Short Cut to Santa Fe (16 page)

She knew that she was compressible enough to get through. She also knew that the wood frame was going to squeeze all the air out of her chest and that she was going to go mad if she didn't make it out in one fast movement. Her head had room if she faced straight out, and her thin shoulders shouldn't have any trouble if she kept them at the correct angle. She exhaled forcefully, loosened her grip on the frame, and threw herself toward the roof.

She landed with an enormous thud and collapsed. For a while she lay there, panting, acutely aware of pain for the first time in what seemed like hours. Her arms throbbed, her scraped chest burned, her bruised knees hurt where she had landed on them. She glanced back up at that horrible little window and shuddered, her heart pounding with terror.

It took forever for the fear to recede and for Kate to regain control of her body. She lurched unsteadily to her feet to see where she could go from here. To her left was the south face of the building, perfectly smooth; to the right there were a few projections that might help her get down, but she would land right in the courtyard. Behind bars, in full view of the world. Straight ahead was the only possibility. She walked as lightly as she could over to the edge and peered down. The drop directly ahead of her seemed unpropitious, and even in the darkness, she could see that she would land on a stone terrace in a walled garden. Stupid and painful. But if she followed the central section of the building around, there was a one-story structure attached to the back of the house. It might offer the possibility of climbing down in two stages. She padded over quietly and looked down. Ten feet? Onto a slightly pitched roof. If she could count on her arms to lower her that meant an easy drop of four and a half. Repeat that and she would be fine. That is, all she needed to do was to rely on the strength of an arm she had been babying like a sick calf for three or four months, and abusing so strenuously for three or four hours that now it trembled with weakness. She sat down on the edge of the roof and cried for the first time in years.

Rodriguez made it to the posts that marked the Deever ranch in no time at all. He screeched to a halt a hundred yards or so back from the entrance, killed his headlights, and coasted slowly up the drive, stopping some distance from the wrought-iron gates. The house was dimly and partially lit, as if a ghostly skeleton staff wandered from room to room each night, checking out the possibilities for fun and games. But Deever's study and bedroom were both dark, and that wasn't very promising. He considered whether walking around the building and peeking in all the windows would be worth the risk and time it would take, and decided that he would prefer to confront the man himself—or his lieutenant—whoever was home.

With practiced ease, his hand found the bell push in its ornate metal flower and pressed it hard. A loud peal sounded through the almost empty residence, reverberating in the courtyard. As it died down, the fountain splashing once again became the only sound in the still night. Suddenly, lights sprang up in the courtyard, illuminating fountain, trees, and gate. The front door heaved open and a large figure was silhouetted against the brightness of the great hall. Ginger. The chauffeur stalked down the pathway and stood on the inside of the gate, making no effort to open it.

“Rodriguez,” he said. The voice was not welcoming. “What in hell do you want?”

“To see Carlos,” he said. “On official business.”

“He don't have official business with you. Ever. He told me.”

“Maybe not, Ginger, but he has my witness and I want her back.”

“What witness?” said Ginger lazily. “We don't have a witness here. Nobody here but Maria and Pedro. You want to ask them something?”

Rodriguez hung onto his temper. “I want to come inside and talk to my witness. Open that fucking gate.”

“You got a warrant, you can come inside. Otherwise nobody allowed in. Mr. Deever's instructions. You want me to lose my job?” He smiled as if smiling were a new accomplishment, not yet practiced enough to be convincing. Then something caught his attention, wiping the insincere grin from his face, and making him turn his head to look over Rodriguez's left shoulder. “What's that? Who you brought with you?”

“Who in hell am I going to bring with me?” he said. “Look, Ginger—I don't think you understand what you've got here. Miss Grosvenor isn't one of your cheap hookers you can buy off with a few threats and fifty bucks, you know. She's famous. She works for
Time
or one of those magazines. Not someone you can just grab and rough up a bit because Carlos wants her to talk—”

“Oh—is that who you want? Miss Grosvenor? You should've said. She ain't here,” said Ginger quickly, still troubled by whatever he saw over Rodriguez's shoulder. “I took her back to town hours ago. She was here. Yeah. She and Mr. Deever, they had a drink, talked some, and off she went. Nice lady. Famous, like you said. Then I come back and get Mr. Deever to Albuquerque. He has a party to go to. I just got back.” He peered into the darkness again.

Rodriguez turned and followed the direction of his look. A black face with a white blaze looked back at him and whinnied. A bored and lonesome horse. Ginger must be getting edgy. “Some drive. Albuquerque and back and it's nowhere near ten yet,” he observed. “You must have been really flying. How come he didn't want you in Albuquerque with him?”

“Don't be so goddamn stupid. I took him to the airport. And I never asked him why he wants me to stay. Mr. Deever wants me here, I stay here. That's how it works.”

“How come he didn't fly himself down?”

“He don't like flying at night. Now you got any other questions? It's late and I'm going to bed.”

Rodriguez considered the situation in front of him. Trying to move Ginger with arguments was a futile exercise and always had been. Trying to break into this place without a tank was just as futile. Ginger was no legal scholar, but he knew a search warrant when he saw one—kidding him on that score was also impossible. Shooting him through the gate would help relieve his irritation, but it wouldn't get Rodriguez into the house. The gate opened with a key, and Ginger was standing too far back to allow him to grab it. It would also get him into a certain amount of hot water.

“Listen, Ginger. I'm leaving but I'll be coming back. And then it'll be with two cars and a search warrant, and we're going to tear this whole goddamn place apart. You won't even recognize it.”

Ginger looked pretty terrified, cowering there behind his gate. “Yeah? Sure. You wanna know where to find a judge to give you a warrant? It's easy. You know where they all are? At that party with Mr. Deever.” He laughed and turned his back. Ginger was a real humourist.

Just as Rodriguez was about to try one more assault with reason, someone leaned on his horn and blasted away the peace of the night. He paused for a millisecond, startled. “Jesus, it's my partner,” he said smoothly. “No more time to waste. You tell Carlos I wanted to see him. No—don't bother. I may go to Albuquerque and tell him myself.”

Kate's tears had been instantly halted by the sound of a vehicle pausing in its headlong rush along the road. She glanced over in time to see its headlights go out and the ghostly outline of a car creep slowly up the drive. It was either Deever come back to kill her, or Rodriguez come to rescue her. No matter which one it was, she had to get off this goddamn roof fast. She grasped the nearest wooden roof beam and lowered herself down as far as she could. Her strength gave out halfway, she plunged the remaining distance, lost her grip, and fell. She landed unsteadily on her feet, took a step, sat down, and almost immediately began to slide down the slope. Then right below her, a male voice exclaimed loudly in Spanish, and she froze. It was answered by a softer voice, the conversation ended in a burst of music, and she realized that she was listening to a television set, nothing more. With any luck, whoever was down there had been so enraptured by the program he was watching that he hadn't heard her clumping about over his head.

Without more delay, she crawled on her hands and knees to the edge of the roof. No exposed heavy beams here. She grabbed onto the metal gutter and lowered herself in the same efficient but graceless manner. This time she was aware of the pain, but only as a hindrance, a nuisance, something that might keep her from what she ought to be doing. She let go carelessly, almost defiantly, daring her body to betray her now, and landed hard, on her feet.

As she started toward the corner, a lamp was turned on in the addition, catching her in its revealing light. She rolled onto the ground and in toward the house, out of the line of sight of the window. Someone pushed it open right above her; Kate held her breath. After an eternity of heart-stopping time a deep voice said, “
Nadie
.” No one. The light went out again and she rolled back to her feet. She started to run, impelled by leftover panic, until she was past the addition. There, a solid adobe wall blocked the light and windows behind it. She slowed to a walk. If she tried to run all the way around the house, she was going to trip and fall on the uneven ground, or maybe even collapse. Either would be counterproductive. And so, stumbling and tripping but staying on her feet, she walked past more windows, all barred, and finally past the curtained fastness of Mr. Deever's study. Where was that car, and whose was it?

As soon as she rounded the corner and climbed the fence into Deever's combination front yard and horse paddock, that question was answered. She could hear his voice, harsh, scolding, censorious, and she was ready to cry again from gratitude and relief. And a certain manic joy that she hadn't yet defined. In the faint glimmer from the stars and the light that was thrown up from Deever's courtyard, the car stood out clearly. And so did Rodriguez, standing in front of the gate, arguing with Ginger. Beautiful Rodriguez, angel-eyed, big and strong and right there on the spot when you needed him. Distracted by these cheerful reflections, she hit something with her foot and knocked it over. Ginger's head whipped in her direction, and she froze. Then in the silence, someone laid a warm hand on her shoulder and she knew it was all over.

But the hand made a peculiar soft grabbing motion on the fabric of her sweatshirt, and breathed warm but powerful breath onto her neck at the same time. She turned her head and looked straight into the dark eyes and white face of one of Carl Deever's horses. “Hi, gorgeous,” she whispered, and got an appreciative nicker in return. “Stop eating my shirt and let's go.” She positioned herself at the animal's far shoulder and took hold of its halter. Together, in perfect friendship, they ambled very slowly toward Rodriguez's car.

When Rodriguez opened his car door, flooding the interior with light, he snarled, “For chrissake, Joe, what in hell's wrong with you?” and shut the door again before Ginger could establish who it was sitting there in the passenger's seat. He started the engine, reversed, and turned in a squeal of rubber and was off down the drive, headlights blazing. “I was worried,” he said, as he made a left onto the road. “I guess that's an understatement. I was— Are you okay?” His voice dropped.

“The funny thing is, I think I am. I shouldn't be, but I am. I feel exhausted and exhilarated and all sorts of things starting with ex. Except dead. Like ex in expired. He was going to kill me, you know,” she said, speaking faster and faster as she went on. “He was. With booze and drugs and leave me on a park bench for you to find.” She began to shiver so hard that her voice was shaking. “And you would have thought that I hadn't the guts to go through with it and you would have despised me.”

“Despised you? Me? Jesus,” said Rodriguez. “I have to think about this one.” He slowed, his brow furrowed in concentration. “How did you get out of there? He's damned near turned the place into a fortress.”

“Out one of the tower windows,” said Kate. “It's a tight fit, but I made it. Just. I was sure I'd get stuck. I'm a bit claustrophobic.” Her knee jumped; she had started to shake all over again.

“You must be even thinner than I realized,” he said, and made no other comment. Then he braked, flicked on his turn signal, and turned the car up a narrow road.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere peaceful and quiet.”

“With chili?”

“With chili.”

“Because I'm famished. I haven't been hungry in months, and I'm famished.” She leaned her head back on the seat and fell instantly asleep.

John stood on the road, contemplating the van. There was no question of anyone sleeping in it tonight. Even if he moved the body out of the front seat and stashed it by the side of the road, the stench from the blood-soaked upholstery would persist and grow; it would probably give the children nightmares for the rest of their lives. What had the murderer taken, beside the life of the little nurse? He went around to the back and opened the doors. Not much. Their luggage was still there, and Harriet's cameras, and the emergency water supplies. A crumpled blanket lay tossed on the floor, along with a piece of old canvas that Harriet used for some obscure purpose from time to time.

He took out two knapsacks, each one half-filled, and jammed the blanket and the canvas in on top of Harriet's fragile equipment. He slung one over each shoulder. The water container had a handle on top; he could carry it with one hand. There remained Harriet's duffle bag, his suitcase, her camera case and tripod, and her film cooler. The one with the real film in it, as opposed to the one that carried extra film, beer, and food. He transferred a few things from his suitcase to the duffle bag, and made a silent promise to the rest of the camera equipment to return for it later.

Harriet had found a flat piece of ground hidden by an outcrop of rock, where she stashed Diana and the twins. She sat above them on the rock, screened by a bit of juniper, guarding her charges and watching the road. Silence, and the brooding mountain, and the endless night sky exacted its toll. Panic tightened her chest muscles. Surely the van wasn't that far away. Where was John? He'd been gone a hell of a long time. And then the idea that they were being followed by an unseen person flitting about from tree to tree like the villainous beast in some fantasy film crowded into her brain and made her feet and hands go cold.