"Wood poaching."
Medina laughed, showing a row of crooked lower teeth.
"He doesn't need to steal wood from anybody. His father owns the biggest wood lot in the county."
"You know that for a fact?"
"Sure I do. I'm his uncle. His mother is my sister."
"What's the name of his father's company?"
"Buena Vista Lumber and Supply."
"Why was Joaquin living with you?"
"He was separated from his wife for almost a year.
Now they're back together."
"What's his wife's name?"
"Debbie."
"Is she one of the Romero girls?"
"No, her maiden name was Espinoza."
"Where can I findjoaquin?"
"He works at the wood lot for his father, Philip Santistevan."
"Thanks, Mr. Medina."
"Does this have anything to do with the gringo who got murdered at the cabin?" Medina asked.
"That's a completely different case," Gabe said, quite sure that Medina would be on the phone to his nephew as soon as he drove away.
At midmorning, the US. Attorney called Kerney from Albuquerque. She wanted a face-to-face afternoon meeting on a joint task force bribery and conspiracy operation involving Sodal Security Administration employees and Motor Vehicle Division workers who were under investigation for selling driver's licenses and Sodal Security cards to illegal, undocumented aliens.
There was no way Kerney could refuse. He hung up, called Sara, explained the situation, and told her their camping trip would have to be delayed.
"There's no need to apologize," Sara said.
"We'll simply do it some other time."
"I should be home early in the evening." Silence greeted Kerney's comment. He waited for a response and none came.
"Sara?"
"This conversation is starting to sound much too domestic," she said.
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
"Am I missing something here?"
"Everything's fine."
"It doesn't sound that way to me."
"Stop it, Kerney. I'll see you when you get off work."
Kerney hung up the receiver, wondering what in the hell was going on.
He waited a minute, dialed his home number again, and got a busy signal.
There wasn't time to brood over it. in five minutes he would be taking a phone call from a newspaper reporter about the early morning discovery of an elderly woman who had been raped and murdered at a remote farmhouse in southeastern New Mexico.
The department's public information officer had set up the call. Kerney buzzed him and asked for the fact sheet on the case.
The lieutenant came in, gave Kerney the sheet, and sat.
Kerney read it quickly, "m other words, we've got nothing so far."
"What we've got is heat. Chief. I just got off the phone with the county sheriff. The victim was the grandmother of the chairman of the county commission. The sheriff wants the department to offer all possible assistance."
"Has he talked to the newspapers about it?"
"Of course he has. He's a politician. He'll do his best with the limited resources available. But without the department's help-you know the rest of it."
Kerney nodded. Laying off responsibility to the state police for major case investigations was standard procedure for sheriffs who had limited budgets, few personnel, and no technical specialists.
"I've got a TV reporter and another print journalist standing by to speak to you after this interview is finished.
They're covering the same story."
"Don't schedule any more for me," Kerney said.
"I'll handle whatever else comes in." The lieutenant glanced at his wristwatch.
"Your first call should be happening right about now."
The phone rang and Kerney picked it up.
Buena Vista Lumber and Supply, ten miles south of Las Vegas on a state road, contained hundreds of cords of dry and green split firewood, stacks of peeled vi gas used for roof beams in Santa Fe-style homes, and virtually every type of fencing material imaginable. A chain-link fence enclosed the lot.