'Let's try insurance agents,' Kerney suggested, as he flipped through a phone book and reached for the telephone.
'Hit the ones that cater to military personnel. Call the national offices if you have to. Ask if Sammy inquired about car insurance or got a rate quote.' The deputies nodded dully and got back to work. Kerney was in the middle of his list when the gangly deputy put the mouthpiece against his chest.
'I've got something,' he said.
Kerney waited impatiently as the deputy asked questions, scribbled some notes, and finally hung up. He almost yanked the piece of paper out of the officer's hand. At the door, he stopped and remembered his manners.
'Thanks. I'll let the sheriff know that you both did good work.'
'Any time. Lieutenant,' the gangly kid replied, his face breaking into a big smile. The officers watched the door slam shut behind Kerney, looked at each other, and went to find the incoming shift. The troops would definitely want to hear about the new lieutenant with the bad leg, searching for a missing soldier, who seemed to be the sheriffs friend. *** According to the insurance agent, Sammy had asked for a rate quote for a Toyota he planned to buy from D amp;B Auto Sales. Kerney found the used-car dealership along a four-lane highway on the outskirts of the city. The business, situated on a long, narrow lot, consisted of an old residence converted to an office, a detached single-car garage that served as a repair shop, and fifty or so cars parked under pennants strung between light poles. On top of the office a billboard announced that the dealer would finance any car with a low down payment.
Kerney parked on the street and walked between tightly packed rows of cars to the office. It was unoccupied. At the far corner of the lot, a portly older man was talking to a young Hispanic couple and gesturing at a black Pontiac Firebird with a customized paint job. He spied Kerney and waved. Kerney waved back and waited, his attention drawn to the angry yellow sky.
The evening winds were kicking up a dust storm on the desert beyond the river valley. Billowing plumes of sand diffused the sunlight, creating a false sense of coolness. It was still hot as hell and dry as a bone, but the clouds told of a big blow and the promise of rain sometime soon.
As a boy Kerney had stretched his imagination in those clouds, even as he learned to read them from his father, who ranched with one eye on the stock and the other on the weather. The salesman walked the young couple to their car, talking vigorously and pointing back at the Firebird. The man shook his hand, got the girl in the car, and drove away. Kerney met the salesman halfway across the lot.
He was a roly-poly fellow with a chubby face burned bright pink by the sun.
'How you doing today?' The man asked, extending his hand.
'I'm Dewey Boursard.' Kerney identified himself and showed Boursard his badge.
'My lot boy said the police had called here a while ago. I was picking up a new battery at the time. He doesn't speak very good English, so he didn't tell me very much.'
'Do you remember a soldier by the name of Sammy Yazzi who wanted to buy a Toyota?' Dewey smiled.
'Almost closed the deal. He was interested in a nice little Toyota subcompact. Came in twice to look at it. Second time I knocked the price down a little and he gave me a hundred dollars in earnest money to hold it until he could arrange financing.
'I sure thought I had a sale. Those Army boys don't get paid enough to give up a hundred dollars that easy. I held that car way past the delivery date. Cherry little vehicle. Low mileage. One owner. I even tried to call him at the base to let him know I'd finance the contract myself if he was having trouble getting a loan.'
'Did you get through to him?'
'No. I left a message. He never called back.'
'Do you still have the car?' Dewey smiled and shook his head.
'That puppy sold real fast. A college kid from the university bought it. I advertise in the student newspaper. Get a lot of my business from the kids out there.'
'Did he ever drive the vehicle?'
'Both times he was here,' Dewey replied.
'The second time he came in, he brought a buddy along with him.'
'Tell me about the buddy,' Kerney invited. Dewey pursed his lips.
'I didn't catch his name. He was a black man. A little shorter than you. Maybe six feet tall. He looked to be twenty-five or so, I'd guess. Had an East Coast accent. A mechanic.'
'Why do you say that?'
'He drove a '68 Ford Mustang he restored himself. I offered to buy it. Mint condition. Real collector's car.'
'That doesn't make him a mechanic.'
'He knew cars. Went over that Toyota real careful-like. I think he tagged along to check the Toyota out for his friend. I'll bet you a dollar to a doughnut he's a wrench jockey at the missile range.'
'What makes you think so?' Dewey held out both hands, palms down. His nails were dull and dingy.
'Grease,' he explained.
'I do all the minor work on my inventory. Saves a few dollars. You never get that gunk completely cleaned off. His hands looked worse than mine. Stuffs like dye almost.'
'Anything else?'
'He had a base vehicle sticker on the Mustang.'
'Do you remember what kind?'
'Enlisted personnel. I see a lot of those on trade ins 'Did Sammy talk to you about anything besides the Toyota?'
'Not that I recall,' Dewey answered. He changed his mind quickly. 'As a matter of fact, he did. I thought he wanted to use an old Chevy for part of his down payment. We'd talked about it the first time he came in. Wasn't worth much, but I could wholesale it and make a few bucks. When I asked, he said the black guy was gonna buy it.'
'Thanks for your time.' Dewey smiled and glanced at Kerney's truck.
'No problem. If you want to sell that truck, bring it by for an appraisal. If it runs good, I can sell it in a week. Lot of people can't afford the new ones. I could move a dozen late-model trucks a month if I had them. They go like hotcakes.'
'I'll keep that in mind,' Kerney said. *** The dust storm intensified near the mountains that separated the missile range from the rest of the world. An updraft blew sand against the rear window with a faint hissing sound. Kerney topped out at the San Andres Pass. The Tularosa Basin was hidden from view by a grimy sky. He turned off the highway onto the access road to the missile range and checked the time. His twenty-four hours had expired. Captain Sara Brannon wouldn't be any too pleased at his checking in late, but maybe new information just might cut him some slack.
Chapter 4
Sara found an MP buttoned up in his patrol vehicle in front of her house. The dust storm whipped sand at her face that felt like so many hot pinpricks. She took a packet from him, hurried into the house, and went immediately to the bedroom, trailing sand along the way. She dropped the envelope on the bed, stripped off her uniform, and stood under a hot shower, letting the water soak away the dryness. If she stayed in the desert much longer, she thought, she would shrivel up and blow away. If not that, she'd have skin like shoe leather. Naked in front of the bathroom mirror, she worked body lotion into her skin, rubbed on some face cream, and brushed her hair dry.
Dressed in a tank top, cutoff jeans, and a pair of flats, she took the envelope into the living room and checked for messages on the answering machine. Fred Utiey had called to invite her to a movie at the post theater. He continued to show romantic interest in her, and she wished he would just chill out. In a way, it was her own damn fault for sleeping with him once when she couldn't think of a good reason not to. She'd call him back and decline.
A second message, from one of the investigators assigned to follow Kerney, got her full attention. Kerney
