been nothing more than an adobe shell sitting above an old basement hollowed out of the hill.

  As the dusk turned to night, Kerney slipped a nightvision viewer out of the pouch. He scanned the hacienda for signs of activity and saw nothing. All seemed equally quiet at the outbuildings, including the small chapel and a circular stone granary that soared like a watchtower next to the hacienda.

  After an hour of watching, headlights came into view on the access road and a car parked in front of the hacienda. It was a Chihuahua federal police unit. Two uniformed officers got out, and one checked the hacienda while his partner rattled the locked chapel door and walked out of sight around the side of the building. No lights came on inside the hacienda.

  After completing the building security check, the cops drove down a gravel road that led to the basque, spotlighting the old stone foundations and rock fences along the way. Finished with the patrol, they left on the access road.

  Kerney waited an hour and a half until the officers came back and completed another tour. He put the night-vision viewer away and trotted to the side of the hacienda. Under a portal, arched lead-glass doors opened onto the patio. Kerney inspected the doors with a flashlight and found alarm sensors attached to the glass.

  He backtracked to the chapel and checked for a rear entrance. There was none, but small stained-glass windows showing the stations of the cross ran the length of the building on either side. The windows were wired to the alarm system.

  Kerney figured De Leon had something valuable inside the chapel-like maybe a priceless religious statue.

  He had no way of knowing where the Mexican cops might be stationed.

  They could be at the access road security gate, or checking on another jefe's mansion some distance away.

  It would have to be a smash-and-grab affair. To do it right, he needed to be in, out, and gone in a few minutes.

  He could make it if he pushed his bad knee to the maximum and got lucky inside the hacienda.

  He picked up a rock, broke a chapel window, and hauled himself inside.

  The alarm was silent, but intrusion sensors mounted near the ceiling blinked rapidly.

  His flashlight beam illuminated the Lady of Guadalupe statue on the center of the altar. Kerney grabbed it, kicked open the chapel door, put the bulto on the outside step, and sprinted to the hacienda.

  He blew a hole in one of the glass patio doors with his nine-millimeter, unlocked it, and did a fast-and-dirty search, sweeping his light quickly over the walls of each room. He found the sheathed U.S. Cavalry sword above the mantel in the billiard room. He took it, left his business card on the mantel, and ran like hell, retracing his steps.

  He snatched the bulto from the chapel step at a dead run, and sprinted for the hill. He could hear the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle.

  He didn't stop running until he was on the back side of the hill. He jogged to the cover of the basque before slowing to a walk. Sharp jolts of pain ran up his leg.

  Kerney smiled in spite of the pain as he glanced at the statue and sheathed sword in his hands. It was, at best, a small victory over De Leon But he knew it would sting him. andy held a brief press conference as Kerney watched from the back of the room. He said a few words about the return of the bulto from an anonymous source, and presented the statue to a museum official who gushed in appreciation while the video cameras whirled and reporters scribbled in their notebooks.

  Kerney slipped away before the reporters started asking questions, and went to pack the sword and scabbard for shipment.

  The sword had a three-quarter-inch blade, a gilded brass hilt, a grip wrapped in twisted wire, and a gold lace strap attached to the handle.

  The nickel-plated scabbard had a mounting of gilded brass. It was in mint condition.

  Kerney would mail the sword to West Point, where the other military artifacts found on the missile range were on permanent display. He packed it carefully and included a note returning the items with the compliments of Major Sara Brannon, the army officer who had worked with Kerney on the smuggling case.

  Kerney had been thinking a lot about Sara lately; they had a long-standing date to meet when she returned from her tour of duty in Korea in late spring.

  It felt like a long time away.

  Andy came in as he licked the shipping label and stuck it on the package.

  "What's that?" he asked, tilting his chin at the package.

  "Just a memento I'm sending off on behalf of a friend," Kerney said as he picked up the package.

  "I have to visit someone. I'll see you later."

  Kerney stopped in on Joe Valdez before leaving headquarters.

  Joe was busy boxing up files. He stretched packing tape over the top of a carton and sealed it shut.

  "That's it, Chief," Joe said.

  "Every shred of evidence on Roger Springer, Sherman Cobb, and Bucky Watson is in these boxes. I
have to deliver it to the AG this afternoon.

  The case is out of our hands."

  "How far did you get on the money laundering?" Kerney asked.

  "Pretty far," Joe answered.

  "Bucky liked to use De Leon money instead of his own whenever possible."

  "How about for political campaign contributions?"

  "Bucky made some big contributions to the governor's campaign, but I didn't track the source."

  "Would you do that for me before you take the files totheAG?"

  "What are you looking for, Chief?"

  "I'd like to know if Bucky gave De Leon money to the governor's reelection committee."

  "What difference would that make? Unless we could prove the committee knew the money was tainted, no crime has been committed."

  "That's not what I'm after, Joe," Kerney said.

  "Do it on the QT."

  "Whatever you say."

  "Thanks."

  After Kerney left, Joe got his penknife out and started opening the taped cartons, wondering what kind of political game the deputy chief was playing. He decided he didn't want to know. robert had been transferred from the hospital in Albuquerque to the Las Vegas Medical Center. Kerney found him in one of the cookie-cutter-modern treatment cottages behind the original nineteenth-century building once known as the New Mexico Insane Asylum.

  The cottage consisted of a combined dayroom and dining area with private cell-like sleeping quarters that branched off from a semicircular core. In spite of the white walls, sunlight from skylights and windows, and the numerous game boards and magazines scattered about, the cottage had a grubby, neglected appearance.

  Robert sat in a plastic chair facing a television set, watching a religious program on a Christian station. A pair of crutches rested against his leg, and his feet were wrapped in bandages.

  Kerney sat down next to Robert, who gave him a disissive look and turned his attention back to the set.

  "How are you, Robert?"

  "Jesus cut off all my toes," he said, keeping his eyes glued on the screen.

  "Jesus did that?"

  "He cut them off for raping my daughter," he said matter-of-factly.

  "That's pretty harsh."

  "Jesus knows what he's doing," Robert said instructively.

  "You should know that."

  "I hope he does."

  "Do you love Jesus?"