Michael McGarrity - Nothing But Trouble

Shaw seemed to be a good guy and solid citizen, but that was no reason to discount him as a person of interest in the Border Patrol officer’s death. However, Kerney decided it would be premature to point Shaw out to Agent Fidel as a possible second suspect until he learned more about the man. He would do some digging and if Shaw came up clean, he could drop the matter and avoid stirring up any unnecessary trouble for Joe and Bessie.

During the course of the afternoon the production team had traveled up and down the valley, and Kerney had learned a good deal about the lay of the land. With that, and what Julia had told him about the location of the Harley homestead, he felt fairly certain he could find his way to the barn where Shaw kept the van.

He’d come out to the ranch tonight, try to take a closer look at the van, and then decide on a course of action if one was needed.

They arrived at the copper smelter, the last stop of the day, right on schedule an hour before sunset. To the west the bare, blinding sand of the playas stretched like a ribbon on the desert floor, and the grim Animas Mountains sloped upward, craggy and inky black in long shadows that masked the eastern slope.

The warning beacon on the smokestack blinked faintly in the glaring light of a hot yellow sun, and the metal roofs of the smelter buildings reflected the sun’s glow in shimmering waves.

Usher and Johnny looked completely exhausted, and the remainder of the crew not much better. With bottled water in one hand and shooting scripts in the other, they followed Usher as he walked to the area he had chosen for the brawl between the cowboys and the cops. He stood on the rail spur near the ore delivery dock and explained what he wanted: cattle running loose among the ore cars, cowboys scattering as police cars careened over railroad tracks, vehicles overturning, cops on foot chasing mounted riders, cowboys roping cops-all of it to be filmed against the backdrop of the smelter and the mountains.

Fortunately for Kerney, Julia had elected not to accompany the production crew to the smelter. Freed from her company he gave his full attention to learning more about the intricacies of motion picture making, which in this sequence included some major stunts.

By nightfall the team had finished their work, except for Charlie Zwick, who continued talking on his cell phone to the mining company’s corporate attorney as he negotiated the details for using the smelter in the film. He was still on the phone, talking to somebody else about preparing a location lease agreement, when the weary crew wandered into the old mercantile store for a late dinner.

Kerney had hoped to eat quickly and then get back out to the Granite Pass Ranch for a surreptitious look at Walter Shaw’s panel van. But Susan Berman, the unit production manager, delayed his departure.

She’d approached him at his table with a slightly worried look on her pretty face, asked for a moment of his time, and explained that the county sheriff, because of staff shortages, had turned down her request to do background checks on all the cast and crew members before actual filming got under way.

Berman was a tiny, attractive brunette in her late thirties, no more than five two, with blue-gray eyes and a confident, businesslike demeanor.

“Since nine-eleven we’ve become much more security minded,” she said as she sat with Kerney, “and because Playas is now being used for antiterrorism training, we have to satisfy the government that there are no criminals, insurgents, fanatics, or terrorists working on the film. Thank God, they haven’t as yet told us to exclude hiring any bleeding-heart, progressive Hollywood liberals. That would totally shut us down.”

Kerney laughed. “When would you need the information?”

“After the cast, extras, and crew hiring has been done. About a week before we start actual production.”

“How many people?”

“Over a hundred,” Berman replied.

“Get me names, social security numbers, and birth dates, and I’ll have my department do a computer check for wants and warrants.”

Berman smiled warmly. “That would be great. I’ll fax the information to you in Santa Fe as soon as it’s complete. Did you have fun today?”

Kerney nodded. “The complexity of making a movie seems staggering.”

Berman laughed. “This is the mellow part of putting a film together. Wait until the cameras start rolling.”

“How does Johnny figure into the filming?” Kerney asked.

“His participation will be limited, but we’ll do our best to keep him happy. But as you saw this afternoon, it doesn’t always work out that way. Do you know him well?”

“Yes and no,” Kerney replied. “We go back a long way, but it’s been years since we’ve had any close contact.”

“Have you got any tips on how to deal with him?” Berman asked.

Kerney gave the question some thought as he looked at Johnny, who was sitting with Usher at another table. Usher was talking with his arms spread wide, as though he was framing a camera shot for Johnny to visualize. Johnny looked totally bored.

“I think Malcolm already has Johnny’s number,” he said. “Overwhelm him with technicalities and facts he knows nothing about while you stroke his ego-if you can stand to do it.”

Berman stuck the three-ring binder under her arm and smiled appreciatively. “That’s a no-brainer, Mr. Kerney. I started out in this business years ago as a script girl, and, believe me, I’ve got lots of experience feeding male egos.”

Berman left and Kerney soon followed, saying good-night to Gus and Buzzy on his way out the door. The dark sky was awash with stars, and a cool, downslope breeze rustled through the trees. At the ranch property he swung south on a cutoff dirt track near the rodeo arena that paralleled a pasture fence line. He passed through two gates, a dry wash, and made a wrong turn to a dead end before finding his way to the barn where Shaw garaged his van.

Kerney parked behind the barn and sat in the dark for a few minutes to let his eyes adjust before he circled the structure on foot. Built from scrap slat boards, the barn had a pitched tin roof, no windows, and a padlocked double door. There was no way he could get inside without leaving behind clear evidence of a forced entry.

He was about to leave when he saw two sets of headlights approaching in the distance. He hid behind a stone foundation of a cylindrical water tank that stood next to an empty water trough and watched as the vehicles arrived and stopped in front of the barn doors.

In the glare of a pickup truck’s headlights Walter Shaw got out of the panel van, unlocked the barn doors, and drove it inside. Then, with the help of the man driving the pickup, Shaw unloaded the contents of the van. When the chore was finished, he backed the van out of the barn and locked the doors. Shaw’s helper climbed into the van and it traveled south into the valley.

Kerney waited at his hiding place until the red glow of the taillights disappeared from view. Following the men wasn’t an option; he’d be spotted immediately. When the sound of the engine had faded completely away, he fired up the truck and drove in the opposite direction with the headlights off until he dropped over a small rise in the valley floor.

Back on the highway Kerney sorted through what he’d seen. Shaw had removed all his tools, equipment, and supplies from the panel van at a remote, secure location and then had driven away in the direction of the border. He could think of no legitimate reason to do that so late at night. Were Shaw and his helper engaged in smuggling? People? Drugs? Some other form of contraband? And who was Shaw’s companion? A rancher? A hand? In the darkness Kerney had been unable to get a good look at the man.