Michael McGarrity - Hermit_s Peak

In the small conference room at the Las Vegas district state police office, Gabe Gonzales thumbed through and rearranged the multiple copies of his case files, dunking he must have been really hammered with fatigue the night before. He'd gone to bed sure that everything had been sorted the way he wanted it for the presentation to his team.

He'd made copies for each officer before discovering that Melody Jordan's preliminary forensic report was out of order in the packet.

He corrected the error in each packet, held one copy back for Ben Morfin, and passed the rest out to his team.

"Look this over and then we'll talk," Gabe said.

Gabe's team consisted of Russell Thorpe, Ben Morfin-who was off meeting with a botanist at the university-and two agents sent up from Santa Fe, Robert Duran and Frank Houge.

Gabe didn't speak until the men finished reading the material.

"Let's get started," he said.

"Technically, we have four different crimes. A homicide of an unknown female, the murder of Carl Boaz, the illegal production of a controlled substance, and wood poaching. Ben Morfin will handle the narcotics case."

"Where is Ben?" Prank Houge asked. Houge was a thick-bodied man with a bit of a gut, and a high nasal voice.

"He went to Boaz's greenhouse to get the cactus plants we found. Then he's meeting with a botanist at New Mexico Highlands University to have them identified."

"What's Ben going to be doing after that?" Robert Duran asked. The opposite of Houge, Duran was small in stature. He stayed lean by running in long-distance and cross-country races.

"He'll spend today back at the Boaz crime scene with the lab techs, and then start probing Boaz's drug contacts on the West Coast, through the Drug Enforcement Agency"

"Where do you want us?" Duran asked.

"I need a man on the mesa looking for more bones.

We've got some good initial findings from forensics, but I'd be a whole lot happier if we could complete the skeleton."

"I'll take that," Duran said.

"Good. I've put together a grid sketch of the areas that have already been covered. Don't go over old ground. You can use the Dodge four-by-four to get up on the mesa. I've marked a county map that will take you to the site."

"What do you have for me?" Houge asked.

"I want you to work a short list of missing women.

Forensics reports that the upper left arm bone suffered an old fracture. That, along with the age estimate of the victim and the fiber analysis, may help us make an ID."

"I'll contact the victims' families, get medical records, and double-check what the women were wearing at the time of their disappearance," Houge said.

"Don't get the families' hopes up," Gabe said.

Houge nodded in agreement.

"Thorpe will help me develop a list of area woodcutters and firewood sellers," Gabe said, getting to his feet.

"We spend today-and today only-on information and evidence gathering.

We've got enough right now to suspect that the man who killed Boaz is the wood poacher.

Maybe Ben can turn up Rudy's last name with a second search, or the California authorities will come through with more information from Wanda Knox. But with or without it, tomorrow we go looking for Rudy."

Houge waved his paperwork at Gabe.

"Prom what you've got here, Rudy could be the key to all these felonies."

"Wouldn't that be a nice early Easter present?" Gabe replied.

Gabe held Thorpe back after Houge and Duran left.

"I want a complete search of newspapers, city directories, and telephone books. Get me names, addresses, and numbers of all the firewood sellers and woodcutters you can find from Santa Fe to Las Vegas."

Although it was not what he had hoped to do on his first criminal investigation assignment, Thorpe nodded.

Gabe read the young officer's disappointment, and was about to react to it when Captain Garduno walked in.

"You'll want to see this stuff right away, Gabe," Garduno said, dropping some pages in front of Gonzales.

"It just came in from Chief Kerney's office."

"Thanks, Cap," Gabe said as Garduno left the room.

He scanned the material in order, passing each page to Thorpe as he finished.

When Russell handed the last sheet back, Gabe asked, "What information would you act on first?"

"According to Motor Vehicles, the registered owner is Joaquin Sandstevan. His driver's license photo doesn't match with the composite drawing of Rudy, and Wanda Knox's physical description is way off in terms of height, weight, and age. She said Rudy is in his mid-to-late thirties.

Santistevan has a date of birth that makes him twenty-seven."

Gabe nodded.

"What else?"

"Well, the kid got the truck right. The make and model of Santistevan's vehicle corresponds with his description."

"What would you do with this information?"

"Find and talk to Sandstevan," Thorpe replied.

"Why?"

"Eyewitnesses aren't always reliable. Maybe Santistevan and Rudy are one and the same person, maybe not."

"And if they're not?"

Thorpe shrugged.

"It could mean anything. Maybe Santistevan is just a pal or a relative who lent Rudy his truck. Maybe he's Rudy's partner in the poaching.

Maybe Santistevan sold his truck to Rudy, who never bothered to register it in his name."

"Those are all good questions that need answers," Gabe said, holding up his hand to cut Thorpe off.

Thorpe smiled.

"Did I pass the test, Sergeant?"

"Don't get cocky on me, rookie," Gabe said.

"Every day you're on the street, you'll be tested. You start independent patrol next week, and I want you to survive it."

Thorpe coughed into his closed fist to hide his embarrassment.

"Sorry, Sergeant."

"No harm done," Gabe said, handing Thorpe the motor vehicle report on Santistevan.

"Get me a location for this guy. He's got a rural route address in the county.

Do you know how to do that?"

"Through the post office," Thorpe said as he got to his feet.

"What else should you do?"

Thorpe studied the report.

"Run Santistevan's Social Security number, date of birth, and vehicle registration through NCIC."

"That's right. If you get any hits, wants, or warrants, call the reporting department and get specifics." Gabe held out Melody Jordan's follow-up report.

"Have dispatch pass this along to Houge."

"Yes, Sergeant." Thorpe took the file and turned to leave.

"Hey, Thorpe," Gabe said.

"Sergeant?"

"I think you're going to work out okay."

Thorpe nodded his thanks for the compliment, but Gabe didn't see it.

His head was buried in the papers on the table.

After Thorpe closed the door, Gabe looked up and smiled. Coaching rookies was a lot like raising kids.

The analogy made Gabe think about little Lane Knox in California, who was nuts about toy cars and trucks.

At Lane's age, Orlando collected baseball cards. For years, Orlando had dragged him off every chance he got to buy more cards. He had been crazy about them.

There were shoe boxes full of the damn things that Orlando had spent hours poring over, memorizing players' statistics.

Those were good years.

He opened the phone book, turned to the listings for firewood sellers, and started compiling a contact list, which he would give to Thorpe to finish as soon as the rookie returned.

At twenty-six. Agent Ben Morfin looked a good five years younger than his age. When he'd graduated from the academy at twenty-one, his youthful appearance won him a special assignment as an undercover narcotics agent at an Albuquerque high school. During the year he spent back in public school, Morfin had busted a number of pushers and street dealers, which earned him a departmental citation.

After wrapping up his testimony in the court trials on the cases, Morfin put in almost four years as a patrol officer before returning to narcotics. Assigned full-time to the Las Vegas district, he'd been back in plainclothes for six months and loving it.