tracking down Eppi Gutierrez's smuggling contacts. Hung above the fireplace, it was a remarkable painting, filled with an odd mixture of passion and piety, and Kerney was delighted to see it again.
Glass walls on either side of the fireplace climbed to a vaulted ceiling, bringing the outdoors virtually inside. The yard had as a centerpiece a large Swimming pool and cabana ringed with palm trees and potted tropical plants. In the living room were three separate seating areas of matching, richly upholstered chairs and couches that blended nicely with the off-white carpet and walls.
Guided by Juan, Francisco Posada entered from the adjoining library.
Kerney stood up. The old man shuffled slowly to him. The arthritis that so grotesquely crippled his hands had obviously worsened.
Deep circles beneath his small eyes stopped at his cheekbones. The loose skin around his neck looked almost detached. Pain was etched in his expression.
'Please sit,' Posada said in his elegant Spanish.
He joined Kerney on the couch, Juan helping to lower him down.
'I did not expect to see you again, Senor Kerney.'
Juan, slight, dark, and as slender as a girl, stood at the side of his employer, eyes fixed on Posada, his expression guarded. During Kerney's past visit, Juan had seemed much more attentive to Posada.
He wondered what was up between them.
'Nor I you, Don Francisco,' Kerney replied in Spanish.
Posada smiled.
'I assume you did not come to present your apologies for deceiving me.'
On his past visit, Kerney had hoodwinked Posada into selling him valuable information that had led to a major break in shutting down a smuggling operation and solving the murder of Kerney's godson.
'Circumstances prevented me from telling you the truth,' Kerney replied.
'I am not interested in that. I am interested in the money you owe me.'
As an inducement to do business with him, Kerney had agreed to pay Posada a percentage of the gross profits from the sale of the stolen historical artifacts.
'The percentage you were promised was based on the delivery of certain items. The delivery was never made.'
'It was never intended to be made.'
'You did not consider that possibility,' Kerney countered.
Posada laughed nastily.
'Have I amused you?'
'I do not like the notion that I was so easily duped.'
'Can we do business?'
'It depends. What is it you require?'
'I need the names of people who smuggle endangered animals to the Asian trade. Specifically for compounds used in medicines sold by folk healers and herbalists.'
'Is this a police matter?'
'Yes.'
'Does your investigation extend into Mexico?'
'No.'
'Can you pay my fee?' Posada asked.
Posada charged a minimum of five thousand dollars for information.
'Not all of it up front,' Kerney admitted.
'But I'm willing to trade. I'll give you a thousand dollars cash and provide advance warning when we plan to shut down the pipeline. If you move quickly, you should be able to corner the market and turn a tidy profit from the last shipments that cross the border.'
Posada's eyes narrowed.
'You know my fee is not negotiable. I see no reason to put my trust in you, given your past performance. It gives me great pleasure to refuse you, Senor Kerney, Please do not come back here again. Juan, would you show Senor Kerney out?'
Kerney got to his feet and bowed in Posada's direction.
'Goodbye, senor,' he said gravely.
'I am sorry we were unable to do business.'
'Old enmities die hard,' Posada replied flatly.
Juan walked Kerney through the grand vestibule to the front door.
'Senor Posada will not live much longer,' he said.
'What will happen to you when he dies?'
'I hope to continue in the trade,' Juan answered.
'But the senor has severely cut back on his workload, and does not seem inclined to turn over the business to me. He has a niece who will inherit.'
'I would welcome the opportunity to do business with you,' Kerney proposed.
Juan made an empty gesture with his hands.
'A thousand-dollar fee does not suffice, Mr. Kerney.
Unlike the senor, I do not have the resources to act on the information you proposed as a trade.'
'The expenses of starting out can be considerable,' Kerney noted.
'Is there something else that might satisfy you?'
'I would welcome the opportunity to have a permanent American visa. I would like to offer my services in the North American market without fear of legal entanglements.'
'I believe that can be arranged. I know a customs agent who could be very helpful.' Kerney held out the thousand dollars. The money disappeared into Juan's shirt pocket.
'Call me in two hours,' Juan said, giving Kerney a phone number.
'Senor Posada will be resting. We can exchange information then.'
Kerney's contact in the El Paso U.S. Customs office was very interested in Juan as a potential longterm informant. After advising Juan on how to get in touch with the agent, Kerney wrote down Juan's information and hung up. He had a short list of three smugglers: two in El Paso and one in Deming, New Mexico, a small city thirty miles from the Mexican border. According to Juan, the market was highly specialized and controlled by only a few people operating in the States.
The motels in Silver City, mostly mom-and-pop businesses mixed in with a few budget franchise operations, were concentrated along the state highway that ran north from Deming. Cornelia Marquez was registered at a motel on the main drag fairly close to downtown. The establishment boasted a restaurant that looked out on the highway and featured a daily radio talk show aired by a local station.
Kerney stopped in for a light meal. His stomach was grumpy-the norm rather than the exception with half of his gut shot away-and he had to eat judiciously in order to keep it functioning properly.
The talk-show host, at a table with a microphone and two telephones, sat by the large plate-glass window taking calls about a small group of environmentalists who had used the courts to stop timber sales in the Gila. Loudspeakers let the customers listen in on the conversations.
One caller phoned in to say that the members of the group had better stay the hell out of Catron County, since they were nothing but a gang of radicals who didn't know a damn thing about the west or its people.
The customers, mostly working men in for a coffee break, applauded in agreement.
Kerney finished his meal as the subject of repealing the Endangered Species Act was introduced by the host. The first caller to respond wondered why the government thought spotted owls were more valuable than people. It kicked off a diatribe against Washington politicians.
Cornelia Marquez opened the motel-room door immediately after Kerney knocked. A matron in her fifties, of average height with a thickening body, she wore a plain tan dress and a pair of sensible flats.
Her eyes were puffy and red and her mouth was drawn in a tight, sad line.
Kerney identified himself and showed the lady his badge.
'Nurse Perez said that you found my father,' Cornelia said, sniffling.
She stepped aside to let Kerney enter.
