Michael McGarrity - Everyone Dies

In the area just outside Sara’s exam room, Kerney met with Gloria Baca, filled her in on Sara’s condition, and made arrangements by cell phone to post one officer at the hospital and have another take Gloria home.

Gloria went in to see how Sara was doing, and Kerney used the time to call Andy Baca.

“So, are you a father?” Andy asked.

“Not yet,” Kerney replied. “It may be some time before the baby comes, so I’m here for the duration. I’m sending Gloria home with one of my officers. How’s the search going?”

“We missed him,” Andy said. “But the train engineer reported he blew his horn as a warning because a car was parked on the railroad right-of-way access road. Maximum speed on the spur line is fifteen miles per hour, so he got a pretty good look at the vehicle. It was an older, full-size domestic sedan, possibly an Oldsmobile or Buick, white in color, with Arizona plates. I’ve got people out there now looking for evidence, but they’re probably not going to find much until daylight.”

“Where are you?” Kerney asked.

“Halfway to town, taking Sara’s camera to the lab. I’ve got a tech standing by to print the photos she took. I’ll bring them to you ASAP.”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“Best to Sara,” Andy replied before he cut the connection.

Kerney looked through the open door into the waiting room. A young mother paced the floor holding a crying infant, and an older man with a swollen cheek sat reading a magazine. A bald-headed man with a bandaged hand came out of an exam room, glanced at Kerney, and walked off in the direction of the billing office, holding a piece of paper. From the blood on his pants, it appeared he’d cut himself badly.

Kerney felt more awake than he had in several days. The pending arrival of Patrick Brannon had gotten his adrenaline pumping. He found Jojoya, who told him it might be some time before the baby was delivered, and went to check on Sara.

“You again,” she said, as he gave her another kiss.

“Yeah, me,” Kerney said. “Looks like we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Why don’t you find something to do?” Sara said. “I don’t need a nervous, expectant father hovering over me.”

“Am I acting silly?” Kerney asked.

“Almost.”

Kerney sat in the chair next to the bed, called Sal Molina and told him to gather up Cruz Tafoya plus all the case materials from the Socorro crime scene investigation and get to the hospital pronto.

Sara smiled as he hung up. “That’s better.”

“I’m staying until the officer arrives.”

“You’re damn right you are,” Sara replied.

Samuel Green quickly paid his urgent-care bill with cash and returned to the waiting area to find Kerney nowhere in sight. His initial shock of seeing Kerney had rapidly given way to the happy thought that he no longer needed to search for him. But now Kerney was gone, and Green wondered if he was back to square one. He decided not to hang around inside hoping Kerney would reappear, and walked through the automatic doors to the parking lot just as two city police squad cars pulled to the curb.

Green tensed up until the two cops passed him without a second look. He stepped between one of the police cruisers and the SUV parked in front of it and stopped. The temporary license sticker in the rear window of the SUV was made out to Sara Brannon. Because of the pain in his hand, he’d paid no attention to the vehicle on his way in.

Had Kerney brought his wife in to have the baby? Or had she called Kerney and driven herself to the hospital? Were the two cops inside to provide security, or was Kerney there on official business?

Samuel Green needed clarity. He walked to the side of the building. There were no ambulances, police, or fire department vehicles outside the emergency room entrance, and he couldn’t find Kerney’s unmarked unit in the almost empty parking lot.

Kerney might have left, but Green doubted it. He sat in his car waiting to see what happened next. Within several minutes, a hospital security officer took up a position outside the urgent care entrance, and a second security guard entered the lot in a hospital vehicle, cruising past parked cars.

Green drove off the hospital property to a nearby medical office building where he had a clear view of the entrance, and settled down to watch. When Kerney came outside, moved his wife’s vehicle from the curb to a parking space, and went back into the hospital, Green knew for sure the baby was on the way.

Now he could start thinking about the exciting times that lay ahead. The mental picture of a helpless Kerney watching as he brought the hammer down on the baby’s head made Green chuckle in anticipation.

After the officer came, Kerney got permission from the hospital administrator on duty to use a staff training room. Sal Molina and Cruz Tafoya showed up within minutes and immediately asked Kerney about Sara’s condition. Although he remained anxious and concerned, he told them everything was just fine.

They joined him at the long table and Molina arranged a number of digital photographs in front of Kerney.

“Pino sent these up by computer,” Molina said, as he leaned over Kerney’s shoulder. “They’re shots of five circular burial mounds, about ten feet in circumference and three feet tall, taken before excavation began.”

Molina lined up another set of pictures. “These are shots of the individual mounds with the remains exposed. We don’t yet know the causes of death, and it will take dental records to identify the victims. But we do know that Olsen mined rock from a nearby quarry to build them. His fingerprints were all over the wheelbarrow and tools left at the pit.”

Molina took a seat and continued. “Based on the decomposition of the bodies, the ME thinks there’s about a five-year span between the earliest and most recent burial, which he believes is no more than six months old, but that’s a guess.”

Cruz Tafoya passed Kerney a list of names on a printout. “All the victims are male,” he said. “Using that information, the ME’s suggested time frame for the burials, and statements by Olsen’s friends that he didn’t like gays, we searched the missing-persons data banks. Hits came back on five gay, single men who’ve gone missing from Albuquerque over the last four and a half years; a hair stylist, bartender, nurse, bank clerk, and flight attendant.”

“It’s like Olsen built a burial shrine to commemorate each murder,” Molina said.

“And he probably isn’t finished killing,” Tafoya said. “Clayton Istee located another sandy shelf about a hundred feet away from the existing cairns where Olsen had dug a sixth circular round hole down to bedrock.”

“We’re guessing it’s for the prisoner Olsen had chained up in the utility room,” Molina said. “The techs say the bloodstains probably post-date the last burial.”

“Which may explain who Olsen had in the back of his van when he went to get money at his bank,” Tafoya said.

“That makes no sense,” Kerney said. “Why would Olsen take a prisoner he plans to murder with him to Santa Fe just before he embarks on a killing spree?”

“Maybe he likes to play with them before he kills them,” Tafoya said.

Kerney shook his head. “I don’t buy it. The Santa Fe killings are motivated by revenge, and the Socorro murders are clear-cut serial sex crimes. These are two distinctly different signatures.”

“Which gets us back to the notion that Olsen either has an accomplice or is acting on someone’s behalf,” Molina said. “Remember, we’ve got two sets of footprints and so far only one suspect.”

“What is the lab telling us about the new evidence that’s been collected?” Kerney asked.

“There are no fingerprints on the scrapbook found in Olsen’s house,” Molina said. “But Olsen’s prints are all over Manning’s cell phone, and the hair and fiber from the wig found in the van match some found in Olsen’s bathroom.”