Authors: Michael McGarrity
“What else have you got?”
Gabe nodded at the girl on the deck. “Joaquin is supporting a wife at home, as well as Berna over there with her new baby. He bought Berna a house, a car, and furniture, which I don't think he paid for out of the salary his daddy gives him.
“Berna is Lenny's step-daughter. He makes frequent runs to West Texas, hauling firewood and wood chips for Santistevan. I don't think that's all he's been freighting.”
“Do you have any hard evidence?” Kerney asked.
“No, but Berna said Lenny keeps a semitrailer on the property that he uses for special runs. She doesn't know what kind. He moved it off the property yesterday.”
“You think he transferred the stolen goods?”
“That's what I would have done,” Gabe replied. “I'd like to send Thorpe and Officer Garcia down to Santa Rosa to poke around. If Alarid did move the stolen merchandise, Santa Rosa would be a good spot to store it.”
“Do it.”
Gabe turned to Thorpe and Garcia. “Take off, guys. I want every warehouse, storage unit, or possible hiding place in Santa Rosa covered by morning. Call me at home if you find anything.”
Thorpe grinned and Garcia nodded.
Kerney waited to speak until the two men were on the way to their units. “What can you tell me about Bernardo Barela that isn't in the background information Captain Garduno prepared for me?”
“Not much. He had some juvenile arrests when he was in his early teens. Mostly for getting into fights and underage drinking. Nothing serious enough to get him locked up. He was released to the custody of his parents.”
“No juvenile probation?”
“Not that I know of. I think maybe he got some informal counseling.”
“What kind of fights did he have?”
“Pushing and shoving matches. The usual teenage stuff.”
“And the drinking?”
“Open six-packs found in a friend's car. Stopped and questioned at rowdy parties. Nothing more than that.”
“Anything since then?”
“No. He seems to have straightened himself out.”
“So, he's a good kid?”
“Maybe.”
“You don't sound convinced.”
Gabe considered his answer. “There's an edge to Bernardo. He's respectful with me, but I get the feeling it's just surface bullshit. You know how some kids cover up their insolence by acting super polite?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“That's Bernardo. Underneath, he thinks he's a tough guy.”
“Does he have any gang connections?”
“I don't think so.”
“Do you know who he hangs with?”
“My son, Orlando, might. He's known Bernardo since high school. They played varsity baseball together.”
“How can I contact Orlando?”
“He's at work.” Gabe gave Kerney the name of the fast-food burger joint. “Can I ask what you've got going, Chief?”
“I've got a possible ID on the dead woman, and information that Bernardo may have had more than a passing interest in her.”
“That's it?”
“He was seen in the company of an unknown companion on the road to Ojitos Frios the day the dead woman disappeared.”
“That's worth checking out. Is the victim on our missing persons list?”
“She was never reported as missing.”
Gabe waited for more but Kerney remained silent. “Orlando may be able to help you. He doesn't pal around with Bernardo all that much, but he probably knows who does.”
“I'll stop by and talk to him.”
“Captain Garduno is going to ding me for working this case, Chief. I'm getting a letter of reprimand for my personnel jacket.”
“No, you're not. Garduno is going to write me up.”
“You're kidding, right?”
“I'm serious. In fact, I made it an order.”
Speechless, Gabe watched Kerney leave. Never in his career had Gabe ever known of a commander or supervisor ordering a subordinate to write him up. Kerney's action took Gabe off the hook, big time. The chief knew how to keep his word.
He thought about calling Orlando at work to let him know Kerney would be coming around to ask questions, and decided against it. Orlando could handle the situation without any fatherly advice.
He walked toward Berna's house. It was time to sit down with the girl and take a written statement.
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Although the day had not been overly hot, the cool of the evening brought many Tucson residents out on the
streets. Most stores and small businesses stayed open late to accommodate shoppers, and the wide boulevards buzzed with traffic.
Susie had made dinner reservations at a restaurant located in one of Tucson's original shopping malls. Sara expected to be dining in an enclosed, air-conditioned space filled with franchised businesses and chain department stores. Instead she found herself seated on the open patio of a bistro in a single-story, block-long building that had a mission-style feel to it.
After the meal and a lot of small talk, they wandered in and out of the bookstores, art galleries, boutiques, and antique shops that opened onto interior patios nicely landscaped with mesquites, paloverde trees, and creosote bushes.
On their way to Susie's car, Sara paused at the window of an art gallery and studied a large oil of cottonwood trees in full fall color.
She looked for the artist's signature and found it. “That's Erma Fergurson's work.”
“The woman who left Kerney the land?”
“Yes.”
“It's a wonderful painting.”
Sara stepped toward the gallery door.
“Are you sure you want to go in?”
“Why not?”
“You've avoided any mention of Kerney for the last six hours,” Susie said. “I'd hate to see you break your code of silence.”
“Don't be so sarcastic.”
“I bet you haven't stopped thinking about him since
you left Santa Fe,” Susie said as she opened the gallery door.
Sara paused. “Would you like to see more of Erma's work or not?”
Susie smiled sweetly. “Of course I would.”
The gallery had a large number of Erma's paintings. The owner, an older man, explained that he had exclusively represented Erma in Tucson for a number of years.
Sara lost herself in Erma's landscapes. There were pine forests climbing sheer mountain walls, barrel cactus ablaze in color on rolling desert sand dunes, piñon woodlands stretching across tabletop mesas, and fields of hot yellow wildflowers coursing through a valley. Erma's works celebrated the light, sky, and vastness of the land. The smallest image was priced above $10,000, and most commanded three times that amount.
The gallery owner heard Sara sigh as she finished a second, thorough inspection of Erma's paintings.
“Her works are heavily collected,” he said. “I have clients who have built additions on their homes to accommodate her larger works.”
“I can see why.”
“These are the last, except for what is held by her estate. The prices can only go up. Are you a collector?”
“Only in my dreams.”
“I have some of Erma's pencil drawings hanging in my office. Mostly studies for her earlier egg temperas and watercolors. They're quite reasonably priced. Would you like to see them?”
“I would love to,” Sara said.
An hour later, Sara left the gallery with a signed, framed pencil sketch of Hermit's Peak in hand. The reasonable price had gouged a hole in her vacation funds, but Sara didn't care.
“When are you going to give it to him?” Susie asked as they walked to the car. Her eyes were smiling.
“When I get back to Santa Fe,” Sara answered.
“When are you leaving?”
“Tonight.”
Susie unlocked the car and got behind the wheel. “I thought so. Do me a favor before you see him.”
“What's that?”
“Don't try to have everything figured out. Let Kerney tell you what he wants.”
“He may not want anything.”
“Do I detect a note of insecurity?”
“Maybe. Until I met Kerney, I've always encouraged the men I've known to move on.”
Susie cranked the engine and pulled out of the lot. “And now?”
“I can't seem to stay that tough-minded about him.”
“Tell him that.”
“Those aren't words I'm comfortable saying.”
“Practice. You've got all night.”
“Love is scary.”
“Yes!” Susie said, holding up her hand for a high five.
Sara slapped Susie's open palm. “What?”
“You used the L word.”
“I did, didn't I?”
“First time, about a man?”
“First time ever, about a man.”
“Use it with Kerney.”
“You think?”
“You'd better. Otherwise, he's fair game for the likes of me.”
“No cuts. Get at the back of the line.”
“Thatta girl.”
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Kerney studied Orlando Gonzales while he waited for the young man to finish his stint at the drive-up window of the burger joint. Orlando had his fast-food drill down to a well-oiled routine. He began filling orders as they came in over the drive-up speaker, moving quickly between drink dispenser, french fry cooker, and burger-warming trays.
Kerney saw a hint of Gabe in the boy's features, particularly the shape of his head and his chin. But his face was thinner and his eyes a bit less deeply set than his father's.
When the drive-up traffic slowed, the night manager relieved Orlando at the window and pointed in Kerney's direction.
Orlando pulled off his red company logo cap as he hurried around the counter. “Is my dad all right?”
“He's fine, although you may not see much of him until tomorrow. He's fairly busy right now.”
Orlando's shoulders relaxed as he sat down. “Man, you scared me for a minute. All my boss said was that a cop wanted to see me.”
“Not to worry. Gabe hasn't been hurt.”
“So, who are you?”
“Kevin Kerney.” Kerney displayed his shield.
Orlando read the engraved rank on the badge. “Is my dad in trouble?”
Kerney smiled reassuringly. “Not at all. He suggested that I talk to you.”
Orlando shook his head in confusion. “About what?”
“Bernardo Barela.”
Orlando half-closed his eyes. “He's in trouble?”
“Not necessarily,” Kerney replied. “You've known Bernardo for a long time.”
“Yeah, but we don't hang together very much anymore.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“We had a couple of beers a few nights ago. Before that, it's been maybe a year since we've seen each other.”
“Did he ever mention a girl by the name of Luiza San Miguel?”
Orlando's voice changed to a thin treble. “Who?”
“Luiza San Miguel.”
“I don't know that name. I don't know who he's dating.”
“You're not tight with Bernardo anymore?”
Orlando forced a smile. “Nah. We sort of went different ways. He's really into the ranching thing and I'm pretty much preoccupied with school.”
“That's understandable. Is he popular with the girls?”
“He gets his share of attention.”
“Does he brag about it?”
“Not to me.”
“Has he dated anyone you know?”
Orlando mentioned some names, which Kerney wrote down.
“What about his pals?”
He gave Kerney a few more names.
After finding out how to locate Bernardo's friends, Kerney closed his notebook and put it away.
“Is Bernardo in bad trouble?” Orlando asked.
“You're worried about him.”
“Well, sure. I mean, he's still a friend, sort of.”
“When was your last contact with him?”
“Before this week?”
“Yes.”
Orlando closed his eyes. “It was at a party. Yeah, a party.” His eyes fluttered open. “I saw him there and we shot the shit for a while.”
“When was that?”
“Last spring. April, maybe May.”
“Did he seem upset? Agitated? In any way different?”
“No.”
“Who had the party?”
“It was at some girl's apartment. I didn't know her. A bunch of us got invited on the spur of the moment.”
“Was Bernardo with anyone at the party?”
“I don't think so.”
“Did you do any cruising with Bernardo early last year, around Ojitos Frios?”
“I haven't cruised with Bernardo since we were in high school.”
“Has Bernardo ever done anything strange or weird?”
“You mean like crazy shit? Not that I know about.”
“Thanks, Orlando.”
Orlando opened his mouth, closed it, and swallowed hard.
“Did you want to say something?”
“I gotta get back to work.”
“Thanks, again.”
Numbly, Orlando watched Kerney leave before he pulled himself out of the chair and walked woodenly to the counter. The assistant manager stepped away from the drive-up station and said something.
“What?”
“You've got three specials with cheese coming up, and three large fries. The super drinks are ready to go.”
“Okay.”
He stuck the drinks on the foam tray, packed the fries and ketchup packets in a bag, wrapped the burgers as they came up, bagged them, and turned toward the pass-through window. The reflection of his pale face and pinched lips in the glass startled him.
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Officers Garcia and Thorpe arrived in Santa Rosa and quickly discovered that there were no warehouses or storage units in the town. But they did find a number of boarded-up, vacant filling stations, motels, and other structures on the main drag that had closed down as new commercial development spread along the frontage road by the interstate on the east side of the city.
Garcia decided to check out the vacant buildings on the off chance that Alarid was using one for storage. He assigned Thorpe to one side of the strip and took the other. After two hours of close patrols, he contacted Thorpe by radio, called off the building checks, and met with him outside the Santa Rosa State Police substation.