Santa Fe held no appeal.
Through no fault of his own Kerney had missed out on raising one child, a son born to his college sweetheart, Isabel Istee, who'd kept the birth a secret from him for over twenty-five years.
While Kerney was in Vietnam as an infantry lieutenant, Isabel had returned to the Mescalero reservation in the Sacramento Mountains to give birth and raise her son as a single parent. She lived there still, as did her son Clayton, who was a tribal police officer, a husband, and the father of two small children.
The recent shock of discovering that he was both an instant father and grandfather still stunned Kerney on occasion. He pushed the random thoughts away and focused on Applewhite. It shouldn't be all that difficult to confirm her Taos vacation ski story, and it would ease his mind if it were true.
He made contact with Sal Molina.
'How did the press conference go?'
'Unbelievable, Chief,' Molina said.
'Are you buying it?'
'For now. Applewhite's husband is supposedly in Taos.'
'Yeah, I know. She made a big deal to me about how her vacation got screwed up by the Terrell case.'
'Find out if she made any calls to her hubby.'
'This doesn't sound like you're buying Perry's spin, Chief.'
'It's just my natural curiosity at work, Lieutenant.'
'It may take some time to track down her cell-phone provider,' Molina said.
'Do it quietly and without radio transmissions.'
'Ten-four.'
Kerney went into the motel and talked to the desk clerk, who glanced at the stars on Kerney's uniform shirt collar and nodded his head vigorously at Terjo's photograph.
'Yeah, he was here. Two FBI agents came looking for him earlier. A man and a woman.'
'And?' Kerney prompted, thinking that he'd been wrong about Applewhite.
She'd been given some work to do after all.
The man lifted a shoulder.
'I didn't see what happened. Nothing, I guess. There wasn't a commotion or anything like that.'
'Did you give them a room key?'
'No, they said they'd come back if they needed one.'
'Had Terjo checked out?'
'I don't know. He paid in cash. People who do that usually just leave the key in the room when they go.'
'I'd like to see the room. Has it been cleaned?'
The man consulted a housekeeping schedule.
'Maybe. There's a girl working that wing now. She'll let you in. Room one sixty three.'
The housekeeping cart stood on the walkway in front of the open door to Terjo's room. The bed had been stripped by an older, tired-looking Mexican woman who was running a vacuum cleaner. She switched off the machine when Kerney entered and dropped her head as if to avoid trouble.
Kerney spoke to her in Spanish.
'Was the room slept in?'
'Yes.'
'Was it messy?'
'No more than any other room.'
'Were there any signs of a fight or a struggle?'
'No.' The woman reached into an apron pocket and held out a key ring.
'But I did find these on the carpet next to the nightstand.'
Kerney took the keys, inspected them, thanked the woman, and left.
Terjo had left behind his truck keys, which wasn't what a man who should've been on the run and had stayed in town overnight would do.
Terjo had to have been thinking of getting his truck and maybe borrowing some money from his girlfriend.
Kerney jiggled the keys in his hand. Charlie Perry's story about not finding Terjo was pure bullshit. He wondered where Perry had Terjo stashed.
Charlie's reasons for the heavy warning to drop the case were now completely clear: everything related to the Terrell murder was being systematically sanitized.
Kerney knew it was probably in his best interest to accept the FBI's party line, walk away from the game, and get on with the task of running his department.
More than enough important issues were nipping at his heels demanding attention.
He also knew he couldn't let things slide that easily. *** Ignacio Terjo leaned forward to ease the discomfort of the muscle spasms and loss of feeling in his arms. His hands were handcuffed behind his back and after two hours of sitting in the backseat of the sedan, he was tense and agitated. He twisted his head to get limber, but it didn't help.
The woman driving the car wouldn't talk to him, although she had the rearview mirror at an angle so she could see him clearly. He stared out the window at the desert and mountain landscape to distract himself from the pain. They were traveling south toward Mexico on the Interstate, maybe three hours away from the border. Until they reached Las Cruces, which was a very short distance from El Paso, there would be only a few towns and small cities along the route.
The buzz of a cell phone made Terjo switch his attention back to the woman. He watched as she answered, listened, and disconnected after acknowledging the call. Still, she said nothing to him. Finally, after another half hour, she spoke.
'We'll be stopping soon,' she said, Terjo nodded and watched a low-flying helicopter parallel the car and pass out of sight.
They left the Interstate ten miles further on at an exit where nothing but a dirt road cut through brown sand hills. After a few miles on the rutted road the car topped a small rise. Terjo saw a helicopter on the ground. Two men waited at the front of the aircraft canopy.
'Why is that here?' Terjo asked.
'To take you the rest of the way to Mexico,' the woman said as she stopped the car.
'I have to make water first,' Terjo said.
'No problem.'
Outside the vehicle the woman took the handcuffs off and pointed at a nearby mesquite tree.
'Over there,' she said.
Terjo walked to the tree with the woman close behind. He unzipped his pants and relieved himself. One of the men opened the hinged helicopter door and took out what looked to be a folded black blanket.
'Finished?' the woman asked.
Terjo nodded and zipped up. Before he could turn around, Agent Applewhite raised her handgun and shot him in the back of the head.
Chapter 6
Late in the afternoon Bobby Sloan released two of the state police agents who'd assisted in his investigation and held a debriefing session with the senior agent, Lalo Escudero. Escudero, an old friend who'd tipped more than a few beers with Sloan over the years, sat in the cubbyhole that served as Bobby's office reading off the list of people who'd been interviewed over the last two days. At his desk Sloan checked off the names one by one.
'That's it,' Escudero said, looking at the sprawling stacks of files, reports, and paperwork on Sloan's desk.
'How in the hell do you find anything in that mess?'
'It's all organized,' Sloan said.
