Michael McGarrity - The big gamble

"When will you find the person who killed her?" Walter asked, dismissing Kerney's words.

"I don't know."

"That's not good enough, Chief Kerney," he snapped.

"Let me tell you what we're doing," Kerney said. He took them through the investigative drill, noting how a lack of evidence and the absence of a targeted suspect made for slow going.

"We've heard those same rationalizations from your department for eleven years," Walter said when Kerney finished. He pointed a stern finger at the window, where in the backyard a bare-branched apple tree had yet to announce the arrival of spring. "My sister's killer is out there a free man, and you've done nothing to catch him."

"Don't lose hope," Kerney said, skirting the criticism. He took out a pocket notebook. "I have a list of people we originally interviewed who have left Santa Fe. It would be a big help to me if you or your sister might know where some of them are currently residing."

"What good will that do?" Walter demanded.

Kerney ignored the remark and read off the list. Carmela gave him the locations of two out-of-state people in a flat voice that didn't quite mask her anger.

"Anyone else?" Kerney asked, glancing at Walter.

He shook his head. "But some man called me at home one night about two months ago, asking if I was Anna Marie's brother. He said he'd just moved back to the area and wanted to get in touch with her."

"Did he give his name?"

"I don't remember it, but it was an Anglo name and he called himself doctor."

"Did he say what kind of doctor he was?"

"No."

"Did you ask him how he knew Anna Marie?"

"I didn't ask, but he said he'd once been her coworker."

"How did he take the news of Anna Marie's disappearance?"

"He sounded shocked and caught off guard."

From the notebook Kerney rattled off the complete witness list.

Walter shook his head. "None of those names ring a bell."

"With a little legwork I should be able to locate him," Kerney said.

"I'd like to say something to you before you go, Chief Kerney," Carmela said, her tone brimming with hostility.

"Yes?"

"Our parents are polite, old-fashioned people who believe in being gracious to everybody. However, my brother and I see the world a bit differently. We're perfectly willing to talk to members of the city council if you fail to make significant progress."

She nodded her head at the closed door. "And many of the people who have gathered here today are more than willing to join with us."

"I understand your frustration," Kerney said, stepping to the door.

"No, you don't," she said. "You haven't a clue."

Clayton got home just in time to tuck Wendell and Hannah into bed and give them good-night kisses. He sat with Grace at the kitchen table, ate the meal she'd kept warm for him in the oven, and told her about the Humphrey murder investigation and how it had stalled.

"I was hoping Ulibarri might have done some talking with one of the dealers or the poker players about his plans. We learned nothing."

"You sound frustrated."

"I am, but not about that. It was a long shot to begin with."

"What's bothering you?"

"Today, the sheriff gave me a big pat on the back and told me I was making good progress."

"Well, you are," Grace said. "From what you said you have a strong suspect."

Clayton took a bite of green beans and shook his head. "Any reasonably competent officer would have zeroed in on Ulibarri. The way I see it, Hewitt was just flattering me. Sort of a be-nice-to-the-Indian kind of thing. I hate that kind of stuff."

Grace cocked her head. "Really?"

"What does that mean?" Clayton asked, pushing the empty plate to one side.

She was silent for a long moment. "I sometimes wonder if one of the reasons you married me was because I'm full-blooded Apache."

Clayton gave her a startled look. "That's crazy."

"In high school you never dated a mixed-blood, and when we were in college together you never went out with an Anglo or Hispanic girl."

"I was seeing you in college," Clayton answered.

"Not all the time," Grace said.

"We broke up a couple of times and I just didn't date, that's all."

"Once, we stopped dating for almost a year," Grace said, "and you never had anything good to say about Anglo boys who were my friends."

"That was just jealousy."

"Was it?"

"What are you saying?"

"Secretly, I think you resent the fact that you have an Anglo father, so you try to be two-hundred-percent Apache."

"I'm not like that," Clayton said.

"And now that you've met your father face-to-face, you've gotten worse. You think that anything an Anglo says that strikes you the wrong way has got to be prejudicial or racist."

"That's not true."

"Really? Sheriff Hewitt pays you a compliment and you can't even accept it graciously. What is that all about?"

Clayton lowered his eyes.

"I'm not saying all this to hurt your feelings," Grace said, reaching across the table for Clayton's hand.

"I know," Clayton said with a sigh. "I was short with Kerney on the phone yesterday. He accused me of trying to push his buttons. Said he expected me to treat him with civility in professional matters."

"Well?"

"He's right, I guess."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Clayton smiled. "Think about stuff."

"That's a start."

"But you did say one thing that's wrong," he said, squeezing her hand.

"What's that?"

"I married you because you're smart, beautiful, and I fell in love with you."

Grace took his hand, kissed it, and placed it against her cheek. "I know that."

Clayton's pager beeped. He read the message, reached for the phone, dialed, and identified himself. As he listened, his eyes shifted away from Grace and his expression turned sour.

"I'll be there in a few," he said shortly, punching the off button and dropping the phone on the table.

"Is something wrong?" Grace asked.

"That was Moses," Clayton said. "One of his security officers just reported finding Humphrey's car in the parking lot behind the towers at the resort with an expired guest permit. I have to go."

"That should be good news, shouldn't it?" Grace said, responding to Clayton's tone.

"It would be, if I hadn't been so stupid," Clayton replied. "I didn't even think to look for the vehicle when I was at the resort. I just assumed Ulibarri drove away in it when he checked out."

He snatched his car keys, gave Grace a quick kiss, and hurried out the door.

While Grace and the children slept Clayton rose early, ate a quick breakfast, and went to meet the state police crime scene tech assigned to conduct an evidence search of Humphrey's car. Clayton had made the request the night before, after having the Cougar towed from the resort to the state police impound lot in Alamogordo.

On the drive from his house he reminded himself to try to be friendlier to people.

The technician, Artie Gundersen, a retired San Diego police officer, was working on the Cougar when Clayton arrived. In his late forties, Gundersen was an outdoor enthusiast who had moved to New Mexico so he could hunt, fish, and camp without sharing the forests, streams, and wilderness with thirty million other Californians.

Sandy-haired, blue-eyed, lean, tanned, and fit, Gundersen looked like an aging surfer. Clayton forced a smile as he walked up to him. It felt phony.

"I just finished a visual inspection," Gundersen said. "The owner was a pig. There's gotta be ten years' worth of fast-food garbage and trash on the floor-boards."

Clayton glanced at the open trunk. "What's back there?"

"It's stuffed with paper sacks filled with dirty clothes, cardboard boxes of what looks like pure junk and who knows what else."