become the first female officer in Iraq to receive the Silver Star for bravery under fire. After being wounded by an IED, Sara had repelled an insurgent attack, single-handedly killing several enemy fighters who were advancing on seriously injured U.S. Army personnel. The wounded soldiers credited Sara with saving their lives.
Along with the Silver Star, Sara had been decorated with the Purple Heart, given a meritorious promotion to full colonel, and, after her release from the hospital, placed on extended convalescent leave.
She had been sent to Iraq by her former superior officer, a chickenshit Pentagon one-star general with political connections who was willing to sacrifice Sara’s career, even her life, to advance his own ambitions. Instead, Sara had returned stateside a newly minted full-bird colonel with a citation for valor and a clean slate.
When her convalescent leave ended in two months, she had orders to ship out as a military attache to the United States Embassy at the Court of St. James’s, which meant that soon the family would be moving to London. Kerney had willingly signed on for the duration, but their son, Patrick, had been voicing serious reservations about leaving the Santa Fe ranch and his Welsh pony, Pablito.
Using directions Helen had supplied, Kerney arrived at the Canoncito double-wide to find a small cluster of police officers surrounding Helen and Ruben on the wooden deck to the house. One of the cops was the Santa Fe County chief deputy, Leonard Jessup, who introduced Kerney to the uniforms when he joined the group.
“We were just about to start a search of the property,” Jessup said.
Kerney nodded and smiled at Helen and Ruben, who looked back at him with worried expressions. “Good deal. What else?”
“One of my deputies will go door-to-door to every house in the area and interview the neighbors,” Jessup answered.
Kerney nodded again and spoke to Helen. “I know you’ve already checked with the entire family, but do you have a list of Denise’s friends and coworkers we can call?”
“No,” Helen said. “But I found an address book in her purse.”
“Great,” Kerney said with a reassuring smile. “Let’s start with that while the officers do the property search.”
“She could be hurt or dead out there,” Helen said, her voice cracking.
“Stay calm, Helen,” Kerney said. “Searching is just a precaution. You’re right to be a little concerned about your sister, but this could be nothing more than a false alarm.”
“I know, I know,” Helen said without conviction, looking beyond the porch light into the black night.
Kerney gave Ruben a heads-up nod of his chin. “Why don’t the three of us go in the house and start making those calls?”
Ruben smiled in agreement, and with Kerney close behind he guided a reluctant Helen by the elbow into the double-wide.
Late-night telephone calls to the people in Denise’s address book yielded no helpful information about her whereabouts. Kerney quizzed Helen about her sister’s place of employment and learned that until recently Denise had worked as an office manager for an insurance agent. She’d quit her job to prepare for the move to Lincoln County.
Kerney called the insurance agent at home, on the off chance that he might know where Denise was, and got the man’s voice mail. He left a call-back message, disconnected, and asked Ruben to see if he could access the e- mail accounts on the desktop and laptop computers in a spare bedroom that served as a home office. After a few minutes Ruben returned and reported that both computers were password protected.
Kerney phoned Detective Matt Chacon at home and woke him up. Over the past two years, Chacon had taken specialized law enforcement training in computer technology and was now the in-house expert on computer crimes for the department. Kerney explained the situation and asked him to come out to Canoncito. While they waited for his arrival, Kerney had Helen give him some background on her baby sister.
“Denise was the rebel in the family,” Helen said as she paced across the room. “Always at odds with our parents, especially our father. She left Santa Fe as soon as she graduated high school and didn’t come home for years.”
Kerney pulled out a chair at the dining room table and invited Helen to sit with him. “What was she doing during those years?” Kerney asked once she had settled into a chair.
“She worked as a waitress and a bartender and traveled a lot. I would get postcards from her when she moved to a different city. Miami; Honolulu; Brisbane, Australia; Toronto—she even spent six months living in London.”
“She had a wild streak when she was young,” Ruben said as he joined them at the table. “Especially when it came to boys.”
Helen shook her head in opposition. “She never deserved that reputation.”
“How many years was she gone?” Kerney asked.
“Twelve,” Helen replied. “She left when she was eighteen and didn’t return to Santa Fe until she was thirty.”
“Not even to visit?” Kerney asked.
Helen shook her head.
“She always took the last name of whatever man she happened to be living with,” Ruben added. “We must have gotten postcards and letters from her with at least five or six different surnames.”
“Boyfriends, not husbands?” Kerney asked.
“Her marriage to Tim is her first, as far as we know,” Helen said.
“Did any of those old boyfriends ever come to visit?”
“Not that I know about,” Helen said.
“Tell me about Denise’s relationship with Tim.”
Before Helen could respond, Leonard Jessup stepped through the door.
Helen jumped to her feet. “Have you found something?”
“Nothing yet,” he replied, casting a quick look at Kerney. “Can I have a minute of your time, Chief?”
Kerney nodded and stood.
“Why do you need to speak privately with Chief Kerney?” Helen demanded as she stepped up to Jessup. “If something is wrong, tell me now.”
Jessup shot Kerney a questioning look.
“Tell her,” Kerney said.
Jessup took a deep breath. “I just got off the phone with the Lincoln County sheriff,” he said. “Tim Riley was killed earlier tonight.”
Helen gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.
The news out of Santa Fe that Tim Riley’s wife was missing complicated Clayton’s investigation. The sketchy information he’d received—her purse, wallet, car keys, and vehicle had been found at the family residence— suggested an abduction or worse. But with so few facts available, Clayton didn’t know if Riley’s wife should be considered a potential homicide suspect or a possible double homicide victim.
The neighborhood canvass was over and nobody interviewed had seen or heard anything until the sound of the shotgun blast had broken the silence of the night. A three-block radius around the crime scene had been searched for any sign left behind by the perpetrator, and nothing had been found. A fresh search would be done in daylight, but Clayton had little hope that any valuable evidence would materialize.
The state police crime scene techs had collected at least a dozen different fingerprints from the exterior and interior surfaces of Riley’s cabin, which quite probably belonged to Riley and everyone else who had rented the place as a vacation retreat over the last six months. Although there were no signs of a forced entry, Clayton had the techs bag and tag every piece of personal property belonging to Riley, along with the bedding, bathroom towels, and the dishes in the sink that were supplied to renters by the owner of the cabin. When that was accomplished, he had the techs vacuum the floors before turning them loose on Riley’s police vehicle. It was a scatter-gun approach to evidence collection, but Clayton knew that every homicide left a trace, and if one blot, smudge, stain, scratch, fiber, or speck was overlooked, the killer could get away with murder.
Dawn came with a stiff wind that blew dust, tumbleweeds, and brown, brittle cottonwood leaves across streets, sidewalks, and lawns. Clayton assembled a group of officers, including Sheriff Hewitt and Chief Bolt, and
