"You're not wrong," Gabe replied.
Approaching Ojitos Frios, Gabe hoped the rumors circulating about the Rudy Espinoza shooting hadn't reached Angie Romero. He didn't want to face an angry, uncooperative drunk with an attitude.
Serious drinkers sweated booze out of every pore, and Angle's front room stank with the sickening smell of alcohol-laced perspiration.
"Who was the son of a bitch who shot him, Gabe?"
Angie asked.
"I can't tell you that," Gabe replied, looking for a place to sit down that wasn't totally foul. He decided to remain standing.
"Rudy was a good man when he wasn't drinking."
"I'm sure he was."
Gabe knew the Romero family fairly well. The oldest of the three sisters, Angie had transformed herself from a bubbly teenager into a worn-out alcoholic and a family embarrassment. The house she lived in belonged to her grandfather, the Mustang she drove was registered to an uncle, and the money she lived on came from her father, a vice president at a local bank, "We were going to get married," Angie added, as she sat on the soiled divan and sipped her whiskey from a coffee mug.
Her narrow face seemed completely asymmetrical, her lips and fingernails were painted blueberry, and she wore a wrinkled pair of black jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and no shoes. Her dull, watery eyes looked sunken against the contrast of her rouged cheeks.
Gabe figured Angie had dressed-as best she could in an alcoholic daze-to be a lady in mourning.
"Do you know who called Rudyjust before he left the house?"
"No, he answered the phone and then said he had to leave. When do I get my car back?"
"Soon."
"It better not be wrecked."
"There is very little damage. Was Rudy working anywhere?"
"Not since last summer."
"How did he get money?"
"Odd jobs."
"What was he doing?"
"He didn't say."
"Not a word?"
Angie shrugged her shoulders.
"He had money. I didn't ask where he got it."
"A lot of money?"
"I don't know if it was a lot. He borrowed some from me before he took the Mustang and left."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"No."
"Was he tight withjoaquin?"
"What are you getting at?" Angie asked as she got up and went to the kitchen. She returned with a full mug.
"All these questions. Rudy got killed by a cop, that's all I know."
"Something made him run."
"Who wants to be hassled by cops?"
"I'm trying to find out what happened. Was Rudy tight withjoaquin?"
"He was his brother-in-law."
"But not good friends?"
"They got along."
"Did he ever talk about Joaquin?"
"Only to say that Joaquin had some woman problems."
"With his wife, Debbie?"
"Her, and with some other girlfriend, while he was separated."
"Does the girl have a name?"
"I didn't pay any attention. Are you finished? I have things to do."
"Take care of yourself, Angie."
"Just leave me alone, okay?"
Kerney did a house-to-house canvas of San Geronimo and the surrounding countryside, asking questions about a young Mexican woman who had either lived or worked in the area. Not surprisingly, no one recalled a woman who matched the description Kerney had compiled from the information supplied by Melody Jordan's analysis.
What Kerney did find surprising was the number of new homes in tucked away places. Aside from upscale vacation cabins and summer homes sprinkled throughout the valley, there were houses of year-round residents in several rural subdivisions and on small parcels of land adjoining some of the large ranches.
Very few people were home. But from the number of swing sets. sandboxes, and basketball hoops outside it was dear that working couples with children were migrating to the once remote, rural setting.
North of San Geronimo, above Mineral Springs in the pine forest at the edge of Johnson Mesa, he quesoned caretakers at three youth and church summer camps, and came up empty again.