'Yeah, I do.'
Kerney told him how another cop-his best friend in the department and a secret boozer-had let him down when they were on a stakeout waiting for an arrest warrant to bust a drug dealer; how the perp had caught Kerney off guard because his friend had left his post to sneak a drink; how Kerney had taken one round to the stomach and one to the knee before he could put the perp down for good.
'Some friend,' Clayton said.
'Well, he was. A good one, until the booze caught up with him,' Kerney replied. He glanced at the side-view mirror once again and stretched his leg to ease the ache in his knee. 'He's on the straight and narrow, now. In some ways, I think he's in more pain about what happened than I am. Although today I wouldn't bet on it. Did you know we're being followed?'
Clayton looked in the rearview mirror. 'Which car?'
'Third one back,' Kerney said. 'The blue Camaro with Texas plates.'
'Where did you pick it up?' Clayton asked.
'In Roswell, just outside the old air force base.'
'Were you able to read the plate?'
'Not with these tired old eyes,' Kerney replied.
'What do you want to do?' Clayton asked.
'Find out who our friend is,' Kerney said.
They talked it over. Kerney suggested a traffic stop, using a state police patrol officer, who could ID the driver. Clayton agreed, adding that he thought it best to wait until they were back in Lincoln County. Kerney brought up the idea that their 'friend' might not be very friendly at all. Clayton conceded the point and imagined that it might be best to use two uniforms to make the stop, doing it casually but treating it as high risk. Kerney felt that would work if they had the state police come up behind the Camaro while a second unit, preferably from a different department, passed by in the opposite direction, and then stopped to render assistance.
They crossed the county line with the blue Camaro still hanging back behind them. Clayton got on the horn to a state police officer and a patrol deputy, explained the situation, told them what he wanted to do, and where he wanted it to go down. They gave him a twenty-minute ETA.
'What do I write the driver for?' New Mexico State Police Officer Sonia Raney asked.
'I'll speed up when you're in position,' Clayton said. 'That should get you a legal stop.'
'You said high risk but casual, right?'
'Ten-four, whatever that is,' Clayton replied.
Officer Raney laughed.
'I'll do a thirty-second count after you pull him over,' Deputy Dillingham said to Raney by radio. 'Then I'll come into view and swing around behind you.'
'Don't run Code Three,' Clayton cautioned.
'Wouldn't think of it,' Dillingham replied. 'I can't act casual with my emergency lights on.'
'Let me know when you're in position,' Clayton said.
There were very few cars on the two-lane highway that ran from the Hondo turnoff to Carrizozo. Fidel kept his distance, letting the cop's police vehicle become a speck on the pavement up ahead. On the curves he sped up to regain visual contact. Through the village of Lincoln, the cop slowed, but tourist traffic on the road allowed Fidel to remain inconspicuous. He looked at the old buildings fronting the highway, wondering why anybody would want to stop and look at them. The place had nothing to offer: no bar, no gas station, not even a roadside diner or a convenience store.
In the hills past Lincoln the road curved and rose. The cop picked up speed, traveling well above the posted limit. Fidel hit the accelerator, and topped out on a plateau to find the cop nowhere in sight. He heard a siren behind him and saw flashing emergency lights in his rearview mirror. Had he been made?
He dropped down to the speed limit and watched the vehicle come up fast, hoping it would pass him. It was a black-and-white state police car. It slowed and flashed its lights in a signal for him to pull over.
He thought about taking off, decided not to, eased to the shoulder, and watched the squad car roll to a stop behind him. The cop, a woman, was talking on her radio, probably running his plate. He rolled down his window, killed the engine, took his semiautomatic out of the shoulder holster, stuck it under the seat, and waited.
He froze when a sheriff's vehicle came around a bend toward him, thinking it was the Indian cop. But it wasn't running with emergency lights or traveling very fast, and the only occupant was an Anglo uniformed deputy. The vehicle slowed, made a U-turn and pulled in behind the patrol vehicle.
Fidel let out a sigh, got his driver's license from his wallet, searched the glove box for his registration and insurance card, and waited.
Officer Raney keyed her microphone. 'The car is registered to Fidel Narvaiz,' she said to Clayton, who was parked up the road by an abandoned building that had once housed a bar with a bad reputation.
'Use extreme caution,' Clayton replied, 'and let me know the ID of the driver as soon as you can.'
Raney dismounted her unit while Dillingham took up his backup position at the right rear fender. He had a clear view into the Camaro. He placed his hand on his belt next to the butt of his sidearm.
Raney approached the Camaro, stopped at the center post, and looked down at the driver, a young Hispanic male. His hands were empty, as were the center console, dashboard, and the passenger and rear seats.
Raney asked for his driver's license, registration, and proof of insurance. Fidel handed them out the window. Raney walked backward to her unit, stood behind the open driver's door, and called Clayton. 'The driver is Narvaiz.'
'Can you get me something with his fingerprints on it?' Clayton asked.
'Ten-four. Do you want me to write him?'
'Be nice, give him a written warning.'
Raney wrote out the ticket, returned to Narvaiz, and explained that he wouldn't be cited, only issued a written warning. She handed the ticket book to him and asked him to sign.
'Thanks,' Fidel said, smiling. He signed the form and handed the book back to the cop.
Raney tore out a copy, gave it to Narvaiz, and sent him on his way.
'I've got his prints,' Raney said into her handheld microphone. 'They're all over my ticket book.' She held it between a thumb and forefinger.
'Bag it, tag it, give it to Dillingham, and ask him to deliver it to Artie Gundersen,' Clayton said. 'Dillingham knows what case I'm working, and can tell you what's up.'
'Ten-four.'
At the sheriff's office, while Clayton huddled with Paul Hewitt, Kerney wrote out the arrest affidavit on Norvell. Because his evidence was wholly circumstantial, he took his time, making sure all the relevant facts were convincingly included. Then he faxed it to the private office of the DA in Santa Fe, along with a note to have a copy of the warrant sent to Deputy Istee.
He walked in on Clayton and Hewitt to learn that the task-force packet had arrived, and Narvaiz's fingerprints matched the partials found on Ulibarri's body.
'You've got your killer,' Kerney said. 'Congratulations. When are you going to arrest him?'
'All in due course,' Clayton said, smiling slyly.
Kerney laughed. 'Keep me informed. You've got my phone number.'
'You're leaving?' Hewitt asked, rising to offer his hand.
Kerney shook it. 'It's your show, Paul. You don't need me filling up space. That's something you don't have a lot of around here.'
'Tell me about it,' Hewitt said with a chuckle.
'I'll walk you out,' Clayton said.
Outside, Kerney and Clayton looked for the blue Camaro and didn't see it. The clear day accented the dull slate-colored mountains behind a sea of tall-stemmed soapweed yuccas that spread out across the high desert plains, rippling in low waves against a slight breeze.
'Grace was hoping you'd stay over, and come to dinner tonight,' Clayton said.
'Another time,' Kerney replied, smiling.
'The kids will be disappointed.'
'You've got a great family.'
