Charlie's open cases were stuffed in a file cabinet and consisted of a mixture of poaching and trophy kills, with no solid leads, witnesses, or hard evidence.
All of Charlie's attention seemed focused on game-taking within the Glenwood District. Kerney wondered about similar activity in other areas. He scanned through a stack of game-kill bulletins from other agencies. One bighorn sheep had recently been taken on state land by a poacher using an ATV, and several exotic ibex from the herd in the Florida Mountains east ofDeming had been harvested earlier in the year.
An all-terrain vehicle had been seen in the vicinity by a Bureau of Land Management officer.
With the bear kill on the mesa, that would make at least three cases where an ATV had been used to get to the killing ground. It was enough to raise Kerney's interest. He went to the map posted in the front lobby and studied it. Aside from Forest Service land, there were large parcels under the control of the Bureau of Land Management and smaller sections owned by the state. Maybe Charlie Perry had tunnel vision.
Just for the hell of it, Kerney decided to query every state and federal park and conservation agency in the region and ask for information on kills where an ATV was used. He typed fax messages at Yolanda's desk and sent out the inquiries, asking for responses to be sent to him at the Luna office. As he fed the messages through the fax machine, Kerney wondered how ticked off Charlie Perry was going to be when he discovered this most recent act of insubordination.
He got home to Reserve late. His trailer, painted a bright blue by his landlord in a desperate attempt to rent it, sat in an empty field across from the high school. Inside it was hot, stuffy, and smelled like mouse piss. He opened all the windows. Across the field the parking-lot lights at the high school burned pale yellow. He heard the deer mice under the floor-much more established tenants of the trailer than he was-scurrying around, upset by his arrival.
He would put out some traps on his next day off.
The trailer was a dump, but Kerney didn't mind.
A single-wide furnished with a bed, kitchen table, couch, ragtag easy chair, and several lamps, it served his temporary needs. He was banking all his paychecks and living on much less than his retirement pension.
Along with the money the Army had paid him for the recovery of the stolen artifacts from White Sands Missile Range, he just might finish the summer with enough cash for a down payment on some land. Not much, and certainly nothing as extensive as the Slash Z summer grazing acreage, but something that could get him started.
Kerney really didn't give a damn what Charlie Perry might do. Four weeks on the job was long enough to convince him that he could never permanently return to patrol work. Not even the beautiful landscapes and startling sunsets in the Gila could ease the boredom of long hours in a vehicle. Maybe a wilderness assignment would be different, but that was a plum job reserved for forestry and wildlife specialists.
It had been years since he'd worn a uniform, and he had never liked them-not when he had served in the Army nor when he had started out as a street cop. He stripped off the garments, dressed in his sweats, and limbered up the knee for his nightly run, wondering how long it would take Phil Cox to figure out who the hell he was.
As he jogged away from the trailer he thought about the good-looking woman he had talked to at the ranch house. He didn't even know her name.
Even the rawest rookie cop on the street knew enough to ID all possible witnesses. It was a dumb blunder, and his appreciation of the lady's splendid legs didn't justify the mistake. He laughed out loud at himself as he picked up the pace.
Hector Maria Padilla had heard the story of his family's history many times from his grandfather.
He listened to it again as he drove through the mountains north of Silver City on a winding two- lane highway. The trip from the border through the desert had gone smoothly, but in the high country of southwestern New Mexico he felt less confident behind the wheel. He drove a new four-wheel-drive Ford truck Grandfather had bought specifically for the journey, and towed a travel trailer they had rented in El Paso.
Grandfather finished the story of how his ancestors had settled the Mangas Valley soon after the end of the American Civil War, and now embarked on the tale of his arrival in Mexico City as a young man.
"My father wanted all his children to be educated," Dr. Jose Luis Padilla said, continuing his narrative in Spanish.
"He decided the village needed a doctor. So, I first went to the university in Albuquerque and then to Mexico City to study medicine."
"And that's where you met Grandmother," Hector said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.
"Yes." Jose Luis Padilla sighed inwardly. He missed his dear Carlotta, dead these past three months.
"She was the only woman enrolled in my class at medical school. All the men pursued her. I was amazed that she took notice of me. Her family opposed our marriage."
"Because you were not from Mexico," Hector noted, slowing the vehicle as a car approached them from around a curve.
Jose Luis Padilla chuckled.
"Yes. I was unacceptable-a nobody from the United States."
The road was clear. Hector glanced with a worried look at his grandfather, who sat with a road map on his lap. Since they'd entered the mountains. Grandfather's breathing had become more labored. He looked for signs of oxygen deprivation. Grandfather's skin had good color, and his lips were pink.
Reassuring signs. He decided to inquire anyway.
"How are you feeling. Grandfather?"
Dr. Jose Luis Padilla turned his head and smiled at the young man. His dark brown eyes were clear and lively. He was rail-thin, with wispy gray hair that curled up over the tip of his ears. His skin, heavily wrinkled, was tight against his skull.
"I am free,jito. You must remember that until your graduation next year, I am the only doctor on this journey."
"Your breathing is rapid," Hector observed.
"As well it should be at my age, with so much activity at this altitude.
If I require rest, you can park the truck so that I can take a siesta in the trailer. Pay attention to your driving."
Of all his grandchildren. Hector pleased Jose the most. He was a serious, hardworking young man who would one day be an excellent doctor.
Hector reminded him of Carlotta. He had his grandmother's beautiful olive-black eyes that always seemed lively and amused, a resolute spirit, and a sound intellect.
"You never came back to New Mexico after the death of your father,"
Hector said. It was part of the story Grandfather always seemed to skirt.
"I brought your grandmother here for my father's funeral, and she hated it. It was too isolated and alien to her nature."
"But it was your father's wish that you should return home to practice medicine," Hector reminded him.
"There was nothing to come home to. Pull over to the side of the road."
Grandfather's answer surprised Hector.
"Nothing?" he questioned. He stopped the truck on the shoulder of the road next to a cluster of cabins surrounding a tourist lodge. They were in Glenwood, a small mountain town strung out along both sides of the highway. The town-a few businesses, tourist cabins, and small houses fronting either side of the road-perched in a wandering valley cut by the course of a river.
"My father lost everything in the Great Depression," Jose replied, as he unsnapped the seat belt.