Michael McGarity - Serpent Gate

Robert grinned at the prospect.

Marda turned to Kerney.

"Do you have any more questions for Robert?"

"Just one. Were you near the police station around the time Gillespie was shot?"

Robert stuck his thumb out in a hitchhiker motion.

"Does that mean no?"

Robert nodded in agreement.

"I hitched a ride to Estanda."

"Did you see anyone near the police station before you left town?"

Robert shook his head and looked away, avoiding Kerney's gaze.

"Thanks, Robert," Kerney said, thinking that maybe Robert had seen someone-someone he knew. But pushing Robert didn't seem to be the best way to get answers.

"We're done?" Robert asked, and stood up quickly.

"We're done," Kerney said.

Robert leaned in Kerney's direction and gave him a high five and a smile.

"Later," he said.

"Take care, Robert."

After escorting him out of the room, Marda returned and sat with Kerney.

"I expected you to wait for me before meeting with Robert."

"It was a bit sneaky on my part."

Marda nodded.

"Just so you know why I jumped on you when I came in."

In another context, Kerney wouldn't have minded the possibility of Marda jumping on him at all.

"No problem. I deserved it."

She drummed her fingers on the table.

"Did he talk much about rape?"

"He had just started talking about it. He said a long time ago he raped his sister-not the one who lives in Texas."

"He doesn't have another sister. It's unusual for Robert to say anything at all about rape, other than the delusional stuff about Satan, Jesus, and his imaginary daughter."

"Do you think there's some factual basis to what he said?" Kerney asked.

"Don't count on it." Marda took her glasses off and smiled-an amused half smile that seemed to show some personal interest in Kerney.

"Robert says he likes you. That's high praise from him for a police officer."

"I'm glad to hear it."

She offered her hand to him across the table. It was warm and soft.

"I hope you catch your killer, Mr. Kerney." Kerney let go of her hand slowly. It had been a while since he'd felt a woman's touch.

"Thanks. Will you be able to keep Robert out of the hospital?"

"It's possible. I'll do a mental status exam. If he's dear enough, I should be able to swing it." after marcia left to evaluate Robert, Kerney stayed behind to think things through. If, as Marcia indicated, Robert never talked about rape except when he was hallucinating or delusional, why did he raise the topic in the absence of any psychotic symptoms? While Kerney was no expert in mental illness, he believed Robert had something specific on his mind.

Robert had flat-out lied about the woman in the pickup truck, with all the clumsiness of a twelve-year old caught red-handed. And he had lied again about not seeing anyone outside the police station.

The only new bit of information Robert had provided was a name: Addie.

Was she real or imaginary?

Marda thought it was part of Robert's delusion, but Kerney wasn't so sure. He stared at me freshly polished tabletop. There were smeared, sweaty palm prints where Robert had been sitting. Until Marda suggested that Addie was only a voice in his head, Robert had nervously rubbed his hand on the table. The hand rubbing and foot wiggling started up again when Kerney pushed the issue about Addie a little harder.

Kerney smiled. Maybe Addie was real. Maybe the case wasn't as dead as a doornail yet.

Using the jail administrator's phone, Kerney called around until he connected with the state agency responsible for foster care. He had to smooth-talk a handful of bureaucrats and record clerks before he could get the names of Robert Cordova's former foster parents. An attempt to get the names of the children living with the couple during Robert's placement was unsuccessful-the juvenile records were confidential and sealed.

After confirming that Robert's foster parents. Burl and Thelma Jackson, were deceased, he got their last known Mountainair address and headed down the road.

The day had warmed up and the rangeland had shed the previous night's snow. As he drove, Kerney pondered the facts of the Gillespie murder.

Gillespie's sidearm had been used to blow the top of his head off, and the gun had been wiped clean of prints. There was no sign of a struggle, and no incriminating evidence had been found at the crime scene.

How could the killer have gotten control of Gillespie's weapon? That fact alone made it highly likely that the killer was known to Gillespie. Which meant Kerney needed to find a precipitating event that could lead to a motive. The crime could have been fueled by jealousy, rage, or revenge. But was it a premeditated crime or one of passion? Either way, what did Gillespie do to make somebody want to kill him? Kerney still didn't have a hint.

Burl and Thelma Jackson's last address turned out to be a rambling adobe house with a pitched roof on several fenced acres near a Forest Service building. East of the house an old Santa Pc Railroad boxcar sat on masonry piers next to a working windmill. A picket fence at the front of the house enclosed a sandbox and swing set. Near a freestanding garage with a sagging roof, a rusted Ford Fairlane slumped on blocks with the hood open, yawning at the sky.

Kerney knocked at the door, which was opened by an overweight woman of about forty. Dressed in a bulky sweater that covered a thick stomach, she had a harried expression and full lips that curved downward.

In the background, Kerney heard the voices of young children.

"Yes?" the woman asked, looking Kerney up and down. She was holding a baby's bib in one hand. It was splattered with what looked like applesauce or vomit.

Kerney showed his shield and introduced himself.

"I'm trying to locate someone who knew Burl and Thelma Jackson."

They were my parents," the woman replied. A child yelled and the woman turned her head toward the sound.

"Come in. I'll be with you in a minute." She pointed at an overstufied easy chair in the front room and left hurriedly through a side doorway, latching a childproof accordion gate behind her.

Kerney sat, listened to the children's chatter, and looked around. The room was meagerly furnished with a well-worn couch, the easy chair Kerney sat in with a floor lamp next to it, two side tables, each holding a glass vase filled with plastic flowers, and a hand-hooked oval throw rug in the center of the pine floor. Framed family photographs hung on one wall above a largescreen television set, and plain white cotton curtains covered the front windows.

The largest photograph was a color portrait of a smiling elderly couple dressed in their Sunday best. The man, wearing a cowboy hat, sat behind the woman, his arms wrapped around her waist, both turned at an angle to face the camera. Kerney guessed the couple to be Burl and Thelma. On either side of the portrait were high school graduation pictures of two girls. One was obviously of the woman who had greeted Kerney at the door. He could see the tendency toward heaviness in her torso and upper arms, and a hint of petulance in the smile. The other girl, a slender, pretty brunette with a faraway gaze in her eyes, had a tough little smile and a birthmark on her chin.

The noise subsided and the woman returned, closing the gate behind her.

She sat on the sofa and looked quizzically at Kerney.

"Why are you asking about my parents?"

"I didn't get your name," Kerney replied with a smile.

"Lurline Toler."

"I'm really interested in learning about Robert Cordova, Mrs. Toler,"

Kerney explained.

"He was your parents' foster child."

"I know Robert. I was still living at home when he came to stay with us." A child's delighted screech followed by another child's laugh interrupted Lurline.