To Kerney's eye, Mescalero seemed deliberately turned away from the non-Indian world that passed through on the highway. As he pulled into the parking lot of the tribal headquarters building, he decided it would be a good idea to remember that observation. Inside, he found his way to Silas Kozine, a senior tribal administrator.
Kozine, a man well past middle age, had gray hair and wide, slightly downturned lips that gave his face a somber cast. He tapped his fingers together while Kerney explained the reason for his visit.
Silas Kozine's expression hardened as Kerney finished, and he said nothing for a long moment.
"I am sorry Judge Langsford has been killed, but I can't see how a murder spree that occurred off tribal land has anything to do with us. We went through this exercise six years ago, when Judge Langsford's wife was murdered in Roswell. No evidence was ever found that connected any tribal member to the crime, in spite of the FBI's attempts to prove otherwise."
"I understand the tribal police conducted an independent investigation of Mrs. Langsford's murder that concentrated on possible tribal suspects," Kerney said. "I'd like to review the file."
"Our chief of police made it clear to the FBI that there were no tribal suspects."
"It might be beneficial to take another look."
"It would have no benefit for us, Mr. Kerney. In fact, it would only give those people who think of us as uppity Indians the opportunity to point fingers and start rumors."
"I'm not looking to politicize anything, Mr. Kozine. The killer could be someone from the tribe he sent to prison, someone who felt unfairly treated in Langsford's court, someone with a personal grudge, or a casino employee who felt Langsford's ruling against gambling would destroy his livelihood. The possibilities are endless."
Silas Kozine consulted a paper on his desk. "I think your request for our cooperation comes a little too late."
"Excuse me?"
"Yesterday morning, you and a man named Dale Jennings were found trespassing on tribal land."
"That was unintentional, and had nothing to do with the investigation."
"Personally, I see it as a lack of respect. You can pay your fine at the tribal court offices, Mr. Kerney."
Kerney hesitated, decided there was no use arguing further, and stood up.
"Is there something else?" Kozine asked.
"I went to college many years ago with a girl from Mescalero, Isabel Istee. Is Officer Istee her son?"
"Yes, he is."
"How can I locate his mother?"
"Isabel is director of nursing at the Indian Health Service Hospital You'll find her there."
Before driving to the hospital, Kerney went to the tribal court and paid both his and Dale's trespassing fines. The small, two-story hospital had a rock exterior offset by stark white window frames and an orange metal roof. Kerney announced himself at the reception desk, asked to see Isabel Istee, and nervously waited, not sure if he wanted to voice the question that had to be asked.
He recognized Isabel as soon as she stepped through the door to the administrative wing. Her small body had filled out a bit, giving her an attractive subtle roundness, and her jet-black hair showed hints of gray. Her face still held an aristocratic, almost haughty appeal, and her eyes, dark as obsidian, were still intriguing.
She walked to him with measured steps and stopped a few feet away. "I have often wondered if I would see you again, Kevin," she said.
"It's been a long time, Isabel."
She nodded and gestured toward the door. "Why don't we talk in my office."
Once inside, Kerney sat in a chair and watched Isabel arrange herself at the desk. On the bookcase behind her was a framed photo graph of Clayton Istee in uniform. Two framed university degrees were displayed on the same shelf.
"What brings you to see me?" Isabel asked.
"I met your son yesterday."
"You and his father must be very proud of him."
"Every member of the family is."
"How long have you been married?"
"You have something to ask me, Kevin?"
"Only if you have something to tell me."
"I'm not married, and never have been."
Kerney let out a sigh. "You're not making this easy, Isabel."
"Did you come here to intrude into my life?"
"Intrude in what way?"
"We knew each other when we were very young. I have no idea what kind of man you are."
"I'm a policeman, like your son." He placed his open badge case on the desk in front of Isabel.
Isabel picked it up and studied it. "I've read about you occasionally in the newspapers. Weren't you going on to graduate school after the army?"
"I did. I dropped out."
"To become a policeman?"
"Yes."
Isabel handed back the badge case. "What you do for a living doesn't tell me who you are as a person now."
"Can words answer that question?"
"Probably not," Isabel answered, looking at the wedding band on Kerney's finger. "You're married?"
"Any children?"
"None that I know of. Is Clayton my son?"
Isabel studied Kerney for a long, hard minute before answering.
"Why would that be important to you?"
"If I have a child I want to know it."
"I suppose you have a right to know. Yes, Clayton is your son."
"Does he know who I am?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I've never told him. He only knows that his father was an Anglo boy I met at school. I wanted two things when I went to college, a nursing degree and a baby. I came back to Mescalero with both."
"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?"
"You had no desire to be a father, and I wasn't interested in marriage You gave me what I wanted, Kevin, and I gave you what you wanted."
"That's cold, Isabel. I liked you a lot."
"I don't mean it that way. We both enjoyed each other, and I have always remembered you fondly. Every time I look at Clayton he're minds me of you."
"That's kind of you to say."
"Now that you know, what will you do?"
"That question is yours to answer."
Isabel nodded solemnly. "I appreciate that. I will tell Clayton about you. The rest is up to him. He doesn't need a father, Kevin. He's a grown man."
"I understand."
"My son is Apache, Kevin."
"I understand that, also."
"I always knew this day would come."
"I will cause you and your son no trouble."
"I'd like to believe you." Isabel stood, extended her hand, and Kerney shook it. "Thank you, Kevin."
"No thanks are necessary."
Isabel smiled. "I mean, for giving me Clayton. I made a good choice when I picked you."
"Were you that deliberate?" Kerney asked, somewhat taken aback.
Isabel laughed. "Oh, yes."
Kay Murray's town house was the last unit at the end of a long dead end lane in the community of Alto, just outside of Ruidoso. The development, nestled in a grove of pine trees, looked to be a combination of second homes and long-term vacation rentals. Two-story mountain chalets, all with steep pitched shingled roofs, second-story decks, attached garages, and wood exteriors, were grouped in a semicircle around a common park area that contained several permanently installed barbecue grills and picnic tables, two tennis courts, and a small playground. Each house was marked with a rustic wooden street-number sign planted in the lawn next to the pathway that curved to the front door.
Kerney parked and tried to pull himself together. The thirty-minute drive from Mescalero hadn't done much to settle his mind. He'd always hoped someday to be a father. But to become one suddenly, retroactively, over the course of nearly thirty years, left him flabbergasted.