Michael McGarrity - Hermit_s Peak

"Sweet Jesus, Mother Mary," Gabe said, his voice cracking.

"Don't jump to conclusions, Gabe," he said.

Gabe looked at Kerney like he was a complete stranger.

"I want Bernardo in custody now."

"We'll do this my way. Lieutenant."

"What way is that, Kerney?"

"Cool it, Gabe," Garduno said.

"Fuck you. Cap. I want to know what happened to my son."

Garduno's call sign came over the radio. He hurried to his unit.

"Go, dispatch."

"The phone company reports a call made from the first number you gave me to the Gonzales residence at oh-six-fifty hours, last date."

Ten-four."

"Let's go get the son of a bitch," Gabe said.

Kerney grabbed Gabe's arm to hold him back.

"Not yet. We need a plan."

"You need a fucking plan. I don't."

Kerney tightened his grip.

"Give me your weapon and your shield." For a moment he thought Gabe was going to swing at him.

"You'd do that?"

"Unless you work with me, I will."

Gabe glared at Kerney.

"What's your plan?"

Kerney swung his attention to Garduno.

"Check with Pullerton. Find out if he slaughtered an animal here this morning. He may have had to put down an injured calf or a yearling."

"Pullerton is on his way back to his ranch house."

"Contact him ASAP." Kerney turned to Gabe.

"You're going back with me to the office. We're going to see what the surveillance team has on Bernardo, and get people out backtracking on Orlando. I'll ride with you."

"To watch me?"

"You bet. Send the chopper home and keep working the search.

Captain."

"waldo."

"Let's go. Lieutenant."

Garduno called dispatch and snapped off an order to make contact with FuUerton.

"Patch me through when you reach him. I'll stand by."

"Ten-four."

Still clutching the microphone in his hand, Garduno watched Gabe and Kerney drive away. He threw it on the front seat of his unit in disgust, put his hands to his face, and rubbed his eyes. What a shitty, shitty day it had turned out to be.

At the district office, Kerney kept Gabe Gonzales at his side during the time it took to implement a sweep to gather information about Orlando's whereabouts during the last twenty-four hours. Bernardo Barela would remain under full surveillance while officers backtracked at the bank, the university, and the burger joint where Orlando worked, questioning employees, classmates, professors, and anyone else who might have seen Orlando, or knew where he could be.

Kerney pulled Ben Morfin back on duty to do follow ups on the people who'd been interviewed in the Luiza San Miguel slaying. He couldn't discount the possibility that it might tie in to Orlando's disappearance.

Garduno called in to report that Fullerton hadn't put down any of his livestock at the river, and the look on Gabe's face told Kerney that Gonzales was about to explode.

"Tell Fullerton we're coming out to talk to him," Kerney said.

They left the district office for the Box Z Ranch in Gabe's unit, running a silent code three. Gabe kept the unit floored until the drop-off into the canyon forced him to slow down. On the ranch road, he pushed the unit to its limit, blowing out the shocks, struts, and alignment, fighting to keep control as they pitched, bounced, and veered through rough water crossings and over jagged rock outcroppings.

Kerney didn't say a word.

They found Ariin Pullerton in the equipment barn watching one of his employees weld a new lip on the bulldozer blade.

"Did you find that missing boy yet?" Fullerton asked.

"We're still looking," Kerney said.

"Did you see Bernardo yesterday?"

"Yeah, when he returned the 'dozer. He was late getting it back."

"What time was that?"

"Pour o'dock, or thereabouts. He came looking for me to say he'd gouged a chuck out of the blade. Said he'd hit some hard rock while he was grading the road."

Fullerton shook his head.

"I don't see how he did it. That's mostly shale and sandstone he was moving around."

"How did he get back to his truck?"

"I gave him a ride."

"Did he talk about anything?"

"He told me you'd paid him a visit yesterday."

"And?"

Fullerton shook his head.

"That was it, except for some small talk about how many cow and calf units his uncle planned to run during the summer."

"Did you see him after that?"

"Haven't seen him since."

"Did any of your ranch hands see anyone around the abandoned car yesterday?"

"I would have heard if they did. They have standing orders to run off trespassers and report them to me.

Those kids make a mess when they party at the river, and I don't pay my people to spend their time cleaning up beer bottles, garbage, and broken glass."

"I'd like to talk to the man who first spotted the car," Kerney said.

"You'll find him at the old Callon La Liendre headquarters.

His name is Marcelo. He doesn't speak much English. It's the last ranch house on the way out."

"I've seen it from the road," Kerney said.

Although he was tired, Russell Thorpe's enthusiasm for his first solo surveillance assignment hadn't diminished.

He'd followed Bernardo to an early-morning stop at a hardware store, and then to a ranch and farm supply business where Bernardo loaded up an order of steel fence posts and rolls of wire.

From there, Bernardo drove out of town on the frontage road to the San Geronimo overpass and took a blacktop highway that turned to gravel a few miles outside the village. Thorpe used the dust trail kicked up by the tires to follow Barela through the settlement to Chief Kerney's property.

With binoculars he watched Bernardo unlock the gate, drive through, and park. After twenty minutes, Ruth Pino and her students arrived in a van. He saw Bernardo and the professor exchange a few words and then drive down the ranch road in a caravan, Bernardo leading the way.

Several hours passed before Bernardo returned alone with an empty truck and headed toward town.

Russell stayed well back of the pickup to avoid being spotted. He caught sight of the truck on the ramp to the interstate and closed the gap, keeping two cars between himself and Bernardo. Back in town, Bernardo led Russell down the main drag and onto a side street adjacent to the university, cruising through a residential neighborhood of old homes that had been converted into duplex and apartment rentals for college students.

Several blocks into the neighborhood, on a tree-lined street, Bernardo pulled to the curb, parked, and walked to a waiting car. A middle-aged man got out, shook Bernardo's hand, and took him up the sidewalk to a small two-story Victorian cottage. The man unlocked the front door and gestured for Bernardo to enter first.

Russell waited for a minute, then drove by the house slowly, jotting down the phone number on a rental sign in the front window, and the license plate number of the man's car. He circled the block and parked at the end of the street. A few minutes passed before Bernardo and the man came out and stood on the sidewalk talking. Whatever the man said made Bernardo shrug his shoulders and shake his head. The man handed something that looked like a business card to Bernardo, went to his vehicle, and drove away.

Bernardo waited until the man was out of sight before he dropped the card into the gutter and crossed to his truck.

Russell retrieved the card after Bernardo left, caught up with him at a red light, and tailed him across the main drag to a street that fronted the old railroad station and hotel. Bernardo parked and went inside the Rough Rider Bar.

Russell sat in his hot car. The day had warmed considerably and Thorpe's air conditioner didn't work. His face and hands were covered in dust from driving with the windows down on dirt roads and his mouth felt like dry cotton.