Scorched metal fragments, strewn in random patterns across the field, showed that the blast had been considerable.
On the hood of a truck next to the trailer, a blanket covered a lifeless body. Near a fire engine, Omar Gatewood talked to a woman who wore a yellow firefighter's slicker. Directly behind them police, emergency, and rescue vehicles were haphazardly parked in the open field. A paramedic, bent over next to the open door of an ambulance, consoled an agitated, sobbing woman who huddled on the ground.
The wind died off and the smoke rose vertically, allowing people to move forward against the ropes. Kerney scanned the crowd. He recognized a lot of faces, most of them people he knew only by sight.
The gathering had almost a carnival air to it as folks shouted comments at the firefighters, who were smothering patches of smoldering grass with dirt.
There were lots of smiles and head-shaking going back and forth. Based on the size of the gathering, Kerney reckoned the event had brought out the entire village.
A voice on his right side spoke.
'Bomb.'
Kerney glanced at the man. He wasn't familiar at all.
'Excuse me?'
The man was in his mid to late twenties, with a long ponytail tied back at the nape of his neck, eyes that were filled with amusement, and broad Navajo features. He took a deep drag on a cigarette before answering.
'I said it was a bomb.'
'What makes you so sure?' Kerney asked, although he tended to agree with the analysis.
'I spent three years in an Army demolition unit.
No exploding water heater can do that kind of damage unless it's been rigged with a charge.'
'You think the water heater was rigged?' Kerney asked.
The young man nodded. Dressed in jeans, a plaid work shirt, and a lightweight black denim jacket, he wore a very old coral-and-turquoise Navajo bracelet made of coin silver.
'I sure do.' He dropped the cigarette and ground it under the heel of a work boot.
'See how the roof is torn up? It takes more than exploding propane gas to do that kind of damage.'
'What kind of bomb do you think it was?'
'From the blast pattern, dynamite would be my guess.'
'Triggered by what?'
'Probably by a spark. It's easy enough to do. You plant your material, short out an electrical switch, and start a gas leak. Whoever turns on the juice becomes a crispy critter.'
'Did you do it?' Kerney asked, half seriously.
The young man chuckled and his dark eyes flashed in amusement. With high cheekbones, slightly curved eyebrows, and an oval face that tapered to a round chin, he looked quietly fun-loving.
'I wouldn't be talking about it if I did it, Mr. Kerney.
You've got a rookie on your hands-probably a virgin-and not a very talented one at that.'
'You know me?'
The man laughed.
'Hell, man, you're headline news at Cattleman's Cafe.'
'You have me at a disadvantage,' Kerney said.
'I'm Alan Begay,' he replied, raising his chin in a quick greeting.
'From the Navajo Pine Hill Chapter at Ramah.'
'What brings you to this party?'
'I'm a surface-water specialist with the state. I work in the Gallup field office. I've been down here for the last three weeks. I heard the explosion and tagged along with the crowd.'
'Do you have time to stick around and take a look at the trailer after things calm down?'
'Yeah, I can do that,' Begay replied, his smile widening.
'It would be fun.'
Kerney chatted with Begay for a few minutes to reassure himself that the man was who he seemed before skirting the fringe of the crowd. He found Sheriff Gatewood by the fire engine, occupying his time watching firefighters roll up hoses and shovel debris from inside the trailer.
Gatewood didn't notice Kerney until he was at his side. He cast a glance at Kerney and stifled a reaction of surprise by clamping his mouth shut. It made his chubby cheeks puff out even more.
'Damn, Kerney,' he said, 'we figured you were burned up inside.'
'No such luck. Who got killed?'
'Your landlord, Doyle Fletcher, the poor son of a bitch.'
'What happened?'
'Fire chief thinks someone planted a device. She put a call into the state fire marshal to send an arson investigator up from Las Cruces.'
Gatewood kept talking, and Kerney's attention wandered. The medical examiner and a paramedic were moving Fletcher's body from the truck hood onto a gurney. He stepped over and pulled the blanket down. Fletcher's face, seared and unrecognizable, made Kerney choke down bile. He flipped the cover back over the face and spent a minute considering whether it had been the blast or the fire that had killed Fletcher. He decided it didn't really matter.
The crowd began to thin out. Slowly people walked away in tight, chatty little groups. Gatewood moved off to speak to a deputy. Soon only a few hangers-on and official personnel remained, most with nothing to do.
Kerney found himself wondering what had happened to the mice, and decided his sense of humor had gone stale.
At the rear of Fletcher's truck a deputy sheriff was using his bulk to block Alan Begay from getting closer to the trailer.
Kerney intervened.
'Sorry for wasting your time,' he apologized, as they stepped out of the deputy's earshot.
'But the sheriff has sealed the crime scene. I can't get you in.'
'Doesn't matter,' Begay said.
'Let me show you something.' He walked Kerney thirty feet behind Fletcher's truck, stooped down, and used a stick to turn over the partially melted remains of a light socket.
'Here's your trigger,' he said with satisfaction.
Kerney bent over, peered at it, not quite sure what he was looking at, and waited for Begay to explain.
'You take the bulb out and solder filament wire to the hot post. When you turn on the juice it sparks, ignites the gas, and detonates the dynamite,' Begay said.
'You can see where its been soldered.'
'What about fingerprints?' Kerney asked.
'Don't hold your breath.' Begay tossed the stick away, brushed his hands, looked at Kerney, and shook his head.
'So now you're unemployed and homeless.'
'I didn't even think about that,' Kerney said, as reality sank in.
'I've got a spare bed in my motel room, if you need a place to crash for the night.'
Reserve boasted only one motel, so Kerney didn't have to ask where Begay was staying.
'I may take you up on the offer.'
Begay nodded.
'I'll tell the desk clerk to give you a key.'
'Thanks.'
'No problem, man,' Alan said as he walked away.
The television crew arrived. A cameraman unloaded equipment while the reporter-one of those bright-eyed, perky women who smiled at the camera no matter what the subject matter might be-hustled off to find Gatewood.
It brought the few remaining onlookers who were leaving scurrying back for more entertainment.
As soon as everyone clustered around Gatewood and the reporter to watch the interview, Kerney took
