cabinet secretary for public safety, and the state police captain in charge of internal affairs. The trio stopped by the Raton hospital to check on Clayton before making the short hop to the lodge, where the resort manager turned over his office for Kerney’s use. Although Pat Hurley had reassured Kerney that Clayton’s injuries were not serious, he was relieved to hear Andy report that Clayton was alert, fidgety, and eager to go home.
Kerney spent a good hour briefing Andy and his boss on the conclusion of the manhunt and the shoot-out. After the brass left to talk to Vanmeter and the SWAT team leader, the IA captain came in. He advised Kerney that any official statement he might wish to make regarding the use of lethal force in the shooting death of Craig Larson would be viewed by the department as a pro forma exercise. He turned on a small tape recorder and asked Kerney to describe the events leading up to and during the shooting. Kerney took the cue and said that he’d come upon the heavily armed subject in the forest and had been forced to shoot him to stop the action and protect his own life.
The captain nodded, turned off the tape recorder, told Kerney he would report to Chief Baca that it had been a righteous shooting, shook his hand, and went off to take statements from Vanmeter and the SWAT team leader. As far as Kerney knew, it was possibly the shortest official investigation ever into a deadly shooting by a police officer.
In Raton, Kerney went to visit Clayton at the hospital while Andy Baca, the cabinet secretary for public safety, the county sheriff, and the local police chief held a press conference on the steps of the county courthouse to officially announce that Craig Larson had been killed during an intense gunfight in a remote mountain valley. Television reporters from stations in Colorado, Oklahoma, West Texas, and New Mexico were on hand sending live feeds to all the broadcast networks and cable news channels.
The ER staff had put Clayton in a wheelchair and parked him in a room where he could watch the proceedings on television.
“The brass are making some big political hay out of this one,” he said as Kerney entered the room, “big- time.”
“As well they should,” Kerney replied. “It’s a gripping story with a good ending. Justice prevails. Order is restored, and folks are once again safe in their home. Have you called Grace yet?”
“Yep.” Clayton pushed the mute button on the TV remote. “She knows I have a sore head and a broken leg. She knows it, but doesn’t like it.”
Kerney laughed. “I wouldn’t think so. You’re officially on medical leave. Andy has arranged to have you sent home by ambulance tonight. He also wants to talk to you about staying on with the department once you’re fully recovered.”
Clayton shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not sure about that.”
“I know, but it’s quite a compliment nonetheless. The state police don’t often bring officers from other departments into their fold without making them start at the bottom of the ladder.”
“It’s not a decision I can make alone.”
“Call Grace and tell her you’re coming home.”
After Clayton called Grace, the two men watched the tail end of the news conference until a male nurse stuck his head inside the open door to announce that Clayton’s ride was ready. Outside the entrance to the ER, Kerney helped the driver load Clayton into the ambulance, said good-bye, closed the rear doors, and told the driver to run with his emergency lights on all the way to the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation.
At the motel, he stood under the shower for a good ten minutes, letting the hot water wash away some of the tension in his muscles and bones. He hadn’t eaten all day, but he was too tired to care and really didn’t feel all that hungry anyway. He swallowed some of the over-the-counter medicine the doctor had told him to take for his gut, rolled into bed, and was asleep within minutes.
A week into Clayton’s convalescent leave, Andy Baca paid him a visit at home while Grace was at work and Wendell and Hannah were at their grandmother’s house for the afternoon.
“How soon do you get off the crutches?” he asked.
“Another two weeks. The doc says I’m healing up nicely.”
“Have you thought any more about staying on with us?” Andy asked. “I have an investigator slot open in Las Cruces, but I could transfer the position to the Alamogordo office. It would shorten the work commute for you. And the pay is a hell of a lot better than what you were making with the sheriff’s department.”
“It’s tempting,” Clayton said as he walked to an easy chair, leaned his crutches against the armrest, and eased himself onto the cushion.
Andy settled on the couch. “What’s holding you back?”
“If the Capitan police chief gets elected sheriff in November, and his chances are pretty good, he wants to bring me back at my old rank of lieutenant in January.”
“Does that possibility appeal to you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How about this idea until you do decide,” Andy said. “Finish your convalescent leave and continue to work for me in the Alamogordo office. If you feel you must rejoin the Lincoln County S.O. when the new sheriff gets sworn in, so be it.”
Clayton’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’d do that?”
“Yep, for selfish reasons only.”
“Such as?”
“Well, aside from the fact that you’re a hell of a good detective, it would be bad PR if you weren’t working for me when we pin the departmental Medal of Valor on your chest.”
Clayton looked stunned. “What?”
“We’re giving one to Kerney also.”
“He deserves it.” Clayton shook his head. “But me . . .”
“Do you have a problem with this?”
“Giving me a medal for getting my horse shot out from under me, breaking a leg, and knocking myself unconscious doesn’t make much sense.”
“That’s not quite how the citation will read,” Andy replied with a chuckle. “Don’t be so modest. The cabinet secretary wants to present the medals to you and Kerney at a Santa Fe ceremony.”
“When?”
“We haven’t set a date yet. It depends on when we can get Kerney back from London.”
“Does he know about this?”
“Not yet, but I suspect he’ll be just as cantankerous as you about it.” Andy rose and stepped over to Clayton. “Do we have an agreement?”
“It’s an offer I can’t refuse,” Clayton replied with a grin. He pulled himself upright, stuck the crutches under his arms, and gave Andy his hand. “Thank you, Chief.”
Andy patted Clayton on the shoulder. “I’ll let the Alamogordo office know to start making room for you. Call me as soon as you have a date when you can return to work. We can put you on light duty for a while, if need be.”
“Yes, sir,” Clayton replied.
He walked Andy to the door, watched him drive away, and returned to the easy chair. Clayton hadn’t told Chief Baca that the tribal council had approached him to take over as police chief. But as he’d discussed with Grace, he planned to let the tribal administrator know before the end of the day that he was declining the offer.
He’d worked for the tribal police for over five years before joining the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office, and the chief’s position was a job he didn’t want to tackle, at least not yet. Perhaps when he had a full law enforcement pension that could buffer him from all the intricate tribal politics, he would consider taking it on. Or maybe then he might run for election to the tribal council.
He knew turning down the tribal council’s offer would make his mother unhappy. Ever since he was a kid, she had harbored ambitious plans for him. She had never approved of his decision to get a degree in criminal justice and go into law enforcement. But it was Clayton’s life to live and his mother’s dream of wanting to see her only child installed as a tribal leader would have to wait.
He reached for the phone to call Grace and decided against it. He would talk to her about all of the important
