Addie was only a voice in his head, Robert had nervously rubbed his hand on the table. The hand rubbing and foot wiggling started up again when Kerney pushed the issue about Addie a little harder.
Kerney smiled. Maybe Addie was real. Maybe the case wasn't as dead as a doornail yet.
Using the jail administrator's phone, Kerney called around until he connected with the state agency responsible for foster care. He had to smooth-talk a handful of bureaucrats and record clerks before he could get the names of Robert Cordova's former foster parents. An attempt to get the names of the children living with the couple during Robert's placement was unsuccessful-the juvenile records were confidential and sealed.
After confirming that Robert's foster parents. Burl and Thelma Jackson, were deceased, he got their last known Mountainair address and headed down the road.
The day had warmed up and the rangeland had shed the previous night's snow. As he drove, Kerney pondered the facts of the Gillespie murder.
Gillespie's sidearm had been used to blow the top of his head off, and the gun had been wiped clean of prints. There was no sign of a struggle, and no incriminating evidence had been found at the crime scene.
How could the killer have gotten control of Gillespie's weapon? That fact alone made it highly likely that the killer was known to Gillespie. Which meant Kerney needed to find a precipitating event that could lead to a motive. The crime could have been fueled by jealousy, rage, or revenge. But was it a premeditated crime or one of passion? Either way, what did Gillespie do to make somebody want to kill him? Kerney still didn't have a hint.
Burl and Thelma Jackson's last address turned out to be a rambling adobe house with a pitched roof on several fenced acres near a Forest Service building. East of the house an old Santa Pc Railroad boxcar sat on masonry piers next to a working windmill. A picket fence at the front of the house enclosed a sandbox and swing set. Near a freestanding garage with a sagging roof, a rusted Ford Fairlane slumped on blocks with the hood open, yawning at the sky.
Kerney knocked at the door, which was opened by an overweight woman of about forty. Dressed in a bulky sweater that covered a thick stomach, she had a harried expression and full lips that curved downward.
In the background, Kerney heard the voices of young children.
'Yes?' the woman asked, looking Kerney up and down. She was holding a baby's bib in one hand. It was splattered with what looked like applesauce or vomit.
Kerney showed his shield and introduced himself.
'I'm trying to locate someone who knew Burl and Thelma Jackson.'
They were my parents,' the woman replied. A child yelled and the woman turned her head toward the sound.
'Come in. I'll be with you in a minute.' She pointed at an overstufied easy chair in the front room and left hurriedly through a side doorway, latching a childproof accordion gate behind her.
Kerney sat, listened to the children's chatter, and looked around. The room was meagerly furnished with a well-worn couch, the easy chair Kerney sat in with a floor lamp next to it, two side tables, each holding a glass vase filled with plastic flowers, and a hand-hooked oval throw rug in the center of the pine floor. Framed family photographs hung on one wall above a largescreen television set, and plain white cotton curtains covered the front windows.
The largest photograph was a color portrait of a smiling elderly couple dressed in their Sunday best. The man, wearing a cowboy hat, sat behind the woman, his arms wrapped around her waist, both turned at an angle to face the camera. Kerney guessed the couple to be Burl and Thelma. On either side of the portrait were high school graduation pictures of two girls. One was obviously of the woman who had greeted Kerney at the door. He could see the tendency toward heaviness in her torso and upper arms, and a hint of petulance in the smile. The other girl, a slender, pretty brunette with a faraway gaze in her eyes, had a tough little smile and a birthmark on her chin.
The noise subsided and the woman returned, closing the gate behind her.
She sat on the sofa and looked quizzically at Kerney.
'Why are you asking about my parents?'
'I didn't get your name,' Kerney replied with a smile.
'Lurline Toler.'
'I'm really interested in learning about Robert Cordova, Mrs. Toler,'
Kerney explained.
'He was your parents' foster child.'
'I know Robert. I was still living at home when he came to stay with us.' A child's delighted screech followed by another child's laugh interrupted Lurline.
'I do child care for some working mothers,' she explained with a weary smile. She waited several beats before speaking again. All was quiet at the back of the house.
'What do you want to know about Robert?'
'What other foster children were placed here while Robert lived with the family?'
Lurline shook her head.
'I couldn't even begin to remember, there were so many of them. Robert was one of those who stayed the longest. Most of the others were here and gone in a matter of a few months.'
'Were they all teenagers?'
'Yes. My parents only took in older children.'
'Do you remember a girl named Addie that Robert was friendly with?'
Lurline blinked and hesitated.
'There were no foster children staying here by that name, as I recall.'
'Perhaps it was a school friend.'
Lurline nodded her head.
'That's possible, but Robert was pretty much a loner. I don't think he had any friends.'
'Who would know?'
Lurline thought for a moment before answering.
'I really can't tell you. Robert is quite a bit younger than me-about six years, I think. We didn't run with the same crowd. Is he in trouble?'
'No, he's not.'
'Poor thing,' Lurline said.
'He's had a hard time of it.'
'Haven't we all?'
'Is that your high school graduation picture?' Kerney asked.
'Yes. I should take it down. I'll never look like that again.'
'Is the other girl your sister?'
'Yes. My younger sister, Nita. Dad always wanted a boy, but he got two girls instead.'
'Could she tell me more about Robert?'
'She was never close to him.'
'How can I contact her?'
A child's angry shriek kept Luriine from answering.
She got to her feet.
'I can't talk now. Call me this evening.' kerney sat in his car by the Mountainair High School and watched a group of students dressed in sweats running around a track that bordered the football field.
Growing up in the Tularosa Basin, Kerney had gone to a small-town high school where the school nurse knew every student, and was the unofficial counselor, confidante, and friend to any kid with a bloody nose, scraped knee, or troubles at home. In the years that had passed, he doubted much had changed in small-town schools.
He got out of the car and found his way to the health office.
Henrietta Swope, the school nurse, looked like a grandmother who brooked no silliness and expected everybody to tell the truth. She wore her gray hair pulled straight back, and her blue-gray eyes were inquisitive and lively. She had the lyrical voice of a much younger woman.
Kerney sat in her office, a small room furnished with a cot, a first aid locker, a desk with a chair, and a row of locked file cabinets. The walls were plastered with public health posters announcing the pitfalls of unsafe sex, teenage pregnancy, poor nutrition, and drug abuse. He showed his identification, told her what case he was working
