'Why is that?'
'Martin worshiped his wife. He was devastated by her death. From what I hear he was very gregarious before she was killed. Everyone says that he threw the best parties; he was very active in the community and a great contributor to local charities. That all changed after his wife died. He's very reclusive now. He rarely leaves his hacienda, even to conduct business.'
Chapter Twenty-Eight.
The Alvarez ranch was several miles out of town. There was no marker on the highway and Kate would have missed the turn onto the dirt track that led to the hacienda if Benjamin Kellogg had not given her precise directions. Kate drove on through a swirl of dust, but there was no sign of civilization. On both sides of the road clumps of desert plants clung to the arid and rocky ground and giant cacti stretched their arms toward a blue sky marred only by occasional wisps of clean white cloud. Kate was beginning to wonder if she'd made the right turn when an expanse of brown adobe walls materialized in the distance.
A guard inspected Kate's identification before directing her to a parking area in front of a massive whitewashed Spanish-style house with a red tile roof. She noticed another armed guard as she walked up a flagstone path to a front door of carved oak, which opened before she could knock.
'Miss Ross?' asked a slender, light-boned woman of middle age dressed in a plain dress and comfortable shoes.
'Yes, ma'am.'
The woman smiled. 'I'm Anna Cordova, Mr. Alvarez's assistant. He's out at the pool.'
Cordova inquired politely about Kate's plane trip as she led the investigator across a tiled entryway, down four wide hardwood steps, and across a sunken living room. A blanket with an intricate American Indian design decorated one wall and an oil painting of a cattle drive decorated another; a glass case in a corner displayed pre- Columbian art. Kate walked by a stone fireplace and a painting that looked like a Georgia O'Keeffe.
Outside, into the heat again. But this time there was shade from a roof that overhung a wide patio of brownish-red Spanish tile. At the end of the patio was a pool wide enough for six lap lanes and deep enough at one end for a diving board. An armed guard stood in the shadows created by the high wall that surrounded the compound. His eyes followed Kate as she crossed the veranda, but Kate lost interest in him quickly. Her attention was drawn to a heavyset man in white cotton pants and a loose-fitting short-sleeve shirt who was seated under an umbrella at a circular glass table, staring toward the pool.
Martin Alvarez stood when he heard the women approach. Kate guessed that he was six two. A black eye patch covered his right eye and a scar ran across his temple, reddish white against his dark, pockmarked skin. There were streaks of gray in his jet-black hair. A bushy mustache covered his upper lip. Alvarez's shoulders were thick and his forearms were heavily muscled. The investigator's immediate impression was that he was a hard, unforgiving man.
'Martin, Miss Ross is here,' Anna Cordova said.
Alvarez crossed the pool deck with a determined stride.
'Gene is dead?' he asked without preliminaries.
Kate nodded.
'There is no mistake?' Alvarez asked. His face betrayed no emotions.
'No.'
'The details, please. And do not spare my feelings. I am hardened to violence. Nothing you tell me will be worse than what I've already experienced.'
'Mr. Arnold was killed with a sharp instrument, probably a knife. He didn't suffer. His death would have been quick.'
'Why did it take you so long to identify him? Kellogg reported him missing weeks ago.'
'His body was found in the ruins of a laboratory in the woods, several miles from downtown Portland. Mr. Arnold's body had to be identified through dental records because the body burned with the building.'
There was a quick intake of breath.
'He was dead before the fire was set,' Kate added quickly to put Alvarez's mind at ease.
'Why don't you continue your conversation by the pool.' Cordova pointed to the glass-topped table. 'I'll have Miguel bring you some refreshments. Would you like an iced tea?' she asked Kate.
'That would be fine, thank you.'
Alvarez walked back to the table. Kate sat across from him under the shade of a large umbrella.
'Do you have any suspects?' Alvarez asked.
'No. The police don't even know what Mr. Arnold was doing in Oregon.'
'I don't either. Gene was in New York to obtain financing for one of my business ventures. I expected him back as soon as he was finished.'
'So he wasn't supposed to go to Portland after he was through in New York?'
'No.'
'Have you ever had any dealings with the Geller Pharmaceutical Company?'
'No.'
'Can you think of any reason why Mr. Arnold would be interested in primate research?'
'No. Why do you ask?'
Kate gave Alvarez a brief explanation of the Insufort case. Alvarez blanched when she mentioned Aaron Flynn's name.
'Is something wrong?' Kate asked.
'Seven years ago a man named Paul McCann murdered my wife. Aaron Flynn was his attorney.'
'Was Flynn a big man with red hair?'
'Yes.'
Kate told Alvarez about the Bernier photograph.
'My best guess is that Mr. Arnold came to Oregon to talk to one of the people in the picture. Maybe Flynn is in it. Do you know why that would have been such a shock?'
Alvarez's brow furrowed and Kate thought that he looked genuinely perplexed.
'I can only guess that seeing Flynn brought back memories of his wife's murder,' Alvarez answered after some thought.
'Were the murders of your wife and Mr. Arnold's related?'
'Yes.'
Kate let that rest for a moment.
'How did Mr. Arnold get along with Flynn when they were living in Desert Grove?'
'I don't think they saw much of each other outside of professional meetings,' Alvarez answered stiffly. Then he paused, lost in thought, before shaking his head. 'None of this makes sense.'
'It might help me to make sense of it if I knew more about what happened here, seven years ago.'
Alvarez hesitated. Kate could only guess at how painful his memories must be. After a moment he fingered his scar.
'If you think it would help . . . ?'
'I don't know if it will, but we have nothing to go on now.'
'I've spent seven years thinking about the murder of my wife, trying to piece together what happened. I'll tell you what I know and what I learned from others if it will help you catch the person who murdered Gene.' He pointed at his sightless eye. 'He may be the same person who did this to me.'
Chapter Twenty-Nine.
1
It was morning in the desert. As Patty Alvarez rode Conquistador toward the red-rock canyons to the east, a crimson tinge appeared along the horizon. Then the sun began to grow huge, displaying thick waves of red-hot gas and yellow flares so bright that she couldn't gaze directly at them.
Patty liked to ride first thing in the morning because it was still cool. In an hour rivulets of sweat would be running between her breasts and her blouse would stick to her hot skin. That's when she would turn for home.
Conquistador was a King-bred quarter horse, a reddish-brown bay with a black mane and tail who had once
