"No."
"Did you ever date Amanda Talley?"
"Yes, we dated for a while, two years ago, soon after she came to town."
"But not recently?"
"I said it was two years ago."
"I'm a little confused about your answer. Last month you were seen in the governor's suite after hours with Amanda Talley."
"I may have run into Amanda at my uncle's office one evening, Sergeant, but that's all there was to it."
"Why would Ms. Talley be in the governor's office after hours?"
"Do you suspect Amanda, Sergeant?"
"What was your business there that night?"
"I believe I left a legal brief for the governor's chief of staff to review."
"You didn't rendezvous with Amanda at the governor's office that evening?"
"Are you suggesting a romantic interlude of a sexual nature? Isn't that how you referred to it in my office? I did not. As I told you, our relationship has been over for a long time."
"Several of Ms. Talley's closest friends suggest otherwise.
They report that you and Amanda continue to meet privately upon occasion."
Springer blinked.
"If you've spoken with Amanda, I'm sure you know that's simply not true."
"We haven't been able to reach her yet. She's out of the country."
"Isn't it premature to make accusations you can't substantiate?"
"We found some pubic hairs on the carpet in the governor's office.
Right in front of his desk."
"Did you?"
Gilbert reached out, plucked a loose hair off the collar of Springer's bathrobe, and inspected it.
"From two different individuals," he lied.
Springer paled considerably as he watched Gilbert place the hair between the pages of his notebook and close the cover.
"You just violated my constitutional rights," Springer said.
"You have no authority to collect physical evidence without a search warrant."
"Physical evidence?" Gilbert replied innocently.
"You're not a suspect, Mr. Springer. Didn't I make that dear? I don't think you have any reason to be concerned."
"It's time for you to leave. Sergeant."
Outside, Gilbert took a deep breath. A piece of the puzzle had fallen into place, although it probably didn't matter much, since he couldn't actually prove Roger Springer had jumped Amanda Talley's bones on the governor's carpet.
The whole thing had been a bluff, and the ploy could cost him, big time. Gilbert was sure the brass would hear about it in the morning, and the thought that he might get bounced off the investigation and stuck in some cubbyhole, sorting evidence inventories for die rest of his career, didn't sit well.
Gilbert doubted he would get much sleep when he got home. the doctors had given Robert painkillers. He woke up to Kerney's gentle shaking with a small groan. His beard had been shaved off, and there were bruises on his mouth and chin. His lip was split and two upper front teeth were missing.
Without the beard, Robert's face had an unused quality to it, except for his eyes, which looked very old.
His left arm was suspended in a cast, and his torso had been wrapped to immobilize a broken rib.
He looked at Kerney and said nothing. It made Kerney wonder if Robert was hearing voices in his head. Finally, Robert licked his lower lip and coughed.
"How are you, Robert?" Kerney asked.
"Un poco de agua, por favor," Robert said.
With great care, Kerney tilted Robert's head off the pillow and placed the straw protruding from the plastic water jug between Robert's lips.
Robert took several small sips and then pulled the straw from his lips.
"It hurts to use my mouth," he said.
"You don't have to talk now, if you don't want to."
"You understand Spanish, Kerney," Robert said.
"Who did this to you?"
"El Malo."
Kerney knew the term. It meant "the evil one," a colloquialism for the devil.
"How did he do this to you?"
Robert blinked and looked confused.
"My head feels better."
"I hope it stays that way."
"El Malo never stays with me. He's just non hatajo de mentiras."
"He lies to you?"
Robert smirked.
"He says I'm not crazy."
"That must be good to hear."
"It's a lie." Robert paused for a moment.
"Once I dreamed I was Jesus Christ. You know what I did in the dream?"
"What did you do?"
"I killed myself." Robert giggled.
"Isn't that funny?"
"That was some dream."
"El Malo makes me dream shit like that. It's bad luck to dream you're Jesus."
"Who beat you up, Robert?"
"I was naguitas, Kerney. A real sissy. I didn't even throw one punch.
Not one."
"Maybe you didn't have the chance."
"You're supposed to fight back. That's the rule."
"Even tofe bolos like you can get tricked," Kerney ventured.
Robert considered Kerney's statement.
"You got fucked up pretty bad, shot and everything. Isn't that right?"
"That's right."
"Were you scared when it happened?"
"Terrified. Who beat you up, Robert?"
"That fucker Ordway said you sent him some smokes to give to me."
"Ordway did this?"
"Yeah."
Kerney stayed with Robert until he closed his eyes and fell asleep. on the drive back to Santa Pc, Kerney made contact with the state cop who lived in Mountainair, and asked about Ordway's whereabouts. The officer reported Ordway had cleaned out his trailer, loaded up a small U-Haul, and left town.
Tired to the bone, Kerney turned down the squawk box volume and popped a Wynton Marsalis tape into the cassette deck. Some deep-down, throaty blues would carry him home. Or not exactly home, as Andy had so correctly pointed out.
He would love to put his cowboy boots on the coffee table at Harper Springer's ranch and call the place his own, but that was a pipe dream.
If he stayed in Santa Fe, reality would be a furnished box apartment with all the charm of a minimum-security federal prison. That just wouldn't do.
He was approaching the off-ramp to St. Francis Drive when the realization hit him that he wasn't thinking clearly. He switched his attention to the rearview mirror. The headlights of three cars behind him flickered in the mirror. He slowed to let them close, clicked on the turn signal, and continued past the exit. Two of the cars turned off while the third stayed behind him.
He didn't know if he was being followed or not, but it was time to start playing it safe. He moved into the left lane, swung the car off the pavement onto a dirt crossover that connected the divided highway, and merged with the southbound traffic. The northbound car continued on without slowing.
From now on, he would take alternate routes to and from work and vary his routine. With an eye on the rearview mirror, he got off the interstate, and took side streets to Fletcher's house.
At the house, he scanned the grounds for anything out of the ordinary before going inside. Everything looked perfectly peaceful.
Kerney turned on the table lamp in Fletcher's bedroom and found him curled up in a ball under an old hand stitched floral-wreath quilt. The bed, a massive nineteenth-century four-poster, was angled to provide a view of a walled garden at the rear of the house. Nichos carved in the adobe walls displayed an assortment of folk art animal figures that included Acoma Pueblo owls. Cochin storyteller bears, and mythical Mexican beasts. On the floor in the four corners of the room stood carefully grouped menageries of hand-carved, painted animals. Pigs, skunks, donkeys, lions, and chickens of various sizes were arranged facing the bed.
"Wake up, Fletcher," Kerney said.
Pletcher pulled a pillow over his head.
"It's much too early to wake up," he muttered.
"It's time for our run."
Kerney removed the pillow and Fletcher opened his eyes. Dressed to go running, Kerney wore a fanny pack around his waist.