Michael McGarrity - Everyone Dies

It wasn’t likely the cops would be able to unmask him. He’d made the legal name switch to Samuel Green with forged papers bought in Mexico to insure that Richard Finney disappeared without a trace. So if the cops came to the house, they’d be looking for a person who no longer existed. But why make it easy for them?

He went into the garage, turned off the furnace pilot light, uncoupled the gas line, and wrapped the bloodstained trousers around the pipe to slow the flow of gas into the house. In the kitchen, he slung on his backpack, lit the stove burners, and left the house on foot, cutting through the groves of pinon and juniper trees that surrounded the neighboring homes.

Green was a half-mile away when a fireball blew through the roof of the house. He watched it blossom into the night sky for a moment and walked on, skirting the major streets and sticking to the residential areas. He’d get a room in a motel on Cerrillos Road, where he could sleep and plan his next move. He had a lot to think about now that things were a bit out of kilter.

S ome years before Clayton met his father, Kerney had worked as a temporary forest ranger in Catron County and conducted an investigation into endangered wildlife poaching. Members of the county militia who were behind the poaching scheme had tried to kill Kerney by rigging an explosion and fire at his rented house trailer, which destroyed all his personal possessions. Because of the militia’s involvement, the incident had captured national media attention.

As he stood at the counter of the western-wear store in Socorro paying for some new clothes, Clayton suddenly realized that Kerney was the only person he knew other than himself and his family who’d suffered a devastating loss of property. What if Kerney had come to Mescalero not out of guilt about what might have happened to Grace and the children, or simply to offer money? What if he’d come because he cared, wanted to lend support, and Clayton had been too thick-headed to see it? Maybe his stupid pride had gotten the better of him again.

He took his parcel of clothes, walked out into the hot morning sun, and drove back to his motel room. Six hours of sleep had refreshed him, and his earlier phone call to Grace had reassured him that they would be able to make a fresh start. Paul Hewitt had started a fund on the family’s behalf, and an anonymous Ruidoso businessman had donated fifty thousand dollars to kick it off. But even more encouraging was the news from Grace that Wendell had calmed down, Hannah was acting less clingy, and the tribal council had voted to give them a choice building lot and free use of a double-wide mobile home until they could rebuild.

Clayton peeled off his grubby uniform shirt and dirty blue jeans and dressed in the new clothes. The Olsen crime scene had shut down at two in the morning, with the understanding that the investigation was shifting back to Santa Fe. Paul Hewitt had given Clayton the green light to stay with it.

Grace hadn’t been happy with the news, but Clayton appeased her by promising to be gone only one or two more days, which wasn’t a dodge on his part. Because of what had happened, he desperately missed his family.

He stuffed his dirty clothes into the plastic garment bag, left the room card key on the bedside table, and went to his unit. He’d gas up and head for Santa Fe.

A late night report from Santa Fe had brought unsettling news. An unknown trespasser had been spotted late in the day on Kerney’s ranch, and a possible suspect, not thought to be Olsen, had been seen at the hospital shortly before Sara went into labor.

Clayton left the hotel parking lot fairly certain he now had a baby brother. It was weird to think he actually had a sibling. As a child, he’d yearned for one. Because of the age difference, he couldn’t be a brother in any ordinary way. But he could do his very best to be Patrick Brannon Kerney’s friend.

He thought about Grace’s reaction if he did anything less and laughed out loud. She’d hand his head to him on a platter.

Carol Jojoya was late on her morning rounds due to the arrival of another baby. Kerney used the time to tell Sara about the unknown subject he’d seen in the admitting area and the unsuccessful search for him.

“Also, Andy’s people found blood traces on the barbed-wire fences near the train tracks,” Kerney said, “and the man I saw here had a bandaged hand. Enlargements of those pictures you took show the back of a bald-headed man.”

“Is it Olsen?” Sara asked.

“We’ve yet to ID him,” Kerney answered. “But I doubt it. The blood stains found in Olsen’s utility room match his type. Forensics has sent his hair samples and the blood work analysis to the FBI for DNA analysis.”

“There are two killers?” Sara asked.

“Each with a completely different MO,” Kerney said. “Personally, I think whoever is hunting us has been using Olsen as his cover.”

“This isn’t what I wanted to hear,” Sara said, with a shake of her head.

Jojoya’s arrival interrupted the conversation. She examined Sara and Patrick Brannon, proclaimed them to be healthy, and signed the discharge form. Kerney drove away from the hospital with Sara in the backseat next to Patrick, who was securely fastened into an infant carrier. They had a police escort fore and aft. On the floorboard at Sara’s feet were three floral arrangements that had been sent to the hospital, including one from Andy and Gloria.

“Have you called my parents?” Sara asked.

Kerney shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to get you safely home first.”

“I’ll do it,” Sara said as she adjusted Patrick’s blanket to free his little arms.

“Unless you ask them not to come, they’ll be on the way here with your brother and his wife as soon as you hang up,” Kerney said.

“I wouldn’t think of asking them to stay away,” Sara said.

“Then we’ll just have to fill them in when they get here.”

“Well, at least we won’t have to do that with Clayton and Grace,” Sara said. “Have you called them?”

Kerney shook his head as he turned onto Canyon Road, where tourists jaywalking to get from one art gallery to another slowed traffic on the narrow street.

“Why not?”

“Clayton’s on his way to Santa Fe, and I don’t have a phone number for Grace.”

“You’re not avoiding it, are you?” Sara asked.

Kerney shook his head.

“Don’t go quiet on me, Kerney,” Sara said.

Kerney let out a deep breath. “I’m not going to try to push Clayton into accepting a family he doesn’t want to be part of. He may not want to be Patrick’s brother any more than he wants to accept me as his father.”

“You can’t just leave it at that.”

“I haven’t,” Kerney replied. “I’ve asked dispatch to send him to our house as soon as he makes radio contact. We’ll see what he does.”

The lead unit pulled to a stop on the far side of the driveway. Kerney parked in front of the house and helped Sara out of the backseat as the two units turned around and left. She reached in and released Patrick’s restraints, and he snorted in his sleep as she cradled him in her arms.

“We’re home,” he said, reaching for Sara’s purse and one vase of flowers, “and it’s just us.”

“You’re staying?” Sara asked as she walked to the front door.

“Yes, I am,” Kerney answered as he unlocked the door.

Sara paused in the doorway and kissed him on the cheek.

“What’s that for?”

“Doing the right thing,” Sara said. “This is our first day as a family, and except for the three of us I want the world to go away at least for a little while.”

Patrick opened his eyes, cooed and waved a tiny hand.