"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.
After ten minutes of waiting, Russell decided to eat lunch. He wiped his gritty hands on his pant legs and unwrapped the sandwich he'd packed. The bread was mushy and the meat was limp. He ate it anyway, and washed it down with a warm soda, thinking that sitting inside the Rough Rider Bar with a cold beer was a much more appealing idea.
He crumpled the wax paper, tossed it on the floorboard, and looked at the business card Bernardo had thrown away. It was from a local property management company. The phone number on the card matched the number on the rental sign in the window of the house.
Maybe Bernardo was thinking about getting a place of his own.
Russell's shirt collar felt sticky against the back of his neck and he could feel sweat dripping down his armpits.
He checked the time. In ten minutes he was due to call in on the secure channel and give an update to dispatch.
Eating something hadn't been a good idea. After yesterday's double shift, and only a few hours of sack time, the food in his stomach made him drowsy.
His eyes closed and when his head dropped to his chest, he woke up.
Startled, he shook off the drowsiness.
Bernardo's truck was gone and the dispatcher was calling his unit number. He pushed the transmit button on the handheld and answered.
"You're five minutes late on your call-in," the dispatcher said.
"Is everything ten-four?"
Russell cursed, put his car in gear, gunned it to the main drag, and checked both directions for any sign of Bernardo. Nothing. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration.
"Respond," the dispatcher said.
"Negative," Russell said, "I've lost the subject."