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  Fortunately, it didn't take long to round up De Leon pilot and tail Kerney to El Paso. Once Carlos was back on the ground, shadowing the gringo had been easy. Kerney had no idea he had been followed.

  Carlos had stayed in contact with the patron by telephone, advising him of Kerney's movements. As soon as Kerney crossed into Juarez, De Leon ordered Carlos to find out what the gringo was up to. That too proved to be a simple task. First, Kerney spoke with Rose Moya, and then immediately moved on to meet with Francisco Posada's former houseboy, Juan Diaz. After Kerney left, Carlos put another man on Kerney while he paid a visit to Juan.

  Experience had taught Carlos that men feared the loss of physical capacity. If you threatened to cripple a man, blind him, or cut off his cock, most became cooperative within a very short time. Juan proved to be no exception.

  Carlos didn't need to rough up Juan to learn that Kerney was investigating the Santa Fe art theft. But when Juan hesitated to say more, Carlos loosened his tongue by smashing the bones in his right hand. It alarmed Carlos to discover that Kerney suspected De Leon He reported Juan's disclosures to the patron. Don Enrique seemed unsurprised, which probably meant Carlos had simply confirmed information already at De Leon disposal. The jefe ordered continued surveillance.

  Kerney spent the rest of the day meeting with norteamericano law enforcement officials in El Paso. As luck would have it, Kerney spoke with a DEA agent on De Leon payroll. Carlos talked to the agent after Kerney and learned that fingerprint evidence from the burned van had led the gringo to suspect De Leon organization.

  That was all the agent knew. Carlos passed on the news to De Leon who once again seemed unperturbed.

  Carlos ran over the torching of the van in his mind.

  He thought he had destroyed the vehicle sufficiently to erase all the evidence. Would De Leon hold him responsible for the oversight?

  He would find out soon enough, and although the thought of fating De Leon anger chilled him, he knew better than to try to run or hide.

  Carlos switched his attention to the three men in the plane. He wondered what plans the patron had for them. Hopefully, they were coming to Santa Pc only to kill Kerney. But De Leon could also use them to mete out punishment. Carlos needed to remain mindful of that possibility.

  The wheels thudded over the runway, and for the first time during the flight Carlos looked out the window.

  The bright lights of the small control tower were a welcome sight. He let go of the armrests and grunted in relief only when the plane touched down and the pilot applied the brakes. nita lassiter stood at the railing on the second floor of the state police headquarters and watched Kerney walk slowly up the stairs. With his head lowered, he didn't see her. She had noticed Kerney's limp previously, but now it seemed much more pronounced; he was almost dragging his right leg up each step. He saw her, masked a small smile, and picked up his pace.

  "I see you made bail," Kerney said as he reached the top of the landing.

  "Yesterday," Nita replied. Dressed in blue jeans, a blue cotton shirt, and work boots, Nita held a brown leather bomber jacket in her hand.

  Her arm was no longer in a sling.

  "What can I do for you, Ms. Lassiter?" Kerney asked, concentrating on her worried expression. Even in casual attire Nita looked feminine and elegant.

  "I'm here about Robert," Nita replied.

  "He's been severely beaten. He wants you to visit him at the hospital."

  "What happened?"

  "He won't talk about it. He has a fractured arm, a broken rib, and he lost some front teeth."

  "Who found him?"

  "A deputy sheriff."

  "Where?"

  "Near the Shaffer Hotel in Mountainair. He was lying in the courtyard of the old motor lodge."

  "What hospital is he in?"

  "The university hospital in Albuquerque."

  "How did you find out about it?"

  "Robert carries my business card in his wallet. The hospital called to see if I was his next of kin."

  "No wonder Robert thinks of you as his sister."

  "He really has no one else," Nita answered with a slight shrug and small smile.

  "Will you go and see him?"

  "Of course I will. As soon as I finish up here."

  "Thank you." Nita dropped her gaze as Kerney's blue eyes studied her.

  "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that."

  "Like what?"

  "If you have another question, just ask it."

  "You don't seem to like my questions," Kerney replied.

  "I'm not going to apologize for being upset when you came to take me to jail."

  "Why should you? I've watched hard cases break down and cry when the jail door slammed shut behind them. You held up very well."

  "Is that a compliment?"

  "You bet it is."

  "Why do I get the feeling you don't think of me as a criminal?" Nita asked.

  "Extenuating circumstances make some people less guilty than others."

  "Your compassion surprises me."

  Kerney grimaced at the sarcasm.

  "I sound like I'm spoiling for a fight, don't I?" Nita said.

  "You're angry."

  "Mostly with myself. That doesn't mean I have to take it out on you."

  Kerney extended his hand.

  "I hope things work out for you."

  "So do I." Nita slipped her hand into Kerney's and didn't let go.

  "You're a rare breed, Mr. Kerney. Under different circumstances, I think I would enjoy knowing you."

  "I share the feeling," Kerney replied.

  "Take care of yourself."

  Nita smiled and let go of Kerney's hand.

  "I plan to.

  Addie is about to have her baby. She went into labor an hour ago. I'm on my way to Socorro."

  "Will you tell her the truth about Paul Gillespie?"

  Nita shook her head.

  "There's no need. She's agreed to put the baby up for adoption."

  She walked down the stairs with her back straight and her head up, and Kerney fought off the unpleasant image of Nita dressed in prison garb, locked in a cell. He wondered if there was anything he could do to help her. *** "How did it go?" Andy asked from behind his desk as Kerney entered his office.

  "Nobody seems to know where De Leon is, but I did learn that he now has a diplomatic passport and he's buying into legitimate businesses along the border."

  Kerney sat, gave Andy the details, and finished up.

  "I've got an informant injuarez trying to scour up some more facts."

  "By the name of Juan Diaz," Andy noted.

  "He called looking for you."

  "Did he leave a message?"

  "It's not one you're going to like to hear. Carlos Ruiz laid some heavy muscle on him after your visit. Ruiz roughed Diaz up and forced him to snitch you off."

  "How the hell did Carlos get on to me?"

  "You were probably tailed as soon as you crossed the border," Andy ventured.

  "I never should have let you go down there."

  "If De Leon knows I'm looking for him, it might force him out into the open."

  "What an optimist you are. De Leon has any number of resources he can use to kill you, without exposing himself."

  "Should I go into hiding?" Kerney asked sharply.

  "Don't get testy on me," Andy answered gruffly.

  "But until the dust settles I've put Fletcher's house under a close patrol, and Sergeant Martinez will be your partner. Where you go, he goes."

  Kerney opened his mouth to protest and Andy cut him off.

  "No arguments, Kerney."

  Kerney clamped his mouth shut and nodded.

  "Has Gilbert made any progress while I was gone?"

  "He's got his team working hard on the Amanda Talley connection, and he's searching records on the companies that own Rancho Caballo property to see what might be lurking behind the corporate veil."

  "No breakthroughs," Kerney summarized.
>
  "We're running with one foot nailed to the floor," Andy groused in agreement. He pointed to the open door to the conference room.

  "But if it will make you feel any better, there are a shitload of inconclusive field reports you need to read through."

  Kerney pulled himself out of his chair with a rueful look on his face.

  "In the morning," Andy ordered, holding up a hand.

  Kerney nodded.

  "Yeah. In my current state, I'd just have to read them all over again anyway."

  "Go home. Better yet, get a home."

  "Hetcher would be heartbroken to know that you don't approve of my living arrangements."

  "Hetcher may not want you staying in his guest quarters for the next couple of years."

  "I doubt the investigation will last that long."

  "I didn't make you my chief deputy to work one case. As soon as we get through this mess, I'm going to fill your plate. There's a hell of a lot of work we need to do in this department."

  "Don't try to shanghai me for the long haul, Andy."

  "You're in for the duration."

  "We'll just have to see about that," Kerney noted as he left the office. carlos found De Leon in the living room, sitting in his favorite chair, reading some papers. The patron was dressed to go out. He wore a lightweight camel hair jacket, a silk shirt buttoned easily at the collar, and a pair of charcoal trousers.

  Carlos hesitated before entering. The preserved head of a fighting bull, famous for its performance in the Plaza de Toros in Mexico City, looked over the room from above the fireplace. It glared at Carlos forebodingly with its glass eyes. He composed himself and walked toward De Leon Enrique waited for Carlos to draw near.

  "A sus ordenes, Don Enrique," Carlos said.

  "Ingles," Enrique snapped.

  "Speak English."

  "I am sorry, patron," Carlos said, lowering his head slightly. "I am at your service."

  "That's much better. Are the men in the guest quarters?"

  "They are. With orders to stay out of sight until instructed otherwise."

  "Very good."

  "Do you have orders for them?" Carlos asked.

  "Not yet. Why do you look so troubled, Carlos?"

  "Because I failed to completely destroy the van, Don Enrique."

  De Leon flashed a reassuring smile.

  "No blame attaches to you. Palazzi's stupidity created the circumstance.

  You did all that I asked to correct the situation."

  "But now you are exposed to Kerney," Carlos replied.

  "It is Kerney who is at risk. You must complete the dossier on him. I want to know where he is the most vulnerable."

  "Do you wish to kill him yourself?"

  "I may allow you that privilege."

  "I am glad that you still retain confidence in me, patron."

  "As always, Carlos. Go now. You have work to do."

  Carlos departed with the feeling that he might soon be a dead man lifted from his shoulders. plbtchbr's reputation as an artist who sold his work at high prices had given him sufficient cachet to arrange a late dinner meeting at the clubhouse with the exclusive broker who worked for Rancho Caballo. The broker had a visitor's pass waiting for him at the security gate.

  He met her in the lobby. She was a cheery, perfectly dressed young woman with a big hairdo that framed her glossy face and cascaded down to her decolletage.

  She oozed with the desire to find the perfect Rancho Caballo home to meet his every need.

  Over dinner, the woman patted his hand and talked about the host of contractors who could build a house exactly to his specifications if there was nothing available that he liked.

  The food and service were excellent and the large number of dinner guests surprised Pletcher. He had expected far fewer people. He knew not a soul, nor did he want to. But it was dear that the rich had made Rancho Caballo a haven from the rigors of the outside world.

  The dining room had a California decor, with two walls of windows that looked out over the golf course, where the lights along the golf cart paths cast a glow over the fairways. A fireplace crackled with cedar and pinon logs, and a series of wrought-iron chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling. The paintings on the wall were mundane pastel watercolors that Fletcher's trained eye had immediately dismissed as bogus hackwork.

  "Do you plan to sell your home in town?" Heather Griffin asked as she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. Fletcher could see the wheels turning as she contemplated the possibility of two fat commissions.

  "Oh, I suppose my accountant will insist on it, if I decide to buy in Rancho Caballo," he replied.

  "Rancho Caballo is blessed with many talented people," Heather crooned.

  She named two prominent entertainers who owned vacation homes.

  "You would fit right in."

  "An elite community in every way, I'm sure," Fletcher said, eyeing a tableful of richly dressed young matrons wearing squash blossom necklaces, concho belts, and turquoise earrings.

  "The ambiance must draw them here."

  "Exactly," Heather replied gaily.

  "I suppose it would be best to have one broker handle the sale of my house and the purchase of a new one."

  "That's the most efficient way," Heather agreed as she leaned forward to give Pletcher her pitch.

  Half-listening, Fletcher nodded and smiled every so often to keep her talking. His visit to Rancho Caballo, which Kerney would most certainly reproach him for, had yielded nothing. He had hoped to come away with something useful. He eyed the young woman across the table and thought what a nice warm blaze it would make if all Santa Pc realtors were burned at the stake, the fires fueled by the catalogs, brochures, and marketing material they spewed out to attract potential buyers. Next summer's annual city fiesta would be the perfect time to do it.

  After dinner, Pletcher made his excuses and said good night. He arrived in the lobby just as Bucky Watson entered with a male companion-one of the unidentified guests in the O'Keefie benefit photographs.

  He approached Watson with a smile, hand outstretched.

  "My dear Bucky, how are you? It's been so very long since I've seen you."

  "I'm fine, Pletcher," Bucky answered, shaking Hartley's hand, a little perplexed by the cordiality. He knew the old queer didn't like him.

  "Who is your friend?" Pletcher asked, turning to look squarely at the man for the first time. He was definitely Hispanic, perhaps in his mid to late thirties, with a fair complexion, blue eyes, and curly light brown hair.

  "Vicente Fuentes, meet Fletcher Hartley," Bucky replied.

  "Pletcher is one of our living treasures."

  "Ah," De Leon said.

  "I have heard of this custom.

  Your city honors elders who have contributed their talents to the community. It is an admirable idea."

  "I've enjoyed the distinction," Fletcher said.

  "Have you been with us long in Santa Pc, Senor Fuentes?"

  "I am only an occasional visitor," De Leon answered.

  "I believe you've met a friend of mine, Frank Bailey.

  At the O'Keeffe benefit last month."

  "I don't recall the name," De Leon said.

  "I've met so many people since I arrived, it is hard to keep everyone sorted in my mind."

  "Of course. Perhaps I am mistaken," Fletcher said.

  "Perhaps," De Leon replied. He touched Watson's back in a signal to move on.

  "Good night, Mr. Hartley."

  "Good night, Senor Fuentes."

  Hetcher drove home in great anticipation of his next conversation with Kerney. He would reveal a tidbit that, he hoped, would be new and helpful information. at a corner table in the clubhouse bar, Bucky Watson waited for De Leon to speak. De Leon expected to be treated with deference, and while Bucky privately resented the attitude, he knew better than to confront it. He took a sip of his drink and remained silent.

  Aside from the hostess behind the bar and an older couple
about to leave, the room was empty. De Leon watched the man hold the woman's coat as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. When they walked out the door, he glanced over at Bucky.

  Bucky looked like an athlete, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and a trim waist, but his petulant face spoiled the image.

  After the hostess left to deliver drinks in the dining room, De Leon finally spoke.

  "How much inventory do you have on hand?"

  Bucky did a quick calculation in his head.

  "A six-week supply of cocaine," he answered.

  "Maybe a little less than that in heroin. Smack has been moving well lately."

  "Send everything to Chicago immediately."

  "That's a lot of product to put on the road at one time."

  De Leon answered with an icy look.

  "I'll have it shipped out by morning," Bucky said, recovering quickly.

  It would mean calling in the crew to build special containers at the crating shop, packing the drugs in with some cheap art, forging lading bills, and putting two large trucks on the road. It was an all-night job.

  "When will I be resupplied?" Bucky asked.

  "You won't be, for a time."

  "I've got people who expect product waiting out there."

  "They can wait," De Leon said, thinking how tiresome Bucky could be.

  "They may start moving to other suppliers."

  "Or they'll cut back on bulk sales and raise their prices. When can more of my funds be moved into Rancho Caballo?"

  "We can wash an additional nine million right away," Bucky answered.

  "Do Springer and Cobb continue to believe it is your money they are using?"

  Bucky snickered.

  "Yeah. They don't seem to care where it comes from, as long as they get their slice."

  "Excellent. There is a shopping mall south of the city that is about to come on the market. When it does, offer the asking price and secure the largest mortgage possible. I'll transfer funds to cover the down payment and closing costs."

  Bucky masked his surprise. If De Leon was right about the mall, no one else in the city knew anything about it.

  "I'll take care of it."

  "Have the police returned to question you further about the art theft?"

  "No," Bucky replied.

  "Roger Springer will ask the governor to intervene if the cops get too nosey."

  "Since you had nothing to do with the theft, you should have no worries."