Michael McGarity - Serpent Gate

"I do child care for some working mothers," she explained with a weary smile. She waited several beats before speaking again. All was quiet at the back of the house.

"What do you want to know about Robert?"

"What other foster children were placed here while Robert lived with the family?"

Lurline shook her head.

"I couldn't even begin to remember, there were so many of them. Robert was one of those who stayed the longest. Most of the others were here and gone in a matter of a few months."

"Were they all teenagers?"

"Yes. My parents only took in older children."

"Do you remember a girl named Addie that Robert was friendly with?"

Lurline blinked and hesitated.

"There were no foster children staying here by that name, as I recall."

"Perhaps it was a school friend."

Lurline nodded her head.

"That's possible, but Robert was pretty much a loner. I don't think he had any friends."

"Who would know?"

Lurline thought for a moment before answering.

"I really can't tell you. Robert is quite a bit younger than me-about six years, I think. We didn't run with the same crowd. Is he in trouble?"

"No, he's not."

"Poor thing," Lurline said.

"He's had a hard time of it."

"Haven't we all?"

"Is that your high school graduation picture?" Kerney asked.

"Yes. I should take it down. I'll never look like that again."

"Is the other girl your sister?"

"Yes. My younger sister, Nita. Dad always wanted a boy, but he got two girls instead."

"Could she tell me more about Robert?"

"She was never close to him."

"How can I contact her?"

A child's angry shriek kept Luriine from answering.

She got to her feet.

"I can't talk now. Call me this evening." kerney sat in his car by the Mountainair High School and watched a group of students dressed in sweats running around a track that bordered the football field.

Growing up in the Tularosa Basin, Kerney had gone to a small-town high school where the school nurse knew every student, and was the unofficial counselor, confidante, and friend to any kid with a bloody nose, scraped knee, or troubles at home. In the years that had passed, he doubted much had changed in small-town schools.

He got out of the car and found his way to the health office.

Henrietta Swope, the school nurse, looked like a grandmother who brooked no silliness and expected everybody to tell the truth. She wore her gray hair pulled straight back, and her blue-gray eyes were inquisitive and lively. She had the lyrical voice of a much younger woman.

Kerney sat in her office, a small room furnished with a cot, a first aid locker, a desk with a chair, and a row of locked file cabinets. The walls were plastered with public health posters announcing the pitfalls of unsafe sex, teenage pregnancy, poor nutrition, and drug abuse. He showed his identification, told her what case he was working on, and asked about Robert Cordova.

"Of course I know him," Henrietta replied.

"He haunts my memory."

"Why do you say that?"

Henrietta sighed.

"Whenever I see him around town, I remember what a lonely, miserable boy he was.

He acted like a whipped puppy. He would snarl when he got angry and run away when he got upset. He was such a sad child."

"Did he have any friends?"

"At best, he was always on the fringes of the social cliques. He was barely tolerated and always teased a great deal."

"Did he hang around with any of the other foster children when he lived with the jacksons Henrietta's expression brightened.

"I wish Robert could have stayed with Thelma and Buri. It was the only time I saw him settle down and get comfortable with himself." Her eyes flickered and turned serious.

"I think Robert has always been truly alone in the world. Isn't that enough to make a person go crazy?"

"Sometimes," Kerney conceded.

"He didn't connect with anybody? Another foster child? A classmate? A teacher?"

"No. That says something about all of us, I suppose.

We should have tried harder to reach him."

"Did he have a schoolmate named Addie?"

"Not that I remember."

"Someone nicknamed Addie? Short for Adele or Adelaide?"

"No, but we had a girl here until last year whose given name was Addie."

"Who is that?"

"Addie Randall."

"Tell me about her."

"Oh, I'm sure Robert doesn't know her. She would have been a senior now if she'd stayed with us."

"She moved away?"

"She's living in Socorro. I transferred her health records to the high school there during the middle of the spring semester."

"When was that, exactly?" Kerney asked.

"Sometime in March. Late March, I would say."

"Did the family move?"

"No. Her parents still live here with two younger children. Her mother works at the grocery store as a checker. I believe Addie's father is unemployed."

"Do you have any idea why Addie left?"

"Family troubles, I suspect. Addie was a popular girl at school-very pretty and outgoing-and the transfer happened quite unexpectedly."

"What kind of family troubles?"

Henrietta bit her lower lip before replying.

"Confidentially, I think it's possible she may be pregnant.

I've seen the pattern too many times not to have my suspicions."

"Do you know who Addie is living with in Socorro?"

"A relative, I believe." Henrietta consulted her card file.

"I don't have a name. Addie's mother can tell you. I can't see how any of this has the least bearing on Paul Gillespie's murder," she added.

"It probably doesn't."

"If you see Addie, give her my best. She's a sweet girl."

Til be glad to." kernht pushed the car hard through Abo Pass at the north edge of the Los Pinos Mountains. It was a sixty mile drive to Socorro, and a large part of the trip bordered the Sevilleta National Wildlife Refuge, which straddled both sides of the Rio Grande. With the mountains behind him, the rangeland-so vast the river was a hazy promise in the distance-opened into miles of uninhabited space colored in sepia brown and dull gray against a creamy blue sky. The only interruptions to the emptiness were a few mobile homes and camper trailers parked on small fenced lots along the state highway, most of them abandoned. West, across the river, rose the remote Ladron Mountains, accessible only by horseback or on foot.

He got to Socorro High School and checked in at the administrative offices, where he learned that Addie Randall was enrolled in a special program for teenage mothers. Through the window of the closed classroom door, he saw a group of expectant and new mothers standing around a changing table. All of them looked much too young to be having babies and rearing children.

The teacher with the students looked suspiciously at Kerney when he entered the room. A tall woman with long arms and legs, she detached herself from the group and approached Kerney quickly.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

The chatter at the table stopped and the girls, some holding infants, withdrew to a circle of chairs at the back of the room.

"I'd like to speak to Addie Randall," Kerney said quietly, displaying his credentials.

The teacher's expression remained unfriendly.

"That's not possible. We're in the middle of class."

During his years as a detective, Kerney had found that teachers on their own turf were difficult to deal with. Most didn't like cops, and they jealously guarded their home ground and their students.

"I won't take much of her time," he said.

"And I do need to see her now." He emphasized the last word.

" I have the principal's permission."

Appealing to a higher authority, even if it was a lie, won the woman over. She nodded curtly and motioned for a girl to join her. Addie Randall moved slowly toward the teacher. She was a tall, slim girl made wide hipped and heavy by pregnancy. Her long-sleeved pullover top had baby emblazoned on it with an arrow pointing toward her belly. A pair of loose, floppy pants draped over the extra thirty pounds of her last trimester. No more than sixteen, she had wheat-colored hair, fair skin, brown eyes, and a worried look on her face.