Larson eased the truck over to the shoulder of the highway and rolled to a stop when he saw two cop cars racing at him with lights flashing and sirens wailing. They passed by without slowing, and Larson continued on his way, traveling back toward Carrizozo, thinking he needed to find a place to hide out, and soon.
Kevin Kerney arrived in Albuquerque to find Andy Baca at the terminal gate in his state police uniform with his four stars on his collars. They shook hands and started down the long corridor toward the public waiting area behind the security screening checkpoint. Kerney’s plane out of Chicago was the last flight of the night, and except for the footsteps of the passengers hurrying toward baggage claim and the exits, the terminal was quiet and empty.
“How’s Paul Hewitt?” Kerney asked. When he’d last spoken to Clayton, Hewitt was out of surgery, still unconscious, and in critical condition. “Has he pulled through?”
“Barely,” Andy replied.
“Meaning?”
“He’s permanently paralyzed from the neck down.”
Kerney stopped in his tracks as the color drained from his face. “What?”
“He’s conscious, in full possession of his faculties, and a quadriplegic.” Andy gave Kerney a minute to collect himself and said, “Did you check any luggage?”
Kerney shook his head and started moving again. “I’ve got a closet full of everything I need at the ranch. Are Clayton and his family still there?”
“No, they’re back home in Lincoln County. Paul’s number-two man retired two months ago and moved to Arizona. The job has been vacant ever since, but this morning Paul appointed Clayton to be his chief deputy.”
“Good choice,” Kerney said. “Clayton can handle the job. Have you spoken to Paul directly?”
Andy nodded. “I saw him earlier in the evening at University Hospital. He said that with Clayton’s help he’s going to serve out his term in office. He’s trying to be positive, but it isn’t easy on him or Linda. The doctors say he won’t be going home for a while. They want to get him started on a physical therapy program before he’s released.”
“What about Larson? Have you found him? Last I heard, he was the prime suspect in Paul’s shooting.”
Andy shook his head. “We’ve lost his trail again, but we do know for certain that he shot Paul and killed the woman who stopped at the crash site. His fingerprints were on the weapon found at the scene and all over the blue Chevy.”
Andy stepped around two women who’d stopped in front of him to hug and greet each other. “By the way, the semiautomatic he used on Paul is also the weapon he used to kill Riley Burke. He used Hewitt’s gun to kill the woman, Janette Evans, a rancher’s widow, aged sixty-eight.”
“What else can you tell me?” Kerney asked.
“We traced the stolen blue Chevy that Larson crashed into Paul’s unit to a man from Oklahoma named Bertram Roach. The Albuquerque Police Department found his body in a cheap motel room on East Central Avenue. The night clerk at the motel—it’s one of those fleabag establishments used by hookers, pimps, and their johns— gave them a positive ID on Larson as a paying guest.”
They were outside in the dry, cool high desert night where Andy’s unmarked unit was parked at the curb, hazard lights flashing.
Kerney took a deep breath and knew he was back home. He looked at Andy over the roof of the vehicle. “How many people has this guy killed?”
“Four so far that we know about. A couple more of his victims could easily have died.”
“And he just tossed his murder weapon when he ran out of ammo, took Paul’s sidearm, iced a lady who stopped to help, and stole her truck?”
“Affirmative. This dirtbag just doesn’t give a shit.”
Kerney opened the passenger door. “Let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“The ranch. I need to take care of the horses and get some shut-eye before I pay my respects to Riley’s wife and parents in the morning. And then I have to check in with Clayton and Grace, let Sara know what’s happening, and come back down to Albuquerque to see Paul and talk to Linda.”
“And after that?”
“If Larson hasn’t been captured by the time we bury Riley Burke, I want a commission card and a shield.”
Andy opened the driver side door. “I figured as much.”
Chapter Four
Long before dawn, Kerney was back in the horse barn finishing up the chores he’d started the night before after arriving at the ranch. He mucked out stalls, laid down fresh straw, cleaned water troughs, put out feed, shoveled fresh manure from the paddocks, and curried the horses.
Every good cowboy and rancher knew that grooming horses wasn’t done to make them look pretty, but to stimulate a healthy coat and treat any small cuts and sores that would otherwise go unnoticed. The process also included inspecting and cleaning hoofs and checking for thrush, a fungus infection.
Although he enjoyed the pleasure of being close to the animals and the satisfying routine of caring for them, it didn’t keep him from worrying about Riley’s young wife and parents. They had to be devastated at their loss and struggling hard to accept it, and he wondered what he could do to ease their pain and assuage his own sense of guilt about Riley’s murder.
As a cop who over the years had delivered the news of sudden death to many grieving families, Kerney knew that words of sympathy, no matter how heartfelt, seldom gave relief. Surely there was something more tangible he could do for the family. He just didn’t know what would be acceptable to them.
Jack and Irene Burke, like many other small ranchers, were land rich and cash poor, and Riley and Lynette had brought more in the way of shared hopes and energy to their young marriage than tangible assets. Should he sell the horses and give the proceeds to Lynette as her share of Riley’s half equity in the partnership? Would Lynette, an excellent horse trainer in her own right and Riley’s unpaid assistant, be willing to step into Riley’s shoes and take over as Kerney’s partner? Or would it be too painful for her to work day in and day out at the very place where Riley had been randomly gunned down?
He had left for London secure in the knowledge that the partnership was in good hands. But now there was no way without help that he could keep the cutting horse enterprise going and live full-time with Sara and Patrick in England. Maybe it would be best to sell the stock, give the proceeds to Lynette Burke, find a reliable live-in caretaker for the ranch, and wait until Sara retired before trying again to operate the ranch as a business. He decided to hold off on making any decisions until he knew what Lynette wanted to do.
He finished scraping his stud horse Comeuppance’s hoofs and turned him loose by himself in a large paddock near the barn. Like any stallion, he would attack the geldings and try to drive them away or kill them if given the opportunity.
On a selfish level, Kerney didn’t like the idea of getting rid of the stock and dissolving the business. He would then have no legitimate reason other than plain homesickness to make frequent trips back to the ranch.
By sunup the horses were watered, fed, groomed, and inspected. He saddled Hondo, and with the exception of Comeuppance, he trailed the stock up the hill behind the ranch house into the fenced north pasture. He watched them for a while against the backdrop of the morning sun cascading over the slightly misty Sangre de Cristo Mountains. The geldings pranced and high-stepped while Patrick’s pony, Pablito, cantered off in the direction of the windmill. Sara’s favorite gelding, Gipsy, a bald-faced, dark sorrel, trotted back to the gate, snorted, and shook his head as if to signal his displeasure that Hondo couldn’t join him. Then he kicked up his heels and galloped away.
The fun of being back at the ranch made him feel guilty all over again about Riley’s murder. He dismounted, unsaddled Hondo, and turned him loose in the pasture with Gipsy and the other stock. As he walked down the hill with saddle and bridle slung over his shoulder, he wondered what in the hell he could do about any of it.
