don't remember."
"Did you see Gillespie get killed?"
"I've never seen anybody get killed. But I'd like to.
That would be neat."
"Do you know who killed him?"
The wind picked up and Robert started to shiver.
"I'm cold," he whined, grinding out his cigarette with his sneaker.
"Am I going to jail or not?"
"You're going. Get in," Kerney answered, gesturing at the car.
Kerney drove for a time without talking, keeping one eye on Robert, whose foot beat a steady tattoo on the floorboard. Kerney wondered if the habit signaled anxiety. He decided to test the theory.
"Did you see Gillespie the night he was killed?"
Robert's foot started bouncing off the floorboard.
"I saw Satan."
"What was Satan doing?"
Robert's foot jiggled wildly.
"Raping my daughter."
"Where did it happen?"
"Serpent Gate."
Kerney remembered the peculiar stone snake on Pop Shaffer's fence.
"Do you mean by the fence next to the hotel?"
"Yeah." Robert changed his mind.
"No, not there."
"Where?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay," Kerney said gently.
"Tell me about your daughter." As far as he knew, Robert was childless.
"She's in heaven with Jesus," Robert replied flatly, as he gripped the back of his skull with his fingers and stuck his thumbs in his ears.
"Is that where Satan rapes her?" Kerney asked loudly, trying to get through to Robert.
Robert grunted and shut his eyes. The conversation was over.
When Kerney pulled into the sally port at the Torrance County jail, Cordova removed his thumbs from his ears, popped out of the car, and waited at the door to the booking alcove while Kerney locked his handgun in a weapon box.
"Hurry up," Robert barked, snapping his fingers.
Kerney pressed the button to the booking alcove, and the electronic door latch snapped open. Inside, Robert immediately relaxed. He smiled at the female guard behind the glassed-in booking counter and began emptying his pockets.
The guard, a sturdy-looking woman with broad shoulders and a close-cropped haircut, welcomed Robert back with a greeting and a grin.
"What's the charge?" the guard asked, eyeing Kerney skeptically.
"Protective custody," Kerney answered.
"Twentyfour-hour hold."
She nodded knowingly and pushed a form through the slot at the bottom of the glass.
"Fill this out. Has he had anything to eat?"
"Lunch," Kerney replied, as he completed the paperwork.
"But he's probably hungry again."
"Did you search him?"
"Pat down only."
The woman nodded.
Robert tapped Kerney on the shoulder.
"I left my cigarettes in your car."
"I'll get them for you." Kerney took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and pushed it through the slot along with the booking form.
"Put the ten bucks in his canteen account. He may need a few things while he's here."
The woman smiled at him as he left to get Robert's smokes. When he returned, Robert was inside the secure area sitting calmly in a chair.
Kerney passed the cigarettes through to the guard.
"Are you taking him back to Las Vegas?" she asked.
"He doesn't seem to want to go."
"Then why are you holding him?"
"He may be a witness to a crime. I'm hoping he'll talk to me. So far, I haven't gotten very much out of him."
The woman nodded.
"Give him the night to settle in.
Robert does real well here. He likes the structure. We'll clean him up, give him a meal or two, and he'll be a new man by morning."
"I hope you're right," Kerney said.
"He just told me you were his friend," the guard said.
"I've never heard him say that about a police officer before. You might get lucky."
"I could use some luck."
Robert waved gaily at Kerney as the guard buzzed him out the door to the sally port. sixty melbs east of Mountainair, Kerney waited in the gathering night outside the old Vaughn train station for the arrival of a westbound freight out of Amarillo.
On it, he hoped, was Floyd Wilson, a crew chief for the Southern Pacific, who had left Mountainair the morning after the Gillespie shooting. Wilson had been transferred off a track-replacement job west of Mountainair and reassigned to a spur-line construction project in Texas.
As far as Kerney knew, Wilson had never been interviewed during the initial investigation.
Parked next to the dark station house, Kerney sat in the car with the engine running, the heater on, and the window rolled down. Robert's odor still permeated the vehicle.
At die end of a siding, barely visible in the gloom, a warning sign where the tracks ended read derail. It neatly summarized Kerney's sense of futility about the case.
An occasional car rolled down the highway that paralleled the train tracks, rubber singing on the pavement.
But the dominant sound came from the wind that cut across the Staked Plains, a vast, high desert plateau that encompassed thousands of square miles of eastern New Mexico.
The wind drove a light rain against Kerney's cheek, and he turned on the car wipers so he could see down the line. The flash of light from the lead locomotive showed long before the sound of the engine reached Kerney's ears. If the train blew through town without stopping, it meant Kerney would have to make the long drive to Amarillo sometime soon. On the phone, Wilson had told him he knew nothing about the case, and didn't want to lose time away from his job, Kerney had called Wilson's boss, who agreed to let Wilson make the trip to meet with Kerney on company time.
He hoped Wilson was on the train.
The train stopped and a man of average height, carrying an overnight bag, climbed out of the locomotive and walked wearily toward the car.
Kerney got out to greet him.
Floyd Wilson offered Kerney his hand with little enthusiasm. A man pushing sixty, Wilson had a full head of gray hair, a deeply lined face, thick, droopy eyebrows, and a condition on his neck that bleached out the pigment of his skin.
"I don't see how I can help you, Mr. Kerney."
"I'm glad you're willing to try, Mr. Wilson. Thanks for coming."
"No sweat," Floyd said.
"Let me buy you dinner."
"In this town that means the cholesterol plate."
At the only open diner in town, a cheerless establishment with Formica tables, tattered chairs, a cracked linoleum floor, and faded posters tacked on the walls, Kerney and Floyd Wilson sat by a window streaked with smoke and grease. Outside, the wind had diminished and fat snowflakes drifted against the glass, melting instantly.
"I was at the Shaffer Hotel the night that policeman got shot," Floyd said.
"Me and my crew were in the game room on the second floor, drinking beer and playing pool."
"You didn't go out?" Kerney asked.
"Nope. I had a late dinner in the dining room and turned in early. I didn't even hear about the shooting until the next day, just before I left."
"Did you know Gillespie, or have any dealings with him?"
Floyd scratched his head.
"Not really. I knew who he was, but that was about it. I didn't spend much time in town. Replacing track and ties on a main line is a sunup to-sundown job."
"Did you ever see him act inappropriately?"
"You mean tough-guy stuff?"
"Yes."
"Not personally, but some of my crew said he acted like a badass when we first got to town. He settled down after we'd been there for a while."
"Did any of your crew spend time with Gillespie?
Socialize with him?"
"I don't think so."
"Do you know Robert Cordova?"
"The name doesn't ring a bell."
"He's a skinny guy, about five-four. He likes to hang out by the fence next to the hotel."
Floyd nodded.
"You mean the crazy guy? The one that walks around with his fingers in his ears talking to himself?"
"That's him."
"Sure, I know him. Hell, I think everybody in Mountainair knows who he is. He really gets around."
"Gets around?" Kerney repeated.
"Sometimes I'd see him when I was on the job. He liked to walk along me railroad right-of-way. I kept telling him he was trespassing, but it never seemed to sink in."
"Did you see him anywhere else?"
"Once I saw him walking up a ridge about a half mile from the tracks, west of town."
"You're sure it was Cordova?"
"Yeah. After a while, he came back and caught a ride into town with one of my people."
"When did you see him there?" Kerney asked.
"A couple of days before that policeman was killed.
Do you think Cordova killed the cop?"
"I don't know what to think about Robert. Did you see him on the day of the murder?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact I did. I was coming down the main drag after work and I saw him talking to some woman in front of the grocery store."
"Did you recognize her?"
"No. She was in a pickup truck. Cordova was standing by the driver's door, so I didn't get a good look at her."
"Did you notice anything else?"
"I think the woman was a veterinarian, or she works for one. She was pulling a horse trailer, and it had the name of a veterinary service painted on the side panel."
"Do you remember the name?"
"No. It said something about specializing in large animals. That's all I recall."
The waitress brought dinner, and Kerney picked at an overcooked ham steak and some soggy vegetables.
With part of his stomach shot away, Kerney found eating in greasy spoons to be a real chore; die food usually didn't sit well. He gave up on trying to force down the meal and made small talk until Wilson was ready to check in at the motel.
He paid for dinner, took Floyd to the motel, paid for the room, thanked Wilson for his time, and started the drive back to Mountainair. It was well into the night, and the brewing snowstorm looked like it could turn nasty, but he wanted to talk to one more person before heading back home to Santa Fe. marcia year wood the physician's assistant who ran the rural health clinic in Mountainair, promptly answered Kerney's knock at her front door.
"Yes, what is it?"
She was a pleasant-looking woman in her thirties, with big, perfectly round brown eyes accentuated by eyeglasses, and a wide mouth that hinted at an easy smile. She wore sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and slippers.
Kerney showed her his badge.
"May I have a few minutes of your time?"
"It's not a medical emergency, I take it?"
"Not at all."
"Come in."
Yearwood's home, a single-story stone structure near the high school, sat well back on a heavily treed lot. The front room contained a couch with two matching chairs and a coffee table, grouped in front of a fireplace. There were some tasteful fine art posters on the walls, including a Georgia O'Keeffe print and several Gustave Baumann reproductions. Books and magazines were scattered about within easy reach, and on the floor next to the couch was a canvas bag filled with embroidery yarn. The fireplace had a crackling cedar fire going that warmed the room nicely. From the feel of the place, Kerney guessed Yearwood was unattached.
"What can I do for you, Officer?" Marcia asked, as she gestured for Kerney to join her on the couch.
Kerney obliged.
"I understand that Robert Cordova gets his medication from you when he's in Mountainair."
Marcia sat at the end of the couch and turned to face Kerney directly.
"Yes. I dispense it through an arrangement with the psychiatrist at the state mental hospital.
Is Robert in some sort of trouble?"
She brushed a strand of long dark hair away from her face and looked at Kerney more closely.
"You're the investigator looking into Paul Gillespie's murder." She stiffened a bit and crossed her legs.
"Surely you don't think Robert is a suspect."
"He doesn't strike me as a killer."
Marcia answered with an agreeing smile.
"He's not.
Robert's normal behavior-if you can call it that-is all bravado and posturing. The onset of his illness came during adolescence. Besides being schizophrenic, he's fixated at a juvenile stage of development."
"You seem to know him well."
"Well enough. But that doesn't mean I can tell you more about him. His medical records are confidential.
I've been told that he's eloped from Las Vegas."
"Eloped?"
Marcia laughed quickly.
"It's a polite way of saying he escaped. After all, we don't want people to think mental hospitals are prisons."
"Aren't they?"
"Not all. Have you seen him?"
"I have him in protective custody at the Torrance County jail."
Marda sighed.
"That's a relief. Each time he disappears I'm sure he's going to be found beaten to a pulp and left to die along some roadside."
"He doesn't want to go back to Las Vegas. I thought you could help."
She nodded her head in agreement.
"He never wants to go back, but once he gets there and settles in to a routine, it's beneficial. Of course I'll help. I can see him in the morning."
"I'd like to be there when you see him."
Marda's voice became guarded.
"I don't intend to help you conduct an interrogation."
"I don't plan to interrogate him, Ms. Yearwood.
There's a remote chance Robert may have seen something, or may know something about what happened the night Gillespie was shot. I need him to talk about it."
"That may not be easy."
"I know."
Marda tapped her finger against her lip.
"Normally, I'd say no, but I think this time it will be okay. However, be warned: if you try to intimidate him, I'll stop you dead in your tracks."
"Pair enough."
"He doesn't like cops, you know."
Kerney smiled.
"That's what I've heard. Is there some reason for it?"
"I don't know," Marda replied with a slight shrug.
"He said he went to high school with Paul Gillespie."
"I believe he did."
"How would you characterize Gillespie?"
"He was a bit of a bully who had an eye for the girls."
Kerney had heard the same comment from several other sources, but had been unable to locate anyone who could provide specifics.
"Did he come on to you?"
"He wouldn't dare. Besides, I wasn't his type. He liked younger women."
"Anyone in particular?"
"I haven't the foggiest idea. But I'd see him chatting with teenage girls a lot after school got out."
"What makes that stand out in your mind?"
"He was always talking to the girls," Marda answered.
"The teenage boys he seemed to ignore, unless they were speeding or drinking beer at the town park after dark."
"Do you know if he was sexually or romantically involved with any of the girls?"
"No, I don't."
"Any rumors?"
Marda waved off the question.
"There are rumors floating around about everybody who lives in this town.
I pay no attention to them."
Kerney tried again: "Any rumors specifically about Gillespie?"
"Rumors, no. I've made it very dear to people that I'm not part of the local gossip mill. But several years ago, one of the high school girls who came to the clinic told me she thought Gillespie was creepy."
"Creepy in what way?"
"She baby-sat for the same family on a regular basis several times a month. Gillespie would always drive by the house three or four times a night whenever she was there. But only if her boyfriend wasn't with her."
"That's creepy enough," Kerney said.
"I'd like to talk to her."
"I had a fairly close relationship with the girl, and I'm sure she would have told me if anything more had happened."
"How can I reach her?"
"Not easily. She's a medical technician serving in the navy on a hospital ship."
Kerney got the girl's name for the record. He could track her down through her parents or naval authorities, if necessary.
"What can you tell me about Robert's family history?"
"He was born and raised in Mountainair. The family was very dysfunctional. Robert started getting in trouble with the police when he was fairly young. He spent some time in a foster home."
"Was he sent away?"
"No. He was placed with a family here in town."
"Who were the foster parents?"
"An older couple. I never met them. I believe they're both deceased."
"Does Robert have any siblings?"
"An older sister, but she moved to Texas years ago after her parents divorced and left the state. Robert says he has no contact with her."
"Does he stay in touch with his biological parents?"
"Not as far as I know."
"Does he have any children?"
Marda made a face and shook her head.
"No. You're asking about Satan raping his daughter, aren't you?
That has been Robert's predominant delusion since the onset of his illness."
"I wonder what it means."
"I have no idea." Marcia rose from the couch, signaling that the discussion had ended.
Kerney stood up with her.
"Do you know any of the local veterinarians?"
"I don't think there is one. Maybe in Estanda, but not here."
"Do you know a female veterinarian, or a woman who works for a vet?"
Marcia shook her head.
"Sorry, I don't. But I'm sure one of the ranchers can tell you."
After making arrangements to meet Marda Yearwood at the jail at mid-morning, Kerney started the long drive back to Santa Pc in a snowstorm that kept pushing drifts across the highway. He wondered if he was simply spinning his wheels. He dedded to give it one more day before telling Andy Baca the investigation wasn't getting anywhere. He hated the idea that the case might go unsolved.
In the morning, Kerney got an early start and drove the sixty miles from Santa Fe to the Torrance County jail in Estancia. The road had been plowed and a bright sun made the snow-coated range grass glisten like a sea of silver stems rolling across the Estancia Valley. At the jail, he had Robert brought to the staff conference room.
He wanted time alone with him before Marcia Yearwood showed up.
Robert was brought in by a guard. He wore an orange jumpsuit with torrancb county jail stendled on the back, a pair of plastic shower sandals, and a shit eating grin. His hair was combed, his beard trimmed, and he looked freshly scrubbed. He sat next to Kerney at the end of the long conference table and lit a cigarette.
Kerney adjusted his position so he could look squarely at Robert, and took a whiff. Robert didn't smell bad at all.
"Are you going to let me stay in jail?" Robert asked hopefully.
"I don't see how I can do that."
"Charge me with something." His foot wasn't wiggling at all, and he seemed calm.
"What would you suggest?"
Robert smiled widely.
"Rape."
"Did you rape someone?"
"Of course I did. I already told you about it."
"No, you told me that Satan raped your daughter."
Robert poked himself in the chest with a finger.
"I'm Satan."
"If that's the case, you'd better tell me who you raped."
Robert shook his head.
"I can't. It's a secret."
"Well, it can't be your daughter. You don't have one."
"It was my sister. I raped my sister."
"The one that lives in Texas."
"Not that one," Robert said with a scowl.
"Tell me about this other sister."
"What I did to her was bad."
"Where did you rape her?"
"At Serpent Gate."
"Where is that?"
Robert waved the question away.
"I'm not going to tell you."
"Did Paul Gillespie know about Serpent Gate?"
"I don't want to talk about that motherfucker."
"Okay, we won't. When did you rape your sister?"
"A long time ago."
"What's your sister's name?"
Robert put a finger to his lips.
"It's a secret."
Before Kerney could ask another question, Marda Yearwood burst into the conference room. She stood at the end of the long table, glaring at him.
"I see you started without me."
"We were just chatting," Kerney answered.
Marda forced a smile in Robert's direction and moved down the table behind a row of neatly arranged conference chairs. She wore a dark blue turtleneck sweater and wool slacks under a long charcoal gray winter coat. She composed herself as she removed her coat, and sat down next to Robert.
"It's good to see you looking so well, Robert. What were you two talking about?"
Robert gave Kerney a conspiratorial look.
"Rape."
"Really?" Marda replied, unable to mask a hint of surprise in her voice.
"I'd like to hear about it."
"No way. Women aren't supposed to hear about shit like that."
"That's not fair," Marda responded gently.
"I can't talk about it," Robert said.
"Besides, Addie doesn't want me to."
"Who is Addie?" Kerney asked as he moved to a chair across from Robert and Marda. He wanted a dear view of Robert. He could hear Robert's heel slapping against the shower sandal.
Robert hesitated.
"Somebody who talks to me."
"Is Addie short for Adele or Adelaide?" Kerney asked.
"Addie's not short for nothing."
"And you talk to her?" Kerney prodded.
"Sometimes."
"Do you talk to her in your head?" Marda suggested.
"Yeah," Robert said, relief showing on his face. The foot wiggling stopped.
"Okay," Marcia said.
"Addie is a voice you hear."
"That's right."
Marcia nodded and switched gears.
"Mr. Kerney needs to ask you some questions."
"Sure." Robert glanced at Kerney.
"What about?"
"Addie isn't a real person?" Kerney asked.
Robert tensed.
"I don't want to talk about her. It makes me nervous."
"Okay, we won't. On the day Officer Gillespie was shot, you were seen talking to a woman in a pickup truck with a stock trailer," Kerney said.
"Is she someone you know?"
"What did she look like?" Robert asked.
"I thought you could tell me. The trailer may have belonged to a veterinarian."
"I don't know anybody like that," Robert said. His foot wiggle started again. He lit another cigarette and took a deep drag.
"Do you remember talking to the woman?"
"No." He blew smoke in Kerney's direction and flicked a cigarette ash on the carpet.
"Sometimes I ask people to give me a smoke or some money."
"So, it was no one you knew?"
"I don't think so." Robert swallowed hard and looked away.
Robert was lying. Kerney changed the subject again.
"Several days before Gillespie was shot, you were seen outside of town on the railroad tracks."
"I like to walk along the tracks sometimes," Robert said.
"Do you go to any particular place?"
"Sometimes."
"Does the place have a name?"
"Sometimes."
"What do you call it?"
"I don't call it nothing." He turned and spoke to Marcia.
"Do I have to go back to the hospital?"
"Are you hearing voices?" Marcia replied.
"Not now. Not since yesterday."
"When yesterday?" Marcia asked.
"Before lunch."
"Maybe I can get you in a hallway house in Albuquerque," Marda said.
Robert grinned at the prospect.
Marda turned to Kerney.
"Do you have any more questions for Robert?"
"Just one. Were you near the police station around the time Gillespie was shot?"
Robert stuck his thumb out in a hitchhiker motion.
"Does that mean no?"
Robert nodded in agreement.
"I hitched a ride to Estanda."
"Did you see anyone near the police station before you left town?"
Robert shook his head and looked away, avoiding Kerney's gaze.
"Thanks, Robert," Kerney said, thinking that maybe Robert had seen someone-someone he knew. But pushing Robert didn't seem to be the best way to get answers.
"We're done?" Robert asked, and stood up quickly.
"We're done," Kerney said.
Robert leaned in Kerney's direction and gave him a high five and a smile.
"Later," he said.
"Take care, Robert."
After escorting him out of the room, Marda returned and sat with Kerney.
"I expected you to wait for me before meeting with Robert."
"It was a bit sneaky on my part."
Marda nodded.
"Just so you know why I jumped on you when I came in."
In another context, Kerney wouldn't have minded the possibility of Marda jumping on him at all.
"No problem. I deserved it."
She drummed her fingers on the table.
"Did he talk much about rape?"
"He had just started talking about it. He said a long time ago he raped his sister-not the one who lives in Texas."
"He doesn't have another sister. It's unusual for Robert to say anything at all about rape, other than the delusional stuff about Satan, Jesus, and his imaginary daughter."
"Do you think there's some factual basis to what he said?" Kerney asked.
"Don't count on it." Marda took her glasses off and smiled-an amused half smile that seemed to show some personal interest in Kerney.
"Robert says he likes you. That's high praise from him for a police officer."
"I'm glad to hear it."
She offered her hand to him across the table. It was warm and soft.
"I hope you catch your killer, Mr. Kerney." Kerney let go of her hand slowly. It had been a while since he'd felt a woman's touch.
"Thanks. Will you be able to keep Robert out of the hospital?"
"It's possible. I'll do a mental status exam. If he's dear enough, I should be able to swing it." after marcia left to evaluate Robert, Kerney stayed behind to think things through. If, as Marcia indicated, Robert never talked about rape except when he was hallucinating or delusional, why did he raise the topic in the absence of any psychotic symptoms? While Kerney was no expert in mental illness, he believed Robert had something specific on his mind.
Robert had flat-out lied about the woman in the pickup truck, with all the clumsiness of a twelve-year old caught red-handed. And he had lied again about not seeing anyone outside the police station.
The only new bit of information Robert had provided was a name: Addie.
Was she real or imaginary?
Marda thought it was part of Robert's delusion, but Kerney wasn't so sure. He stared at me freshly polished tabletop. There were smeared, sweaty palm prints where Robert had been sitting. Until Marda suggested that Addie was only a voice in his head, Robert had nervously rubbed his hand on the table. The hand rubbing and foot wiggling started up again when Kerney pushed the issue about Addie a little harder.
Kerney smiled. Maybe Addie was real. Maybe the case wasn't as dead as a doornail yet.
Using the jail administrator's phone, Kerney called around until he connected with the state agency responsible for foster care. He had to smooth-talk a handful of bureaucrats and record clerks before he could get the names of Robert Cordova's former foster parents. An attempt to get the names of the children living with the couple during Robert's placement was unsuccessful-the juvenile records were confidential and sealed.
After confirming that Robert's foster parents. Burl and Thelma Jackson, were deceased, he got their last known Mountainair address and headed down the road.
The day had warmed up and the rangeland had shed the previous night's snow. As he drove, Kerney pondered the facts of the Gillespie murder.
Gillespie's sidearm had been used to blow the top of his head off, and the gun had been wiped clean of prints. There was no sign of a struggle, and no incriminating evidence had been found at the crime scene.
How could the killer have gotten control of Gillespie's weapon? That fact alone made it highly likely that the killer was known to Gillespie. Which meant Kerney needed to find a precipitating event that could lead to a motive. The crime could have been fueled by jealousy, rage, or revenge. But was it a premeditated crime or one of passion? Either way, what did Gillespie do to make somebody want to kill him? Kerney still didn't have a hint.
Burl and Thelma Jackson's last address turned out to be a rambling adobe house with a pitched roof on several fenced acres near a Forest Service building. East of the house an old Santa Pc Railroad boxcar sat on masonry piers next to a working windmill. A picket fence at the front of the house enclosed a sandbox and swing set. Near a freestanding garage with a sagging roof, a rusted Ford Fairlane slumped on blocks with the hood open, yawning at the sky.
Kerney knocked at the door, which was opened by an overweight woman of about forty. Dressed in a bulky sweater that covered a thick stomach, she had a harried expression and full lips that curved downward.
In the background, Kerney heard the voices of young children.
"Yes?" the woman asked, looking Kerney up and down. She was holding a baby's bib in one hand. It was splattered with what looked like applesauce or vomit.
Kerney showed his shield and introduced himself.
"I'm trying to locate someone who knew Burl and Thelma Jackson."
They were my parents," the woman replied. A child yelled and the woman turned her head toward the sound.
"Come in. I'll be with you in a minute." She pointed at an overstufied easy chair in the front room and left hurriedly through a side doorway, latching a childproof accordion gate behind her.
Kerney sat, listened to the children's chatter, and looked around. The room was meagerly furnished with a well-worn couch, the easy chair Kerney sat in with a floor lamp next to it, two side tables, each holding a glass vase filled with plastic flowers, and a hand-hooked oval throw rug in the center of the pine floor. Framed family photographs hung on one wall above a largescreen television set, and plain white cotton curtains covered the front windows.
The largest photograph was a color portrait of a smiling elderly couple dressed in their Sunday best. The man, wearing a cowboy hat, sat behind the woman, his arms wrapped around her waist, both turned at an angle to face the camera. Kerney guessed the couple to be Burl and Thelma. On either side of the portrait were high school graduation pictures of two girls. One was obviously of the woman who had greeted Kerney at the door. He could see the tendency toward heaviness in her torso and upper arms, and a hint of petulance in the smile. The other girl, a slender, pretty brunette with a faraway gaze in her eyes, had a tough little smile and a birthmark on her chin.
The noise subsided and the woman returned, closing the gate behind her.
She sat on the sofa and looked quizzically at Kerney.
"Why are you asking about my parents?"
"I didn't get your name," Kerney replied with a smile.
"Lurline Toler."
"I'm really interested in learning about Robert Cordova, Mrs. Toler,"
Kerney explained.
"He was your parents' foster child."
"I know Robert. I was still living at home when he came to stay with us." A child's delighted screech followed by another child's laugh interrupted Lurline.
"I do child care for some working mothers," she explained with a weary smile. She waited several beats before speaking again. All was quiet at the back of the house.
"What do you want to know about Robert?"
"What other foster children were placed here while Robert lived with the family?"
Lurline shook her head.
"I couldn't even begin to remember, there were so many of them. Robert was one of those who stayed the longest. Most of the others were here and gone in a matter of a few months."
"Were they all teenagers?"
"Yes. My parents only took in older children."
"Do you remember a girl named Addie that Robert was friendly with?"
Lurline blinked and hesitated.
"There were no foster children staying here by that name, as I recall."
"Perhaps it was a school friend."
Lurline nodded her head.
"That's possible, but Robert was pretty much a loner. I don't think he had any friends."
"Who would know?"
Lurline thought for a moment before answering.
"I really can't tell you. Robert is quite a bit younger than me-about six years, I think. We didn't run with the same crowd. Is he in trouble?"
"No, he's not."
"Poor thing," Lurline said.
"He's had a hard time of it."
"Haven't we all?"
"Is that your high school graduation picture?" Kerney asked.
"Yes. I should take it down. I'll never look like that again."
"Is the other girl your sister?"
"Yes. My younger sister, Nita. Dad always wanted a boy, but he got two girls instead."
"Could she tell me more about Robert?"
"She was never close to him."
"How can I contact her?"
A child's angry shriek kept Luriine from answering.
She got to her feet.
"I can't talk now. Call me this evening." kerney sat in his car by the Mountainair High School and watched a group of students dressed in sweats running around a track that bordered the football field.
Growing up in the Tularosa Basin, Kerney had gone to a small-town high school where the school nurse knew every student, and was the unofficial counselor, confidante, and friend to any kid with a bloody nose, scraped knee, or troubles at home. In the years that had passed, he doubted much had changed in small-town schools.
He got out of the car and found his way to the health office.
Henrietta Swope, the school nurse, looked like a grandmother who brooked no silliness and expected everybody to tell the truth. She wore her gray hair pulled straight back, and her blue-gray eyes were inquisitive and lively. She had the lyrical voice of a much younger woman.
Kerney sat in her office, a small room furnished with a cot, a first aid locker, a desk with a chair, and a row of locked file cabinets. The walls were plastered with public health posters announcing the pitfalls of unsafe sex, teenage pregnancy, poor nutrition, and drug abuse. He showed his identification, told her what case he was working on, and asked about Robert Cordova.
"Of course I know him," Henrietta replied.
"He haunts my memory."
"Why do you say that?"
Henrietta sighed.
"Whenever I see him around town, I remember what a lonely, miserable boy he was.
He acted like a whipped puppy. He would snarl when he got angry and run away when he got upset. He was such a sad child."
"Did he have any friends?"
"At best, he was always on the fringes of the social cliques. He was barely tolerated and always teased a great deal."
"Did he hang around with any of the other foster children when he lived with the jacksons Henrietta's expression brightened.
"I wish Robert could have stayed with Thelma and Buri. It was the only time I saw him settle down and get comfortable with himself." Her eyes flickered and turned serious.
"I think Robert has always been truly alone in the world. Isn't that enough to make a person go crazy?"
"Sometimes," Kerney conceded.
"He didn't connect with anybody? Another foster child? A classmate? A teacher?"
"No. That says something about all of us, I suppose.
We should have tried harder to reach him."
"Did he have a schoolmate named Addie?"
"Not that I remember."
"Someone nicknamed Addie? Short for Adele or Adelaide?"
"No, but we had a girl here until last year whose given name was Addie."
"Who is that?"
"Addie Randall."
"Tell me about her."
"Oh, I'm sure Robert doesn't know her. She would have been a senior now if she'd stayed with us."
"She moved away?"
"She's living in Socorro. I transferred her health records to the high school there during the middle of the spring semester."
"When was that, exactly?" Kerney asked.
"Sometime in March. Late March, I would say."
"Did the family move?"
"No. Her parents still live here with two younger children. Her mother works at the grocery store as a checker. I believe Addie's father is unemployed."
"Do you have any idea why Addie left?"
"Family troubles, I suspect. Addie was a popular girl at school-very pretty and outgoing-and the transfer happened quite unexpectedly."
"What kind of family troubles?"
Henrietta bit her lower lip before replying.
"Confidentially, I think it's possible she may be pregnant.
I've seen the pattern too many times not to have my suspicions."
"Do you know who Addie is living with in Socorro?"
"A relative, I believe." Henrietta consulted her card file.
"I don't have a name. Addie's mother can tell you. I can't see how any of this has the least bearing on Paul Gillespie's murder," she added.
"It probably doesn't."
"If you see Addie, give her my best. She's a sweet girl."
Til be glad to." kernht pushed the car hard through Abo Pass at the north edge of the Los Pinos Mountains. It was a sixty mile drive to Socorro, and a large part of the trip bordered the Sevilleta National Wildlife Refuge, which straddled both sides of the Rio Grande. With the mountains behind him, the rangeland-so vast the river was a hazy promise in the distance-opened into miles of uninhabited space colored in sepia brown and dull gray against a creamy blue sky. The only interruptions to the emptiness were a few mobile homes and camper trailers parked on small fenced lots along the state highway, most of them abandoned. West, across the river, rose the remote Ladron Mountains, accessible only by horseback or on foot.
He got to Socorro High School and checked in at the administrative offices, where he learned that Addie Randall was enrolled in a special program for teenage mothers. Through the window of the closed classroom door, he saw a group of expectant and new mothers standing around a changing table. All of them looked much too young to be having babies and rearing children.
The teacher with the students looked suspiciously at Kerney when he entered the room. A tall woman with long arms and legs, she detached herself from the group and approached Kerney quickly.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
The chatter at the table stopped and the girls, some holding infants, withdrew to a circle of chairs at the back of the room.
"I'd like to speak to Addie Randall," Kerney said quietly, displaying his credentials.
The teacher's expression remained unfriendly.
"That's not possible. We're in the middle of class."
During his years as a detective, Kerney had found that teachers on their own turf were difficult to deal with. Most didn't like cops, and they jealously guarded their home ground and their students.
"I won't take much of her time," he said.
"And I do need to see her now." He emphasized the last word.