'Can I keep Sammy's letters for a while?' Kerney asked. 'I'll return them when I'm done.'
'Of course you can. Those are just the ones he wrote from the missile range,' she explained.
'I have more in my bedroom.'
'These will do for now.'
'Are you sure?' Kerney nodded.
Maria smiled regretfully. 'I'm sorry for snapping at you.'
'Don't apologize. This is hard stuff. You're holding up beautifully.'
'Am I?' She searched Kerney's face for any sign of false reassurance. 'I feel powerless and ready to explode.' Her voice broke with a little quiver.
'That's normal. Keep your chin up.' She's about to lose it, Kerney thought.
'When was the last time you spoke with Sammy?'
'About two weeks before he disappeared. I called him to ask if he was planning to come home to dance at a feast day. He said he wouldn't be able to get away.'
'Did he talk about anything else?'
'No. It was a short conversation.'
'How did he sound?'
'If you mean was Sammy upset, he wasn't.' Kerney stood up and put Sammy's letters in his shirt pocket.
'Can I take a look at Sammy's bedroom?' Maria hesitated.
'Go ahead. I'll wait here, if you don't mind.' He could see the tears welling in Maria's eyes. She blinked them back. He walked through the narrow hallway that denned the end of the old part of the house into the addition Terry had built while the marriage was still intact. It was a suite of two bedrooms and baths that fanned out behind the original structure. He opened the door to Sammy's bedroom. The room had changed since Kerney's last visit. Gone were the high school treasures. The walls held a variety of Sammy's framed pen and pencil landscapes. They showed sensitivity, substance, and a keen eye for detail. On a writing table were a small electronic keyboard, some sheet music, and a desktop computer. Tacked to the bulletin board above the desk were a collage of snapshots and some unfinished watercolors. Kerney was surprised to see a picture of himself and Sammy in the collage. Both of them stood grinning at the camera while Sammy gripped the handlebars of the new bicycle Kerney had presented to him on his seventh birthday. He closed the bedroom door and searched quietly, not wanting Maria to hear him rummaging through Sammy's possessions. She was feeling enough strain already. He opened every drawer, searched the closet, looked under and behind the furniture, and scanned the papers, books, and stacks of drawings. He turned out the pockets of Sammy's clothes and probed through the packing boxes on the floor of the closet that were filled with Sammy's childhood toys. When he finished, he put everything back in order. He had found nothing of interest.
Maria was standing in the living room when he returned.
'That was hard for me to let you do,' she said.
'I know,' Kerney said.
'Sometimes I think I hear him in his room. I catch myself walking back there to talk to him.'
'That happens.'
'The mind plays such mean tricks.' This time Maria could not stop the tears.
'I thought I was finished crying for the day.' He took her gently by the shoulders, pulled her close, and let her cry herself out. Finished, she dried her eyes and wiped her nose.
'Find Sammy for me.'
'I'll do my best,' Kerney replied.
Chapter 2
South of the Albuquerque corridor, Kerney began to enjoy the drive. Santa Fe's unrelenting growth spurts were bad enough, but Albuquerque was pure, ugly clutter along the interstate highway. After the city, open desert country undulated in waves, broken by the Rio Grande valley and an endless parade of mountain ranges to the west and east. The small villages bordering the river were enclaves anchored against the expanse of open space, surrounded by green fields that dappled the stark landscape with color. The high country of northern New Mexico was beautiful, but it couldn't hold him the way the desert could. He had been away from it for far too long. He gassed up on the main drag in Socorro, a somewhat shoddy town that paralleled the interstate, found a self-service car wash, sprayed the crusted mud off the truck, and continued south toward Las Cruces with the music of Mozart filling the cab.
The office of the sheriff of Dona Ana County was in the old courthouse in downtown Las Cruces. He introduced himself to the secretary, who inquired as to the nature of his visit. He told her it was personal, and she gave him a quizzical look before announcing him on the phone.
Still puzzled after she hung up, the secretary quickly ushered him into Andy Baca's office. Andy came out from behind a big walnut desk, grinning from ear to ear, and reached for Kerney's hand.
'I'll be damned,' he said. 'It's good to see you, Kevin.'
'Hello, Sheriff,' Kerney replied, grinning back at his old friend. 'I thought you'd moved to Las Cruces to retire and play golf.' He looked around the office. The walls were filled with the memorabilia of Andy's twenty-year career with the state police. Behind the desk, on a windowsill, miniature state and national flags stood in stanchions.
'Seems you got bored,' he added. Andy laughed.
'You've got the golf part right. I've got a ten stroke handicap, a wicked slice I can't seem to correct, and a standing offer to play every Friday afternoon with a bunch of guys who kick my butt and take my money.'
Andy wore a conservative western suit that draped nicely over his sturdy frame. There was a slight hint of jowls under his jaw and a little less hair offset by longer sideburns. Aside from being a superior cop, Andy was one of the most warm-hearted men Kerney knew. He slipped into his executive chair behind the uncluttered walnut desk and gestured for Kerney to sit across from him.
'And I did get bored,' he added. 'Started reading the newspaper with my morning coffee and wound up deciding that my predecessor was a political hack surrounded by uniformed cronies. It pissed me off, so I decided to do something about it. Ran for sheriff, and here I am.'
'So here you are,' Kerney said.
'And it makes Connie damned happy,' Andy replied. 'She was tired of having me underfoot. Complained that I was turning into a grouch. What brings you into my county?'
'I need a favor,' Kerney replied. In response, Andy raised a cautious eyebrow and nodded for Kerney to continue.
'I've been hired to find Terry Yazzi's son. He's A.W.O.L. from the missile range.' Andy's expression turned quizzical.
'Is that why Terry stopped in to see me? I had no idea.'
'I take it you didn't talk to him.'
'No,' Andy replied, getting up from his desk.
'I was out improving my slice when he came by.' He walked to the small conference table near the front of the office, sorted through a stack of papers, selected one, and held it up to read.
'We're carrying a Specialist Sammy Yazzi on the daily report as an A.W.O.L.. Is that the kid?'
'It is. What information do you have on him?' Kerney asked as he joined him. Andy slapped the paper with his free hand.
'Nothing. Just date of birth, height, weight-that sort of stuff.' He handed it to Kerney.
'Who's paying your freight? Maria?'
'Terry's paying.' Andy walked back to his desk, perched on the corner, and waited for Kerney to join him.
'How is Terry?'
'He's okay, I guess. He's chief of police at the pueblo. Says he's been off the sauce for two years. He looks sober. In fact, he looks good.' Andy studied his hands before speaking.
'You can't be doing this for Terry.'
