fingers. Then he followed along quietly as Kerney walked the outside fence perimeter to the back of the house.
The existence of the fence and gate had raised Kerney's interest. It made no sense to fence off firewood and landscape rock in a community where both were readily available. What else was Lujan protecting?
Behind the house stood a metal toolshed and a storage building. A few truck tires, discarded engine parts, and a rusty oil drum were stacked against a wall of the shed. A patio deck jutted from the back door of the house and stopped at an unfinished rock wall. At the rear of the lot, two clothesline poles and a swing set, rusty and unused, stood in a bed of tall weeds. Part of the fence was covered by a massive thick vine, tangled and wild, that completely hid the river valley from view.
Kerney called Loco to him and tossed him some more meat.
'Are you going to let me climb the fence and take a look around?'
Loco didn't respond. He was too busy devouring the ham.
As Kerney climbed the fence, Loco growled once, flopped down on the ground, and put his legs in the air for a tummy scratch. Kerney obliged and gave him the remaining ham.
'Heel, Loco,' he ordered, hoping that Lujan had trained the shepherd to do more than bite on command.
Loco took his station at Kerney's side and meekly followed him to the toolshed. The building was locked, so he used his pocket knife to open the window latch. He climbed in and looked around.
The shed contained several expensive chain saws, a set of stone chisels, and an excellent assortment of power tools, supplies, and hardware-all ordinary stuff.
The storage building had a thick pine door as the only point of entry.
It was secured by a deadbolt lock. It would take an old burglar's trick to break in.
While Loco stayed with him all the way, he got a truck jack from Lujan's flatbed, placed it between the joists that framed the door, and cranked until he couldn't ratchet it another notch. The joist sagged back enough to show a half inch of the bolt. He kicked the lock once and the door splintered free from the bolt, swinging on its hinges to reveal a room crammed with old Victorian furniture, including a four-poster bedstead, a carved chest of drawers with brass pulls and marble top, and an oak pedestal dining-room table with matching chairs. The rafters were covered in cobwebs, but the furniture had only a very thin coating of dust. It had been recently moved into storage, probably to make room for all the new stuff that filled Lujan's house.
After a quick search to make sure nothing else was missed, Kerney closed the door, wiped his prints from the doorknob and the jack, and went back to the flatbed. In the rear of the truck some of the wood chips, pine needles, and small twigs left over from Lujan's last load were coated with a sticky substance.
He picked up a chip. The underside was gritty to the touch. It was fresh-cut pine, grimy with rock granules, and smelling like motor oil.
Lujan had recently hauled a machine with an engine that leaked, Kerney noted with satisfaction. None of the chain saws in the toolshed had a cracked casing, so it could have been that Lujan had hauled the ATV in his truck to the cabin.
Kerney scratched Loco's ear and thanked him for the tour, then climbed back over the fence.
A sheriffs patrol car pulled in behind him just as he was about to back away. Inwardly, Kerney groaned. If he got busted, he wasn't sure how he could explain away the charges he faced. He killed the engine, put both hands in plain view on the steering wheel, and watched the deputy in his rearview mirror, waiting to see what kind of action the man would take. He relaxed when the officer walked casually to him with no hint of wariness.
'Deputy,' he said, forcing a smile. It was the same man who had been waiting for him at his trailer the night he returned from dinner with Phil Cox and his family.
'Sheriff needs to see you,' the deputy said, smiling in return. In his thirties, the officer had a football player's thick neck, a body about to go to seed, rosy cheeks, and a nose that had been broken at least once.
'What's up?'
'Hell if I know. You can follow me into town.' He looked at the locked gate. The German shepherd was barking loudly and sticking his snout in between the gate slats.
'I don't think the Lujans are home from work yet.'
'I guess not. I'll catch them later,' Kerney replied.
'Where you been all day? I've been looking for you since this morning.'
'Really?' Kerney answered.
The deputy shrugged.
'No matter. You've been found.' He walked to his patrol car, called in his discovery, backed out, and motioned for Kerney to do the same.
The meeting with Gatewood consisted of the sheriff asking all the usual questions. In Omar's cramped, cluttered office, Kerney watched Gatewood's technique unfold. He talked about the 'incident' at the trailer-a soft way to describe a murder bombing-and asked Kerney how well he knew Doyle Fletcher. Kerney answered directly, and Gatewood moved on, asking if he had encountered hostility from anybody during his investigation.
'Not really,' Kerney replied.
'Who did you talk to?'
Kerney gave him an abbreviated list of names, and Gatewood wrote them down.
'That's not a lot of people,' Omar noted.
'I didn't have much time,' Kerney reminded him.
'Too bad about you getting fired,' Omar said with false sympathy.
'Do you think the bombing was tied to your investigation?'
'What do you think?' Kerney countered.
'It could be. Or maybe you just pissed somebody off.'
'I don't think I've been around long enough to make any enemies on my own account.'
'Some people don't need a lot of time to piss folks off. And working for the Forest Service is enough of a reason for some folks not to like you,' Gatewood replied with a slow grin.
'Do you have particular folks in mind?'
'None in particular.' Gatewood leaned back in his chair and stared down his nose.
'So tell me something: what's keeping you here?'
'Inertia.'
'No lady friend?'
Like maybe Fletcher's wife, Kerney thought.
'No,' he answered.
'Maybe a lady with a husband or boyfriend?'
Omar nudged.
'No.'
'Mind telling me where you were last night?'
'I stayed with Jim Stiles and his girlfriend.'
Gatewood looked disappointed.
'They'll vouch for you?'
'I don't see why not. Do you have any leads at are 'Not on the bombing, but we have a small break on the Padilla case,' Gatewood answered, getting to his feet and walking to the office door.
'The state police got a tip on that ATV you were looking for.
Damn thing was stashed in an old Forest Service cabin up in the Mogollon Mountains. The tires match the tread evidence at the Elderman Meadows crime scene.'
'Ownership?' Kerney inquired.
'Stolen about two years ago in Las Cruces.'
Gatewood held the office door open.
'But we might get lucky if the lab boys can lift some prints. You'll stick around for a few days, won't you? Just in case we need to talk some more?'
'I will,' Kerney replied, joining Gatewood at the door.
'Carol Cassidy told me you have a militia group operating in the county.
Do you have any intelligence on them?'
Gatewood guffawed.
'The militia is nothing more than a bunch of sword-rattling good old boys who like to play soldier.'
