“I’ll be ready,” Clayton replied as Patrick led him away.
Conversation at the dinner table stayed away from weighty subjects such as the homicide investigations and Sara’s combat experiences in Iraq. Instead, the three adults and Patrick talked about family matters. Clayton spoke of Grace’s job as director of the tribal child development center, and Wendell’s and Hannah’s progress in school. Sara talked about the visit her parents had made to the ranch after her release from the army hospital, and Patrick went on at some length about his older cousins in Montana whom he’d visited with Kerney last fall.
“Are Wendell and Hannah my cousins?” he asked Clayton.
“No, they are your nephew and niece,” Clayton answered.
“You’re their uncle,” Kerney added.
Patrick cast an unbelieving look at his father and turned his attention to Sara for an explanation. “Is Dad teasing me?”
“No,” Sara said. “You are Wendell and Hannah’s uncle.”
Disbelieving, Patrick shook his head. “I can’t be. Uncles are grown-ups, not kids.”
His pronouncement was met with laughter, and it took some patient explaining before Patrick got comfortable with the idea that he was an uncle. By the end of the discussion, he seemed quite pleased with his newfound status in Clayton’s family.
“But uncles still have to put on their pajamas, brush their teeth, and get ready for bed,” Sara said as she plucked Patrick from his chair and carried him toward his bedroom.
“I’ll pull KP,” Kerney said, pushing back from the table.
Clayton joined in to help clear the table and load the dishwasher. Never having served in the military, he’d wanted to learn more about Sara’s combat experiences, but had been reluctant to ask. As he towel-dried a pot too big for the dishwasher, he asked Kerney if she was doing all right.
“It’s a tough transition to make, especially after getting wounded,” he replied. “But she’s coming along. We’ll be moving to London soon after I retire. She’s being posted there as a military attache to the U.S. Embassy.”
“For how long?”
Kerney took the dried pot from Clayton and stowed it in the appropriate kitchen cabinet. “Three years. Then she’ll have her full twenty years in for retirement and we’ll come back to New Mexico permanently.”
“That’s a long time to be gone,” Clayton said.
Kerney closed the dishwasher and turned it on. “We’ll return every year during her annual leave, and I’ll come back with Patrick occasionally on shorter trips.”
“Are you looking forward to living in London?”
Kerney folded the dish towel and hung it on the rack. “You know in a way I am, as long as I can get back every now and then for some New Mexico sunshine and a green chili fix.”
Kerney gestured toward the door to the living room, and after Clayton had settled into one of two oversize easy chairs separated by a hand-carved nineteenth-century Spanish colonial chest that served as a coffee table, Kerney offered him a cordial.
“No, thanks. It would only make me sleepy.” Clayton leaned forward in the chair and waited until Kerney sat down across from him. “How involved are you in the investigation?”
“I want it solved, preferably before I retire. Denise Riley’s sister, Helen Muiz, who is also retiring, has been with the department for over thirty-five years. More important, she’s a friend. I don’t want this case hanging over our heads when we both walk out the door for the last time.”
“Has Sergeant Pino been keeping you briefed?”
“She has,” Kerney answered, “right down to her concern that Sheriff Salgado may be sabotaging the investigation while spouting platitudes about giving you his full cooperation. What do you need?”
“I need some fresh eyes to look at everything and everybody again. I need somebody to analyze what’s been done up until now and tell me what we’re missing. I need more people digging deep into Denise and Tim Riley’s lives and their recent activities.”
“I thought your assignment was to investigate the relationship between the Rileys and sheriff’s office personnel to determine if there are any possible suspects.”
“It is.”
“Wouldn’t doing what you suggest mean you’d be stepping on Don Mielke’s toes?”
“It means stomping on them big-time,” Clayton replied, “but with good cause.”
Kerney sat quietly for a moment. Without saying it directly, Clayton was asking him to muscle in on the investigation. He had no quarrel with Clayton’s assessment of the situation. He read it the same way. Salgado was at best a lightweight police administrator; his chief deputy, Leonard Jessup, was no better, and Don Mielke was competent but unreliable.
Ineffective, muddled leadership coupled with a complex, difficult case could only spell disaster. The investigation would most probably bog down and wind up in a cold case file to be trumpeted every few years in the print media as one of Santa Fe’s major unsolved crimes.
Concerned almost to the point of distraction about the well-being of Sara, Kerney had done nothing on the case other than assign staff to work with the S.O. and ask to be kept informed of the progress, or the lack of it.
Had he been shirking his responsibility to Helen Muiz, her family, and the men and women under his command? He didn’t like the way that notion made him feel. Clayton’s face—including his eyes—was composed and watchful. Clearly, he wanted Kerney to step up to the plate.
Kerney leaned forward. “Bring me up to speed on your end of the investigation down in Lincoln County and then we’ll figure out a way to get around Salgado and his underlings.”
Clayton’s expression lightened and he started talking. By the time Sara brought Patrick out to say good night, the two men were deep in conversation. Much later, when Sara came out of the library to say that she was retiring for the night, they were still at it.
They decided their best strategy was to have Paul Hewitt ask for additional assistance from Kerney’s department. Because Hewitt had jurisdiction over the Lincoln County homicide, there was no way Salgado could challenge the appropriateness of the request.
Kerney, in turn, would allocate all available resources of his department to the investigation and assume direct oversight of the joint operation.
“We’re probably going to need to have Paul come up here for a face-to-face with Salgado,” Kerney said. “I’ll put the idea to him when I call him in the morning.”
Clayton nodded, yawned, and stood. “Good deal. Are you and Sara serious about adding to your family?”
Kerney got to his feet. “Absolutely, but it may not happen as quickly as Patrick would like. Right now Sara’s questioning the wisdom of bringing another child into the world.”
“That’s understandable seeing what she has been through,” Clayton said.
“Exactly,” Kerney said. “Do you think, when the time comes, Patrick will enjoy his role as an older brother?”
The carefully worded, pointed question went right to the heart of Clayton’s uneasiness about his relationship with Kerney. He could either respond to it truthfully or sidestep the issue and give a trite answer.
Clayton decided to be candid. “We both know that Patrick is much more ready to be an older brother than I was to be a father’s son. I’m sorry it took me so long to warm to the idea.”
Kerney smiled. “Knowing you as I do, I’m proud to be your father.”
Kerney’s direct expression of his feelings toward him took Clayton by surprise, and for a moment he didn’t reply. Finally he said, “Thank you.”
It came out sounding stiff and lame. Embarrassed, he noted the lateness of the hour, said good night, and retired to the guest suite.
Sunup found Kerney in the horse barn mucking out stalls, laying down fresh hay, and putting out oats for his horse, Hondo; Patrick’s pony, Pablito; Sara’s mare, Ginger; Gipsy, one other gelding; and Comeuppance, Kerney’s stallion at stud. Housed in a separate wing of the barn with his own paddock, Comeuppance sired foals that Kerney and his partner, Riley Burke, raised and trained as cutting horses. It was Riley who did most of the work, but he was away for a few days with his wife and his parents, attending a meeting of the New Mexico Cattle Growers
