"We're carrying a Specialist Sammy Yazzi on the daily report as an A.W.O.L.. Is that the kid?"
"It is. What information do you have on him?" Kerney asked as he joined him. Andy slapped the paper with his free hand.
"Nothing. Just date of birth, height, weight-that sort of stuff." He handed it to Kerney.
"Who's paying your freight? Maria?"
"Terry's paying." Andy walked back to his desk, perched on the corner, and waited for Kerney to join him.
"How is Terry?"
"He's okay, I guess. He's chief of police at the pueblo. Says he's been off the sauce for two years. He looks sober. In fact, he looks good." Andy studied his hands before speaking.
"You can't be doing this for Terry."
"I'm not. Sammy's my godson. I've known him since the day he was born." Andy nodded somberly.
"That makes sense." The smile returned, and he slapped his leg with the palm of his hand.
"Okay, how can I help?"
"The brass at the missile range stonewalled Terry. I was hoping you could grease some wheels for me."
"Sure, sure, but it won't amount to much. Army cops are no different from the rest of us-they think private investigators are a pain in the ass."
"I'm not licensed as an investigator," Kerney replied. Andy frowned.
"That's worse yet. You might as well turn around and go home for all the good I can do you."
"I can't do that." Andy seemed amused.
"Why am I not surprised?" He rubbed a hand over his chin and thought for a minute.
"You'll need some juice if you want the military to cooperate. Why don't I put you on the payroll?"
The offer startled Kerney. "I'm medically retired. Not fit for active duty."
"So what? I can do it without bending any rules."
"You're serious?"
"You bet." Andy leaned over the desk, opened the top drawer, reached in, and tossed Kerney a badge.
"Let's make you a lieutenant. That should be high enough on the pecking order to get the Army's attention." Kerney held the badge in his hand, feeling slightly flabbergasted.
"I wasn't expecting this."
"It's no big deal, but don't get too attached to that shield. Money is tight. You're on the payroll for thirty days. That's all I can afford." Andy shifted his weight against the edge of the desk.
"Now it's your turn to pony up."
"Name it," Kerney replied, wondering what Andy wanted.
"Tell me what really happened with you and Terry. The shooting team report was a bunch of crap."
"It's not worth talking about."
"Indulge me." Kerney swallowed hard, unwilling to start. The scene had played through his mind endlessly, but he'd never put it in words. Maybe it was time. He looked Andy directly in the eyes and started talking.
"We were on a stakeout waiting for an arrest warrant so we could pick up a cocaine dealer in the barrio. I covered the back door while Terry was inside the liquor store across the street, watching the front of the house. Just before the perp crawled out a front window, Terry decided he needed a beer chaser to go with the vodka he had been nipping at from a hip flask all morning. At the time, I had no idea he was hitting the sauce heavily. He was moody and sullen, but I passed it off as a reaction to his divorce.
"Anyway, while he's popping open a cold one at the cooler in the back of the store, the perp came out the front door and ran behind the house. He saw me and started shooting. I took the first round in the knee and the next one in the gut before I could drop him. By the time Terry got to me, it was over.
"While I was in surgery, Terry told the shooting team that the suspect came out a side window and that he never saw him. I believed his story. So did Internal Affairs."
"How did you learn the truth?"
"Three weeks later, Terry came to visit me when I was home from my second round of surgery. He was tanked up, suicidal, and guilt-ridden. I guess he felt a need to confess. That was the last time I saw him until this morning."
"You should have busted his ass," Andy counseled.
"At the time I was too doped up on painkillers to give a shit about anything. It really didn't sink in. Part of me didn't want to believe it. Anyway, Terry busted himself. After he left my place, he stayed drunk until he got fired." Kerney searched Andy's face.
"How did you know Terry lied?" Andy laughed and pushed himself upright.
"I ran Internal Affairs for the state police, remember? It was my job to review the shooting team report for the DA. I interviewed Terry to confirm his story just before he got canned. For a man with nothing to hide-who had been cleared of any blame-he was in a cold sweat. It smelled fishy." Andy leaned over the desk, scribbled a note, tore it from the pad, and handed it to Kerney.
"Captain S. J. Brannon, Sara Brannon, is the officer-in-charge of the criminal investigation unit at the missile range." He checked his wristwatch.
"She should still be in the office. I'll make an appointment for you. I'll tell her Terry's an old friend of mine who's asked me to look into his son's disappearance. My secretary will pull the active A.W.O.L. files for you to review. Check to see if Sammy went over the hill with a friend. Sometimes these kids run together to keep their courage up."
"I'll look into it. Thanks, Andy." Kerney held out his hand.
"No problem." Andy handshake was sincere.
"Let's get you sworn in." After the paperwork was completed and Kerney left the office, Andy absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the desktop. He'd acted impulsively, but it felt right. Putting a badge in Kerney's pocket might be the best thing he could do for the man. He would gladly take ten officers like Kerney, gimpy leg and all, if he could find them. The man was one hell of a good cop. He reached for the phone to call Captain Brannon.
He not only wanted Sara to know she would soon have a visitor, he wanted her to know something about the new lieutenant he was sending her way. *** Captain Sara Brannon inspected the man standing in front of her desk.
His face was tan and his hands were calloused from physical work. He was built like an athlete, with big shoulders, a nicely formed chest, and a slim waist. He didn't look like a cop coming off a lengthy convalescence after being seriously wounded. If Andy hadn't told her, she would have guessed the limp was nothing more than an old football injury. Dressed in jeans that broke below the heels of his cowboy boots and a white starched western shirt that fit him nicely, he wore an oval belt buckle with a single turquoise stone in the center of a silver setting.
"Sit down, Lieutenant," she said as she shook his hand. He had the prettiest blue eyes she'd ever seen. Kerney lowered himself into the straight-backed chair in front of the gray steel desk.
"Thanks for seeing me."
"I hear that you're new to the sheriff's department," Sara replied. "I'm a bit surprised that Andy Baca would send a lieutenant to investigate this case."
He waited for the captain to be seated before replying. It gave him a brief chance to study her. Her fatigue uniform was crisp, with sharp creases in the sleeves. The shirt didn't hide the long, slender neck, offset by short strawberry-blond hair. Her eyes were sparkling green. The only jewlery she wore was a West Point ring. He'd seen a lot of academy rings during his tour of duty in Nam.
"The sheriff and Chief Yazzi are old friends. He wants to give the case priority."
"So I understand. You are aware that Specialist Yazzi's case is purely a military matter?"
"Of course," Kerney answered cordially. "But I'd appreciate any information you can give me. Specialist Yazzi's parents are very worried, and Sheriff Baca would like to help as much as possible." The captain nodded curtly.
"Sheriff Baca made that clear. We take the disappearance of any soldier very seriously. Most of the personnel at White Sands work on highly secret projects. There are security implications to be considered in this situation."