Hermit's Peak (28 page)

Kerney knocked, got no answer, and found a woman in the backyard hanging laundry. A little girl, no more than five years old, stood at her side.

The girl saw Kerney as he walked through the backyard gate and skipped to him. She wore bib overalls, sneakers, and a ribbon in her hair. She clutched a doll in her hand.

“Who are you?” the girl asked. She had bright red hair, just like her mother's.

“I'm Kerney. What's your name?”

“Sherry.”

The woman stopped what she was doing and came toward Kerney.

“Is your last name Crombie?” he asked the girl.

“Uh huh.”

“Don't talk to strangers, honey,” Kerri Crombie said, as she pulled the girl away by the hand. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so, Mrs. Crombie.” Kerney showed his ID
and studied the woman. Of medium build and about thirty years old, Kerri Crombie had a narrow head, curly red hair, a pale complexion, and tired eyes.

“Have you had any problems with prowlers?” he asked.

“Prowlers? No. Has somebody reported prowlers?”

“Have you seen any strange vehicles in the neighborhood?”

“No.”

“Have you received any hang-up phone calls recently?”

“No.”

“Have any cars followed you home from work in the last week or so?”

“No. What's this all about?”

Kerney held out Bernardo Barela's driver's license photograph. “Do you know this person?”

Kerri Crombie took the photograph and looked at it. “I know who he is. He drinks at the bar where I work.”

“Has he given you any trouble?”

“No more than any other drunk who thinks barmaids are easy targets.”

“Do you know him by name?”

“I think it's Bernard. No, it's Bernardo. He comes into the bar a couple of times a week.”

“How long has he been drinking at the Rough Rider?”

“Ever since he turned twenty-one.”

“Has he shown any unusual interest in you?”

“Mister, I've been working in bars and nightclubs for seven years. To me he's just another horny drunk with a foul mouth and wandering hands.”

“You haven't seen him around your house?”

Kerri Crombie pulled her head back and the expression on her face turned serious. “Do you think he might be a stalker?”

“It's possible. I understand that you're married. Is your husband usually here when you get home from work?”

“Always. He works days and I work nights.”

Kerri Crombie gave the photograph back to Kerney. He knelt down and showed it to the little girl. “Have you seen this man, Sherry?”

Sherry inspected the photograph and nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“Uh huh,” Sherry said.

“Take a real close look to make sure it's not just somebody who looks like this man.”

Very seriously, Sherry studied the photograph. “I saw him,” she finally said.

“When?” Kerney asked.

“When I was on the front porch playing with my dolls.”

“Today?” Kerney asked.

“The other day before we went to the movies.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Kerney asked.

“Nope. He just walked by the house.”

“Just once?”

“More than that.”

“Did you see him get into a car?” Kerney asked.

“Nope.”

“If you see him again when you're outside the house, I want you to go and tell your mother right
away,” Kerney said as he stood up. “Will you do that for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this guy a child molester?” Kerri Crombie asked as she pulled Sherry close.

“I think he could be dangerous.”

“Are you going to arrest him?”

Kerney took out a business card and wrote a note on the back. “I'll let you know if and when I do. In the meantime, be careful when you're out alone at night, and keep a close eye on Sherry. I wrote the make, model, and license number of his vehicle on the back of my card. Call me, if you see him or his car anywhere outside of work. It doesn't matter where or when. When he comes into the bar, act natural and don't say anything to raise his suspicions.”

Eyes wide with worry, Kerri Crombie took the offered card. “This is spooky.”

“I know. But I'd rather have you spooked than hurt.”

 • • • 

The repair work to the ranch road was finished and the washouts, cuts, and ruts had been smoothed out and packed down. At the line camp that served as the Barela ranch headquarters, the bulldozer idled near the cattle guard. Kerney rattled over the rails and coasted to a stop in front of the trailer. Bernardo came outside and met him as he crossed to the trailer.

He lit a cigarette and gave Kerney a flat look. “My grandfather said you were looking for me.”

Kerney smiled pleasantly. “We haven't been able to
identify the human remains that were found on the mesa. I thought you should know.”

“You mean it wasn't Luiza, like you thought?”

“I don't think I ever said that I thought it was Luiza.”

“I can put two and two together.”

“I'm sure you can. We have no idea who the victim was. We can't assume it was Luiza or anyone else at this point.”

“That's all you wanted to tell me?”

“Pretty much,” Kerney replied. “We'll keep the case open, but unless we get lucky, it will probably remain unsolved. I'm sorry to have bothered you.”

“You didn't bother me.”

“Well, I leaned on you a bit the other day.”

Bernardo smiled. “You were just doing your job.”

“Nobody likes to think they might be a suspect.”

“Hey, I told you what I knew.”

Kerney nodded in agreement. “And I appreciate it.”

“How come you couldn't identify the victim?”

“We can't find the complete skeleton. It could have been scattered by coyotes.”

Bernardo ground out his cigarette under his boot. “That's too bad.”

“Personally, I think the woman was raped before she was murdered. But you never know.”

“Sounds like a tough case.”

“It isn't an easy one,” Kerney said with a shrug as he stepped toward Bernardo and held out his hand. “No hard feelings?”

Bernardo shook Kerney's hand and smiled. “Everything's cool.”

“Good enough.”

Bernardo looked pleased, which was just the way Kerney wanted him to feel. He waved good-bye as he drove away and Bernardo waved back.

Kerney had no doubt Bernardo was a budding rapist and murderer. Everything he'd learned about him fit the profile. But proving it wasn't going to be easy. If his ploy with Bernardo worked, he might let his guard down and make a mistake.

What that mistake might be Kerney couldn't predict. But Kerney had a strong hunch that, with the pressure off, Bernardo might feel free to make a move on Kerri Crombie. He decided to put a surveillance team in place to watch Bernardo.

 • • • 

Gabe Gonzales felt damn good about the way his day had gone. Lenny Alarid's confession had generated major busts in West Texas and New Mexico. In Albuquerque, agents had raided a damaged freight appliance store, confiscated a warehouse full of stolen goodies, and arrested the owner and several employees. In Lubbock, Midland, Amarillo, and El Paso, key members of various burglary rings had been rounded up and were undergoing interrogations. Large quantities of merchandise taken in recent West Texas heists had been seized, and three fencing operations peddling items taken in New Mexico burglaries were about to be shut down.

It was, without a doubt, one of the biggest cases Gabe had cleared in his twenty year career.

He signed the last report as Captain Garduno walked in the conference room.

“The arrest warrant for Santistevan just came in,” Garduno said.

“Good deal.”

“And the grand jury delivered a true bill of justified homicide on the Espinoza shooting. You can go back to work now.”

Gabe couldn't tell if Garduno's remark was snide or joking. He said nothing as Garduno eased into a chair and put a department memorandum on the table. He pulled the document close and read it. Art Garcia had been bumped up to sergeant and Gabe's promotion to lieutenant had come through. He was assigned as Garduno's assistant district commander.

He clamped his jaw tight to keep from smiling and looked at Garduno. “Are you okay with this, Cap?” Gabe asked.

Garduno nodded and smiled. “Hell, I wouldn't have it any other way. You've earned it.”

Gabe's smile turned into a grin. “Thanks, Cap.”

“When are we going to celebrate?”

Gabe knew he'd have to invite all the troops to a promotion party, and spring for the booze and eats. Maybe he and Art Garcia could go in together on a joint bash to keep the costs down. But celebrating was the last thing on his mind. Joaquin Santistevan needed to have his ass busted and thrown into jail. Gabe was looking forward to the arrest.

“I'll get back to you on that,” Gabe said as he headed for the door.

 • • • 

To keep Santistevan from bolting, Gabe had threatened Berna with arrest if she tipped off Joaquin about the investigation. To counter the possibility that Joaquin might learn of the events in Anton Chico from some other source, Gabe had put him under constant surveillance.

No vehicles were parked outside Santistevan's house when Gabe drove by. He positioned the unmarked police unit at the end of the block and waited. For a twenty-seven-year-old, Joaquin wasn't doing badly at all. His house was a sweet little Victorian cottage in tip-top condition on a block lined with big shade trees.

Twenty minutes into the stake-out, Debbie, Joaquin's wife, arrived home and parked her five-year-old subcompact hatchback in the driveway. If cars were an indication of Joaquin's affection for the women in his life, Berna won hands down with her new sport utility vehicle.

Debbie walked to the back of the car and popped the trunk. She looked decidedly pregnant. At least Joaquin wasn't playing favorites when it came to making babies. She lifted out a bag of groceries, walked slowly up the front porch, and went inside the house.

Ben Morfin, the officer tailing Joaquin, made radio contact.

Gabe acknowledged.

“Looks like he's heading to his happy home and loving wife,” Ben said. “ETA five minutes.”

“Ten-four.” Gabe checked his watch and settled back to wait.

According to Lenny Alarid, Santistevan's method of targeting burglary victims was quite simple. When firewood orders came in from well-heeled customers, Joaquin would make the deliveries himself and take a look around. Did the customer have dogs or a security system? What kind of cars did the customer drive? What kind of score would a burglary yield? Were the neighbors too close by to risk a break-in?

Joaquin would ask a few innocent-sounding questions, like what the customer did for a living, or something about children and spouses, to get an idea of the family's daytime schedule.

If everything looked cool, Rudy would cruise the neighborhood for a couple of days peddling pickup loads of firewood. He would go door to door, sell a few loads here and there, and scope out the target some more. A month or so later, when no one remembered the friendly wood peddler, Rudy would pull the job.

In eighteen months, Rudy had pulled more than fifty burglaries, many of them in upscale rural Santa Fe areas, a short hour's drive from Las Vegas.

Rudy's break-ins at the weekend cabins and vacation homes around San Geronimo had also been Joaquin's idea. He'd used his time living with Uncle Isaac to scope out the best places to rob. When the firewood season ended, he sent Rudy out to rip off the second homes and mountain retreats of baby boomers who'd built expensive hideaways in the cool foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

Santistevan's truck came into view, followed shortly by Ben's unmarked unit.

“Block him when he stops in the driveway,” Gabe said into his microphone as he pulled away from the curb.

“Affirmative. There's a hunting rifle in his rear window gun rack.”

“You know the drill,” Gabe said.

“Here we go again,” Ben replied.

When Santistevan made the turn into his driveway, Gabe accelerated, veered across the street, pointed the nose of the unit at the side of the truck, and hit the brakes. He stopped six feet short of the truck. He was out of the unit with his handgun drawn and leveled just as Santistevan reacted with a look over his shoulder.

Joaquin's right hand reached back for the rifle.

“Don't do it,” Gabe said.

Joaquin's hand froze in midair.

“Check your rearview mirror,” Gabe said.

Joaquin turned his head and glanced in the mirror. Another cop had a shotgun pointed at him through the rear window.

“Put both your arms out the driver's window,” Gabe ordered.

Santistevan did as he was told.

“Use the outside latch to open the door.”

The door opened.

“Step out slowly with your hands in view.”

Ben moved to the front of the truck, his shotgun leveled on Joaquin's back.

“What's this all about?” Joaquin asked as he dismounted the truck.

“On the ground, facedown, hands locked at the back of your head,” Gabe said.

Santistevan assumed the position just as Debbie came rushing out of the house and down the porch steps.

“What are you doing?” she screamed. “Let him go.”

“Stop her,” Gabe said to Ben as he moved in on Santistevan. He ground his knee hard on Joaquin's check, holstered his weapon, cuffed him, and pulled him to his feet.

“Why are you doing this?” Debbie yelled.

Ben had Debbie firmly in hand.

Gabe used a thumb lock to hold Santistevan still while he did a weapons pat down.

“Why are you doing this?” Debbie asked again, her voice filled with rage.