dollars from the local bank tucked in his wallet. In the parking lot, Jim shook his head in disbelief.
'You played hardball in there,' he said.
'I don't want Gatewood calling the shots,' Kerney answered.
'Besides not being very bright, he's a politician. We're going to have to improvise if we hope to solve this case, and Gatewood would keep us on a short leash. Fill me in a bit more on Karen Cox.
Where does she get her influence?'
Jim laughed.
'Her daddy served two terms on the county commission, helped Gatewood get hired as a deputy, and supported him for sheriff when he ran for office. Edgar carries a lot of political weight. The last thing Omar wants to do is piss off Edgar or his daughter. Especially in an election year.'
'Is everybody in this county in bed with each other?'
Jim grinned.
'Not me. My girlfriend lives in Silver City.'
'Exception noted. Are you bragging or complaining?'
'Both. So what's next, boss?'
'You get to review every piece of paper that was found in Jose Padilla's travel trailer. I want a full report when I get back.'
Jim groaned in dismay.
'You wanted to do real police work, remember?'
Stiles groaned again.
'Why did I ever say that?
And where in the hell are you going?'
'South,' Kerney replied.
Earlier in the day Karen had rearranged the office so she could sit at her desk and look out the window.
The seventh judicial district operated on a circuit court schedule in Catron County, and she had a week to prepare for her first court appearance. A stack of active files filled her briefcase. She was pretty much up to speed on the contents.
She sat down, pushed her shoes off, and wiggled her toes. She hated to wear panty hose. As far as she was concerned it was the major drawback to the job.
When Kerney had stood up, ready to walk out on the deal because ofGatewood's stubbornness, Karen had momentarily lost her train of thought. The belt buckle he wore sparked a forgotten memory. At the age of twelve, she had accompanied her parents to the state high school rodeo championships in Reserve to watch her cousin Cory compete.
Afterward, she and her girlfriends giggled and fantasized for weeks about the tall, good-looking high school senior from Engle with the square shoulders and the pretty blue eyes who had beaten out Cory for the best all- around cowboy title. Kevin Kerney. She smiled at the girlhood silliness of it all.
Kerney had aged well, she decided. He was a little taller now and slightly fuller in the chest, with a flat stomach and baby-fine brown hair that was just barely receding. All in all, a good-looking man. It was Kerney's intense blue eyes that drew Karen in, and during the meeting she had worked hard to keep from looking at him. He had caught her sneaking a glance only once.
She smiled at the thought that Kerney seemed much more interested in her now than he had when she was twelve. The smile faded as Karen thought about her mother. She stopped herself from reaching for the telephone.
There was no sense in disturbing Mom with her overabundant concern. Let her enjoy her time with Elizabeth and Cody, Karen thought, as long as she is able. But how long would that be? It frightened Karen to think about it. Her mother had always been an anchor point in her life.
She pushed back the emotion and found herself thinking about her father.
He was a strong-willed man who didn't bend easily. The prospect of pressuring him to reveal the contents of the Padilla letter was distasteful, although she was still mad as hell at him for lying about it. For now, the issue could remain dormant. Karen hoped it would stay outside the scope of Kerney's investigation. But what if it didn't? How could she protect her father without violating her professional ethics?
If necessary, she would have to rein Kerney in. Somehow, she didn't think Kerney was the type of man who would take that easily.
She put in a call to the Silver City paper and got through to the editor, who told her it was too late to kill the story. She hung up wondering if Omar Gatewood even realized how badly he had blundered by letting the cat out of the bag to the media.
She seriously doubted it.
Kerney cashed the check, drove to his trailer, and swapped the Forest Service truck for his own vehicle, a late-model GMC pickup. Making a quick stop at the hospital in Silver City, he found the same guard at the door of the I.C.U and asked to speak to Eriinda Perez.
She arrived quickly, stepped halfway into the hall, and held the door open with a hand.
'I'm very busy, Mr. Kerney.'
'I won't take much of your time. Did Dr. Padilla's daughter show up?'
'She's here now.'
He gave Eriinda a business card and switched to Spanish.
'Please give her my condolences, find out if she will tell me where she's staying, and ask if I may speak with her this afternoon. Tell her I wish to be of assistance in finding the person who killed her son.'
Eriinda nodded, told him to wait, and returned after a few minutes. She told Kerney where the woman was staying.
'She'll be at her motel in the afternoon,' she added.
'She would like to meet with you.'
'That's great. What's her name?' Kerney asked.
'Cornelia Marquez.'
'Have the police talked to her?'
'I don't know,' Eriinda said.
'How is Senor Padilla?'
Eriinda shrugged.
'The same. He fades in and out. Not very responsive. He remembers almost nothing.'
'Is he talking?'
'Not really. A word here and there. The doctor thinks the damage may be permanent.'
'Thanks.'
'For nada.' Eriinda watched him leave. Generally, she was not impressed with cops. But this gringo didn't run a macho game or act like a tough guy. Also, he didn't wear a wedding ring. She wondered if he was married.
Kerney burned up the road getting to El Paso. In Juarez he drove through the sleazy tourist district that never seemed to change, except to smell worse and look more appalling. He fought his way around crazed motorists until he was off the strip and heading for the suburbs.
Francisco Posada's home, a modern two-story affair with arched windows, a red tile roof, Grecian columns under a domed entrance, and meticulously landscaped grounds, qualified as a mansion. It harmonized nicely with the rest of the Juarez neighborhood.
The entire district could easily be part of any wealthy Southern California enclave.
Senor Posada's houseboy answered the door, recognized Kerney, and blocked his entrance.
'I don't think it is wise for you to be here,' Juan said.
'I need to see him now,' Kerney replied.
'Don't make me walk over you to do it.'
Juan considered the threat, his soft black eyes ill flickering over Kerney's face, and decided not to resist.
'Very well,' Juan said.
'Follow me.'
Escorted into the spacious living room and left alone, Kerney sat in front of the Diego Rivera portrait of a beautiful Mexican woman that had captured his admiration during his first meeting with Posada, when he'd been
