'I can handle that,' Larry said. 'How's the Montoya case going?'
'I could probably put thirty people on it with the same results,' Kerney replied.
'Nothing?'
'Zilch, but there's still a lot of ground to cover,' Kerney said.
He waved Otero out the door, made a few more phone calls, and left to visit with Anna Marie's brother and sister, who'd agreed to meet him at their parents' house.
Cars parked along the narrow lane forced Kerney to leave his unit at the corner. A somber group of visitors filled the small porch and spilled onto the lawn in front of the Montoya residence. Kerney approached slowly, wondering what he'd gotten himself into. His uniform drew some questioning looks as he walked up the pathway, and a few people deliberately turned away. Anna Marie's brother waited for him at the door.
'I've come at a bad time,' Kerney said, looking into the crowded front room.
'We can talk in my mother's craft studio,' Walter Montoya said shortly, 'although I don't see what good it will do. My sister's waiting for us there.'
Platters of food filled the coffee table, and empty plastic cups littered the lamp tables bracketing the couch. A framed photograph of Anna Marie, surrounded by lit candles, was centered on top of the television. Mr. and Mrs. Montoya sat on the couch in the company of a priest. Kerney paused and paid his respects as friends and family watched.
'I won't take much of your time,' Kerney said, after stepping away from Anna Marie's parents.
'Does that mean you have no leads?' Walter Montoya replied, loud enough to hush a couple standing nearby.
'Let's talk privately,' Kerney said, touching the man's arm to quiet him down.
Walter pulled his arm back and led Kerney to a small bedroom that had been converted into Mrs. Montoya's studio, where Carmela, Anna Marie's sister, waited. A long worktable with folding legs held neat stacks of fabric, swaths of canvas, and a sewing machine. Within easy reach of a second-hand secretarial chair was a clear plastic four-drawer cart on rollers, filled with yarns, spools of thread, scissors, and embroidery needles.
Both siblings were in their late thirties. Walter, the older by a year, now sported a receding hairline and a mustache that showed a touch of gray. Carmela, who had been married when Anna Marie disappeared, no longer wore a wedding ring. Slim and tense, she shook Kerney's hand reluctantly.
'To have so many show so much sympathy and support must be very heartwarming to you and your parents,' Kerney said.
His attempt to be conciliatory fell flat. Carmela nodded tensely as though an invisible wire inside her neck had been pulled, and said nothing.
'When will you find the person who killed her?' Walter asked, dismissing Kerney's words.
'I don't know.'
'That's not good enough, Chief Kerney,' he snapped.
'Let me tell you what we're doing,' Kerney said. He took them through the investigative drill, noting how a lack of evidence and the absence of a targeted suspect made for slow going.
'We've heard those same rationalizations from your department for eleven years,' Walter said when Kerney finished. He pointed a stern finger at the window, where in the backyard a bare-branched apple tree had yet to announce the arrival of spring. 'My sister's killer is out there a free man, and you've done nothing to catch him.'
'Don't lose hope,' Kerney said, skirting the criticism. He took out a pocket notebook. 'I have a list of people we originally interviewed who have left Santa Fe. It would be a big help to me if you or your sister might know where some of them are currently residing.'
'What good will that do?' Walter demanded.
Kerney ignored the remark and read off the list. Carmela gave him the locations of two out-of-state people in a flat voice that didn't quite mask her anger.
'Anyone else?' Kerney asked, glancing at Walter.
He shook his head. 'But some man called me at home one night about two months ago, asking if I was Anna Marie's brother. He said he'd just moved back to the area and wanted to get in touch with her.'
'Did he give his name?'
'I don't remember it, but it was an Anglo name and he called himself doctor.'
'Did he say what kind of doctor he was?'
'No.'
'Did you ask him how he knew Anna Marie?'
'I didn't ask, but he said he'd once been her coworker.'
'How did he take the news of Anna Marie's disappearance?'
'He sounded shocked and caught off guard.'
From the notebook Kerney rattled off the complete witness list.
Walter shook his head. 'None of those names ring a bell.'
'With a little legwork I should be able to locate him,' Kerney said.
'I'd like to say something to you before you go, Chief Kerney,' Carmela said, her tone brimming with hostility.
'Yes?'
'Our parents are polite, old-fashioned people who believe in being gracious to everybody. However, my brother and I see the world a bit differently. We're perfectly willing to talk to members of the city council if you fail to make significant progress.'
She nodded her head at the closed door. 'And many of the people who have gathered here today are more than willing to join with us.'
'I understand your frustration,' Kerney said, stepping to the door.
'No, you don't,' she said. 'You haven't a clue.'
Clayton got home just in time to tuck Wendell and Hannah into bed and give them good-night kisses. He sat with Grace at the kitchen table, ate the meal she'd kept warm for him in the oven, and told her about the Humphrey murder investigation and how it had stalled.
'I was hoping Ulibarri might have done some talking with one of the dealers or the poker players about his plans. We learned nothing.'
'You sound frustrated.'
'I am, but not about that. It was a long shot to begin with.'
'What's bothering you?'
'Today, the sheriff gave me a big pat on the back and told me I was making good progress.'
'Well, you are,' Grace said. 'From what you said you have a strong suspect.'
Clayton took a bite of green beans and shook his head. 'Any reasonably competent officer would have zeroed in on Ulibarri. The way I see it, Hewitt was just flattering me. Sort of a be-nice-to-the-Indian kind of thing. I hate that kind of stuff.'
Grace cocked her head. 'Really?'
'What does that mean?' Clayton asked, pushing the empty plate to one side.
She was silent for a long moment. 'I sometimes wonder if one of the reasons you married me was because I'm full-blooded Apache.'
Clayton gave her a startled look. 'That's crazy.'
'In high school you never dated a mixed-blood, and when we were in college together you never went out with an Anglo or Hispanic girl.'
'I was seeing you in college,' Clayton answered.
'Not all the time,' Grace said.
'We broke up a couple of times and I just didn't date, that's all.'
'Once, we stopped dating for almost a year,' Grace said, 'and you never had anything good to say about Anglo boys who were my friends.'
'That was just jealousy.'
'Was it?'
'What are you saying?'
