Hermit's Peak (6 page)

“Good deal. Has Melody Jordan reported in?”

“She's back at headquarters, examining the bones. Sergeant Gonzales would like to remain the primary officer on the case, Chief.”

“Are you recommending him?”

“He spent five years in criminal investigations before he made his sergeant stripes. I use him as an investigator whenever I can't get an agent assigned out of Santa Fe.”

“Can you get along without him for a while?”

“A senior patrol officer can cover his duties.”

“Give him the green light.”

Kerney got back to the truck and Dale groused at him for taking so long, and complained of being hungry. Kerney bought lunch at a Mexican place on the plaza. Dale packed away the food while Kerney watched cars pull up in front of the Plaza Hotel. The hotel, a prominent city landmark, was a three-story brick structure with Gothic Revival columns, overhangs, and windows.

Dale ate and listened while Kerney repeated the gist of his conversation with Nestor Barela.

“So Barela wouldn't tell you squat,” he said between bites. “That's pretty suspicious. But I don't think that old man cut and hauled that wood away by himself. Just eyeing him from the truck, he looked pretty much worn down to me.”

“Maybe it's a family affair.” Kerney picked at his meal. “He has strong backs to help him. They could haul a lot of wood in that four-stall horse trailer that was parked down at the barn, without raising any suspicion.”

“I guess I just don't think like a cop.” Dale wiped his chin with a paper napkin and dropped it on his empty plate. “I'm gonna have to bring Barbara and the girls up here for a vacation.”

“Any time,” Kerney said, as he motioned for the check. “I'll fix up my cabin for you.”

Dale snickered. “I said vacation, Kerney. That means a nice hotel with clean sheets every day, dinners out, and with three women, shopping. Lots of shopping. Since I can't afford Santa Fe, I'll bring them here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kerney said as he paid the bill and left the tip. “Are you ready? I've got some work to do.”

“More cop stuff?”

“Yeah.”

Dale pushed his chair back and stood up. “What a yarn I have to tell when I get home. And it doesn't need a bit of exaggeration.”

“I'm glad you had a good time.”

“Did I ever.”

In the truck, Dale popped a George Strait tape into the cassette deck and cranked up the volume. Kerney groaned quietly. County and western was his least favorite music.

Shoe crawled out of the backseat, sat on Kerney's lap, and stared at him with serious eyes. Either the dog didn't smell bad anymore, or Kerney was getting used to him.

He was without a doubt the hairiest beast Kerney had ever owned.

Kerney's apartment was a furnished one-bedroom guest cottage in the south capital neighborhood, within a short walk to the Santa Fe plaza. Although bland and boxy, it had a fireplace, reasonably decent furniture, and a small enclosed patio. Kerney liked the neighborhood with its old houses, narrow streets, and mature trees that gave a small-town feeling to the area. His landlord, Leo Dunn, was a retired cop who had built the cottage at the rear of his property solely for the rental income.

Over the years, most of Leo's tenants were officers going through divorces or just starting out in law enforcement. Leo knew firsthand how poorly cops were paid, so he kept the rent reasonable.

Kerney stopped at Leo's house, an older, pueblo-style single story with a long veranda, to introduce Shoe to his landlord. He got provisional permission to keep the dog as long as it didn't crap on the rug, chew up the furniture, or bother the neighbors.

Before leaving for the office, Kerney got Shoe settled,
and left the patio door open to the small backyard so the dog could do his business outside. Since Leo was around most of the time to keep an eye on things, a burglary was highly unlikely. On top of that, Kerney didn't really have much worth stealing.

At the state police headquarters, a building complex that included the Department of Public Safety and the New Mexico Law Enforcement Academy, Kerney found Melody Jordan in the laboratory.

She looked up from the microscope and smiled when Kerney approached. “Great timing, Chief. I was about to ask dispatch to track you down.”

“What have you got?”

“Several facts that may help. The body was dismembered while clothed. I found minute fibers embedded in the bones—denim and wool. We might be able to match that fabric scrap you found with the maker. And we may get lucky with the wool fibers.”

“Do you have any hunches?”

“The victim wore high-end apparel, Chief. Not the kind of clothing bought at discount stores. But we'll have to wait for our fiber expert to confirm it.”

Melody swung her stool to face Kerney. “More good news: We may not need the skull to make an ID. The left humerus shows a severe old break, about a third of the way down. It isn't the kind of injury that would go unattended.”

“That is good news. Have the bones told you anything else?”

“Tentatively. Remember, we have to factor in the weathering of the bones, but I'd give the victim's age
between twenty and thirty years, based on the microscopic examination of the fibula we found.”

“The victim's race?”

“Probably Anglo or Hispanic, based on the size of the pubic bone. Find the skull and I can narrow it down further. If you do, I'll have a facial reconstruction made.”

“What's next?”

“I want to see if I can match up the saw marks to various types of hand or power tools. That will take some time. I'll also do an X-ray examination to see if I can discover any foreign or metallic objects. I still don't have a clue how the woman was killed.”

“You do good work, Ms. Jordan.” Kerney turned away and started for the door.

“Thanks.” Melody pushed her hair away from her forehead and stood. “Was that a mustang you were riding on the mesa?”

Kerney paused at the door and looked back. “You know your horses.”

“Do you ride a lot?” The thousand-watt smile Dale had noticed on the mesa lit up Melody's face.

“Not as much as I'd like. I don't have the time.”

“I have two quarter horses, a mare and a gelding. I stable them at a friend's place. I think you'd like the gelding. I've been looking for somebody who can give him a good workout. He needs a firm hand. Interested?”

Kerney pushed back the appealing thought of a day in the saddle accompanied by an attractive woman, and chose his words carefully. “I don't see how I can fit it into my schedule. Thanks again for the good work.”

Melody's smile faded. She returned to the stool, lowered
her head over the microscope, and spoke without looking up. “I'll have a follow-up report for you as soon as possible.”

Kerney waited a beat for Melody to say more. She kept her eye glued to the microscope, picked up a pencil, and started writing. He left thinking there were a lot of drawbacks to being a boss.

 • • • 

Sgt. Gabe Gonzales arrived at the district office after dark to find a pile of paperwork waiting for him. He thumbed through it quickly. It contained a note from his captain assigning him full-time to the murder investigation, a preliminary report of Melody Jordan's examination of the skeletal remains, a copy of the most recent crime statistics for the San Geronimo area that had been faxed to Chief Kerney, and a list of missing persons reports on women who had disappeared in northern New Mexico during the past ten years. Clipped to the paperwork was a note indicating that investigative reports on the targeted missing women had been received from various law enforcement agencies and could be accessed by computer.

Gabe read Melody Jordan's report first before scanning the computer files on the ten women reported missing from northern New Mexico. He found no medical information on a woman with an old fracture to the upper left arm. It didn't surprise him: that kind of detail usually didn't surface in a preliminary missing persons report.

He scrolled the computer files again. Eight of the missing women were residents of the state, and two were tourists passing through. Only three fell within
the age range Melody had established. He would work those three as a short list before moving on to the others. If nothing promising materialized, he'd access the National Crime Information Center data bank on missing persons and see what popped up.

He checked the time and grimaced. Since his divorce last year, getting home at a reasonable hour had become important to Gabe. He had one child from the marriage, Orlando, who lived with him, attended the local university, and worked part-time.

Both were busy, but when Gabe worked the day shift he liked to get home early and fix dinner for the two of them.

Tonight that wasn't going to happen.

He called home, got the answering machine, left Orlando a message, and started organizing his field notes for his report. It would take a good two hours to do the write-up, make fresh crime scene sketches, and mount the photographs on exhibit forms. Deputy Chief Kerney expected the report on his desk first thing in the morning, and Gabe wanted to make sure it got there complete and on time.

He sat back in his chair, rubbed the back of his neck, and thought about Kerney. He was an outsider who had been quickly elevated to deputy chief, but his reputation as an investigator was outstanding. In short order, Kerney had personally cleared two major cases, a multimillion-dollar Santa Fe art theft and the murder of a small-town cop. But he was also an old friend of the state police chief, Andy Baca, which kept the issue of cronyism alive among the department gossips.

Gabe decided not to waste his time worrying about whether or not Kerney was a good boss. That question would be answered as Gabe learned more about how the chief operated. He picked up the crime statistics report for San Geronimo that Kerney had requested. During the last year there had been two incidents of cattle theft, two reports of illegal wood harvesting, and three acts of vandalism to cabins, along with eight burglaries to summer homes.

Gabe got out the two prior-year statistical reports and paged through the property crimes information. Up until last year, San Geronimo had been virtually crime free. He made a note to check with the county sheriff for an update on recent criminal activity in San Geronimo. If the rising crime trend had continued into the new year, that would be very interesting information.

He put the reports away, turned to the keyboard, and began typing. Tomorrow started his two days off, but he'd be back on the mesa at first light. They hadn't found the dead woman's skull yet, and Gabe wasn't about to stop searching until every inch of ground had been covered.

 • • • 

Before heading home, Kerney made a quick stop at a supermarket where he bought everything he needed to care for a dog. In the apartment he found Shoe on his feet, wagging his tail, with one of Kerney's sneakers clasped in his mouth. Three more shoes had been brought from the bedroom and scattered around the living room floor.

“Quite a collection you got there,” Kerney said, as he extracted the sneaker from the dog's mouth. Wet with
slobber, it had chew marks on the heel and tongue and some of the padding had been gnawed away. “I guess it's yours now, boy.”

He dropped it on the floor in front of the dog. Shoe snatched it up and gave it a shake.

The other shoes the dog had fetched were only slightly damaged. Except for the mate of the shoe he'd given to the dog, Kerney put the rest away with a reminder to himself to keep the bedroom closet door closed in the future. He spent an hour brushing tangles out of Shoe's matted coat, sprayed him again, cleaned up the dog hair on the carpet, and fed the mutt.

As Shoe ate, Kerney eyed the result of his efforts to groom the dog. Salt-and-pepper hair dangled from his hindquarters and belly, and his tail was a twisted knot that needed clipping. The mutt still looked pretty ratty.

Kerney picked up and fanned through Saturday's mail, looking for a letter from Sara Brannon. He'd written to her last week. Given the distance his letters had to travel, he didn't expect a rapid reply, but occasionally their correspondence crossed in the mail. This time there was nothing. He hoped Sara hadn't changed her mind about coming to Santa Fe when her tour of duty ended.

All of the mail was junk, except for an envelope from Erma Fergurson's personal representative and executor of her estate. He opened the envelope and read Milton Lynch's letter. The appraisal had come in at two thousand dollars an acre. The land was worth almost thirteen million dollars. The final appraisal report would be mailed to Kerney within the week.

He stared at the amount in stunned silence before calling Lynch's home phone number. Lynch answered on the third ring.

“I thought I might be hearing from you,” Lynch said.

“How in the hell can that land be worth thirteen million dollars?” Kerney asked.

“I haven't seen the complete report, but it seems that some of the ranchers in the area have sold out to high bidders, or are subdividing their land. Five years ago, ten sections might have gone for eight or nine hundred dollars an acre, but not any more.”

“Doesn't the land qualify under the farm-use value reduction provision of the tax code?”

“The two-thousand-dollar-per-acre figure is the reduction. Subdivided five- to twenty-acre tracts are selling at four to six thousand dollars per acre.”

“What will the taxes be?”

“You'll be taken to the cleaners, I'm afraid. The Taxpayer Relief Act defines a qualified heir as either a family member materially involved in the operation of the ranch for five of the last eight years, or an employee with ten or more years of employment prior to the decedent's death. You don't qualify for the one-point-three-million-dollar taxable estate exclusion. You'll pay taxes on the full value, less seven hundred thousand dollars.”