Michael McGarity - Mexican Hat

"The word is trans located It's a technical term we Game and Fish types love to use. You've got to use it if you want to be politically correct."

"Okay, trans located Tell me how the killer knew about the lion."

"We don't publicize translocations. Just a few of the area ranchers are informed so they don't start shooting when they see a cougar."

"Who knew?" Kerney prodded.

"Phil Cox and his father. The Johnstons, over by Allegros Mountain. Al Medley. Vance Swingle. Ray Candelaria down in Bear Canyon. Law enforcement personnel. That's it."

"Did any of the ranchers protest?"

Stiles shook his head.

"Not a one. I know these people. They'd be on the telephone yelling at me in a minute if there was even a remote possibility that a lion was taking their stock. Demanding permission to kill it."

"People talk," Kerney suggested.

"True enough. We can't keep a project like this completely secret. That would be impossible. But I don't think folks sit around in Cattleman's Cafe talking to tourists about wild mountain lions."

"So it's a local," Kerney agreed.

"Are there any prime suspects in other cases we can check out?"

"Not really." Stiles tugged at his ear.

"How did these guys find the road up the mountain? It hasn't been used in decades. You can barely see the ruts. In fact, you can't see a damn thing at all from the highway."

"The Forest Service map in the truck was folded open to Mangas Mountain."

"I missed that," Stiles admitted.

"That could mean these guys wanted to come here. Why?"

"Beats me," Kerney replied.

"Let me ask you a question. Are you ready for the shit to hit the fan?"

"What does that mean?"

"Last unnatural death we had in the county was this Texan who bought a ranch over by Spur Lake.

The guy goes out rabbit hunting last summer and kills himself with a shotgun. Almost the whole damn county turned out for that one." "Were you there?" Kerney asked.

Stiles laughed.

"Damn right. Wouldn't have missed it for the world." He looked up at the sky.

"Give it a while and this meadow is going to look like an annual convention for the Forest Service, the local cops, every EMT, and every search-and-rescue volunteer in Catron County."

"What do you suggest we do with our guests?"

"I'll tell you what I'd like to do. Let the sons of bitches figure it out for themselves. None of them are worth spit as investigators."

"Not even Charlie Perry?"

Stiles groaned.

"That prissy, uptight asshole? If he gets his hands on this case, we can kiss it goodbye. It will disappear into the woodwork. By the time the party's over, you'll wish we had just kept our mouths shut and done the investigation on our own," Stiles predicted.

An hour after the arrival of an assorted cast of characters that included the county sheriff, three of his five deputies, a rookie state police officer who had never seen a dead body before, two Game and Fish officers who were general nuisances, and the officious Charlie Perry, who arrived with Carol Cassidy and several others, Kerney admitted that Jim's prophecy had come true. Finally, when the search-and-rescue team arrived like a posse on horseback, hoping maybe somebody else might be lost and in need of their services, Kerney gave up, found Stiles, and broke him loose from his Game and Fish buddies. There were tight pockets of people scattered across the meadow holding earnest conversations about who was going to do what.

"This is a disaster," he bitched, pointing to the three helicopter pilots standing next to their aircraft, scanning the meadow with binoculars.

"I told you so," Stiles reminded him.

"Think about it. What else is there to do in Catron County for recreation? Drink? Watch videos? Go to church?

Poach game? That gets boring after a while. It can't be sex. The birth rate keeps steadily dropping. This is much more fun. In fact, it doesn't happen often enough to suit most people."

"How can you stand it?" Kerney asked. He watched the state cop line up the search-and-rescue team and send them across the meadow in a field sweep, looking for evidence.

"These are my friends and neighbors," Stiles said solemnly.

"Good people, one and all. Look. Fred Langford just walked right over the poacher's nest without blinking an eye."

"Thank God we took pictures," Kerney said, grimacing.

"Who's the medical examiner?"

Stiles answered with a straight face.

"Petra Gonzales. She was a dental assistant in the Navy. She's almost finished with her training."

Kerney stifled a snicker.

"This is just round one," Stiles commented.

"Wait until they start fighting over who gets to be in charge.

I bet they divvy it up. The state police will give it to an investigator out of Socorro, the sheriff will make local inquiries which will lead absolutely nowhere, Charlie Perry will assign it to himself, and we'll get to write a report on the poaching incident that everybody will want for their files. End of story."

"And who's interviewing Dr. Padilla at the hospital in Silver City?"

Kerney asked.

"Nobody, yet," Jim answered.

"They'll get around to it as soon as Petra announces Hector's death was a murder."

"Can we trust her to do it?"

"The exit wound in Hector's back is pretty hard to miss," Stiles reassured him.

"If you want more, we'll have to do our own investigation."

"We?" Kerney queried.

Stiles grinned.

"Why not? You got something to lose?"

"Not really."

Stiles slapped him on the back.

"Neither do I. Besides, my uncle is the chairman of the state Game and Fish Commission. How's that for job security?"

"That should keep you on the payroll." Kerney looked at the sky. Maybe four hours of sunlight left, he figured. Enough time to get back to the Mangas campsite before dark.

"What are we waiting for?"

He started for the horses.

"You got a plan?"

"First we talk to the lookout at the fire tower, then we visit everybody who lives on the road to Mangas.

How many cars travel that road in a day?"

"I'd say no more than ten," Stiles answered, quickening his pace to keep up with Kerney.

"The highway department says it's one of the lightest traveled roads in the state. They want to make the Forest Service maintain it. Only five families live on that road."

"Maybe somebody saw something."

"Is this real police work, Kerney?" Stiles was grinning from ear to ear.

"Yeah, but don't get your hopes up."

Carol Cassidy stopped them before they could leave the meadow. She greeted Jim Stiles and turned her attention to Kerney.

"Are you taking off?"

Stiles answered before Kerney had a chance.

"Yep. We'll leave it in the hands of the experts."

Carol laughed, an amused, throaty chuckle.

"It is like a zoo out there," she agreed.

"If I knew what to do, I'd put it right," she added, looking directly at Kerney, waiting for him to volunteer.

"Ma'am?" Kerney said, as innocently as possible.

Carol laughed again.

"I can see that you two will make quite a team." Her expression became thoughtful.

"What would you have done, Kevin, if this crime had happened in Santa Fe when you were chief of detectives?"

"I'd kick everybody who doesn't belong off" the meadow, assign my best people, and give it top priority," Kerney answered.

Carol nodded as Kerney spoke.

"I've been thinking the same thing."

"Let me guess," Stiles interjected sarcastically.

"You're going to ask Charlie Perry to handle the case."

Carol didn't laugh.

"Don't do that to me, Jim," she snapped.

"I am not going to get sucked into sniping at a colleague."

Stiles clamped his mouth shut, swallowed hard, and nodded.

"You're right. Sorry. I was out of line."