'Backtrack. Play up the fact that I'm not part of the military. Maybe something will shake loose.' Sara Brannon considered the idea. It was a long shot, but if Kerney could light a fire under the investigation it might help get another case off her desk.
'You've got twenty-four hours,' she finally said. 'And tell Andy Baca he owes me one.' Kerney held back a smile of relief.
'I'll pass along your message.' She nodded curtly.
'You're restricted to the main post. I'll arrange a billet for you at the bachelor officer's quarters. The officer's club is nearby and the food is decent.'
'Will I need an escort?' Kerney asked.
'If you make that necessary, Lieutenant, you'll be out of here before you can blink an eye.'
'Fair enough,' Kerney agreed, wondering how Brannon planned to have him watched. She wrote a note on a pad, tore it off, and handed it to Kerney across the desk.
'Give this to the duty sergeant at the front office. He'll take care of you.' She stood up. Kerney rose with her. She was tall enough to look him in the eye without difficulty.
'Thank you. Captain,' he said.
'I expect to be kept informed. Call the post operator and ask for me by name. If I'm not available, I'll get back to you.' She nodded in the direction of the door to indicate that he was dismissed.
'Good luck.' Alone in her office, Sara rang for her second-in command and asked what he had learned from the Armed Forces Record Center about Kevin Kerney. The officer came in bearing a packet, prepared to give an informal briefing. Sara stopped him short and had him sit quietly while she scanned the papers. Kerney, a Vietnam veteran, had served one tour in-country late in the war as an infantry platoon leader and had rotated stateside with an impressive array of citations and a recommendation for a Regular Army commission, which he had turned down. The personal information about Kerney intrigued her. His place of birth was listed as Tularosa, New Mexico, a small town on the eastern edge of the missile range. A native son. If his date of birth was correct, Kerney had been something of an overachiever; he had received his ROTC commission at the age of twenty when he graduated from the state university in Las Cruces.
Sara looked at the young officer, who waited expectantly.
'Query the FBI on Kerney and ask the post historian to see if he has information on the ranching families in the Tularosa Basin who predated the missile range. Anything he has on the Kerney family I want to look at.' The officer wrote it down and waited for more.
'Put a tail on Kerney,' Sara added. 'Two men, full-time, and rotate the shifts starting at midnight. Run a background check on Specialist Yazzi's father. I want anything you can get on his work history in law enforcement. Look for a connection between the father and Kerney. Start with the Santa Fe Police Department. That's where Kerney was last employed.'
'Anything else?' the officer inquired, getting to his feet.
'Tell the surveillance teams I want every move Kerney makes fully documented. They're to pull him in if he spits on the sidewalk.'
'Problems?' the officer asked. She closed the file, handed it to the lieutenant, and looked out the office window. Kerney was standing in the parking lot pasting a temporary vehicle pass to the rear window of a pickup truck. She watched him for a moment and turned back to the officer with a smile.
'That's what you're going to tell me. But I find it strange that a sheriffs lieutenant, on duty, drives his personal vehicle instead of a police cruiser.' *** The late-afternoon sun burned through the fabric of Kerney's shirt and the hot desert wind blew against his neck. Behind him was the office of the post provost marshal, where he'd left Captain
Brannon. He was barely aware of the line of cars moving slowly through the guard station as the civilians, defense contractors, and off-post personnel began their commutes home. His eyes were riveted on the Sacramentos, sixty miles distant. He recalled the trip to Frenchy's cabin in Dog Canyon, one of the rare excursions of his childhood when his father packed up the truck and took him camping in the high, cool forest. It was a year when the cattle brought a good price and the beef herd was sleek and fat from a wet winter and spring. The year before the drought. His gaze moved down from the peaks to the sundrenched desert, chalky gray in a great sweep of rolling space. Up the tube of the Tularosa Valley, light danced on the fringe of the brilliant gypsum dunes at the White Sands National Monument.
To the north the San Andres Mountains showed a rugged, tortured countenance to the valley floor, hiding the sinuous curves of narrow canyons that cut deep into the mountain range. He took a deep breath of the dry air and climbed into the truck. To the west, the granite peaks of the Organ Mountains dominated the main post. He thought about Sara Brannon. She was damn pretty, with an oval face and high cheekbones that drew attention to her eyes. He wondered if she was involved with someone. Probably, he decided. He attached the visitor's badge to his shirt pocket and drove down the street. The base, arranged with military precision, made finding your way fairly easy.
There were directional signs everywhere, and all the buildings were numbered and named. The administrative offices were clustered on a main drive with shade trees marching in neat rows along the roadway. All the curbs were freshly painted, and there wasn't a piece of litter in sight. A large parade ground sat across the road from the headquarters. A permanent reviewing stand installed on the north side looked out over a grass field. He found the sign to the enlisted barracks and turned off. The quarters were a compound of two-story red-brick buildings with flat roofs, within walking distance of the dining hall and the post amenities. Kerney parked in the lot and walked into the empty compound between the buildings. Given the time of day, Kerney reckoned most of the people he wanted to see were in the chow line at the mess hall. A small, one-story building at the end of the compound was posted with a company headquarters sign. Kerney went in the open door and found a clerk at a desk finishing up reports for the day. He showed the soldier his badge and asked to see Captain Meehan, Sammy's commanding officer. He was told that Meehan was gone for the day and not due back until morning. Kerney asked to see the first sergeant.
The private gave him directions to the sergeant's quarters at the opposite end of the compound. Kerney walked to the two-room suite in the barracks that Master Sergeant Roy Enloe occupied and knocked on the door. It was jerked open by a hairy, naked man who was toweling dry his hair. He seemed unconcerned about his appearance or the stranger at his door.
'My company clerk just called from the office to say you were coming over. I don't have much time,' Enloe said, leaving the door open and walking to the middle of his small sitting room.
'What can I do for you?'
'What can you tell me about Sammy Yazzi?'
'He was a good soldier.' Enloe picked up a fresh pair of boxer shorts from the arm of a chair, dropped the towel, and started dressing.'He pulled his duty without complaint and never gave me any trouble. I've been over this ground before, Lieutenant, with our own people. Ask me a question I haven't heard.'
'Do you know how I can get a hold of William McVay?' Kerney asked.
'Bull McVay?' Enloe smiled as he pulled on an undershirt.
'He's retired. Living up in a trailer park at Elephant Butte Lake. Why do you want to see Bull?'
'He was Sammy's baseball coach. Maybe he might know something about Sammy's disappearance.' Enloe shook his head in disagreement.
'I doubt it.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Bull likes to talk about three things. Baseball, religion, and the Army. He became a horn-again Christian about three years ago. You can't get him to stop talking about Jesus Christ, the New York Mets, and the air cavalry, especially if he has a few beers in him. That's all he cares about. I don't think he'd have a clue about why Yazzi went A.W.O.L..' Enloe stepped into a pair of stretch denim jeans and sat down to put on his shoes and socks.
'Why did McVay retire?' Kerney inquired. Enloe talked to the floor as he tied his shoelaces.
'Bull was planning on being a thirty-year man until his mother got sick. Alzheimer's disease. It was real tough on him to put in his retirement papers, but he felt obligated to look after her. He got her admitted to the state veterans' home up in Truth or Consequences. She served in
World War Two as a WAC ferry pilot, flying B-17 bombers.'
'Have you seen him since he retired?'
