Everyone Dies (32 page)

S ome years before Clayton met his father, Kerney had worked as a temporary forest ranger in Catron County and conducted an investigation into endangered wildlife poaching. Members of the county militia who were behind the poaching scheme had tried to kill Kerney by rigging an explosion and fire at his rented house trailer, which destroyed all his personal possessions. Because of the militia’s involvement, the incident had captured national media attention.

As he stood at the counter of the western-wear store in Socorro paying for some new clothes, Clayton suddenly realized that Kerney was the only person he knew other than himself and his family who’d suffered a devastating loss of property. What if Kerney had come to Mescalero not out of guilt about what might have happened to Grace and the children, or simply to offer money? What if he’d come because he cared, wanted to lend support, and Clayton had been too thick-headed to see it? Maybe his stupid pride had gotten the better of him again.

He took his parcel of clothes, walked out into the hot morning sun, and drove back to his motel room. Six hours of sleep had refreshed him, and his earlier phone call to Grace had reassured him that they would be able to make a fresh start. Paul Hewitt had started a fund on the family’s behalf, and an anonymous Ruidoso businessman had donated fifty thousand dollars to kick it off. But even more encouraging was the news from Grace that Wendell had calmed down, Hannah was acting less clingy, and the tribal council had voted to give them a choice building lot and free use of a double-wide mobile home until they could rebuild.

Clayton peeled off his grubby uniform shirt and dirty blue jeans and dressed in the new clothes. The Olsen crime scene had shut down at two in the morning, with the understanding that the investigation was shifting back to Santa Fe. Paul Hewitt had given Clayton the green light to stay with it.

Grace hadn’t been happy with the news, but Clayton appeased her by promising to be gone only one or two more days, which wasn’t a dodge on his part. Because of what had happened, he desperately missed his family.

He stuffed his dirty clothes into the plastic garment bag, left the room card key on the bedside table, and went to his unit. He’d gas up and head for Santa Fe.

A late night report from Santa Fe had brought unsettling news. An unknown trespasser had been spotted late in the day on Kerney’s ranch, and a possible suspect, not thought to be Olsen, had been seen at the hospital shortly before Sara went into labor.

Clayton left the hotel parking lot fairly certain he now had a baby brother. It was weird to think he actually had a sibling. As a child, he’d yearned for one. Because of the age difference, he couldn’t be a brother in any ordinary way. But he could do his very best to be Patrick Brannon Kerney’s friend.

He thought about Grace’s reaction if he did anything less and laughed out loud. She’d hand his head to him on a platter.

Carol Jojoya was late on her morning rounds due to the arrival of another baby. Kerney used the time to tell Sara about the unknown subject he’d seen in the admitting area and the unsuccessful search for him.

“Also, Andy’s people found blood traces on the barbed-wire fences near the train tracks,” Kerney said, “and the man I saw here had a bandaged hand. Enlargements of those pictures you took show the back of a bald-headed man.”

“Is it Olsen?” Sara asked.

“We’ve yet to ID him,” Kerney answered. “But I doubt it. The blood stains found in Olsen’s utility room match his type. Forensics has sent his hair samples and the blood work analysis to the FBI for DNA analysis.”

“There are two killers?” Sara asked.

“Each with a completely different MO,” Kerney said. “Personally, I think whoever is hunting us has been using Olsen as his cover.”

“This isn’t what I wanted to hear,” Sara said, with a shake of her head.

Jojoya’s arrival interrupted the conversation. She examined Sara and Patrick Brannon, proclaimed them to be healthy, and signed the discharge form. Kerney drove away from the hospital with Sara in the backseat next to Patrick, who was securely fastened into an infant carrier. They had a police escort fore and aft. On the floorboard at Sara’s feet were three floral arrangements that had been sent to the hospital, including one from Andy and Gloria.

“Have you called my parents?” Sara asked.

Kerney shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to get you safely home first.”

“I’ll do it,” Sara said as she adjusted Patrick’s blanket to free his little arms.

“Unless you ask them not to come, they’ll be on the way here with your brother and his wife as soon as you hang up,” Kerney said.

“I wouldn’t think of asking them to stay away,” Sara said.

“Then we’ll just have to fill them in when they get here.”

“Well, at least we won’t have to do that with Clayton and Grace,” Sara said. “Have you called them?”

Kerney shook his head as he turned onto Canyon Road, where tourists jaywalking to get from one art gallery to another slowed traffic on the narrow street.

“Why not?”

“Clayton’s on his way to Santa Fe, and I don’t have a phone number for Grace.”

“You’re not avoiding it, are you?” Sara asked.

Kerney shook his head.

“Don’t go quiet on me, Kerney,” Sara said.

Kerney let out a deep breath. “I’m not going to try to push Clayton into accepting a family he doesn’t want to be part of. He may not want to be Patrick’s brother any more than he wants to accept me as his father.”

“You can’t just leave it at that.”

“I haven’t,” Kerney replied. “I’ve asked dispatch to send him to our house as soon as he makes radio contact. We’ll see what he does.”

The lead unit pulled to a stop on the far side of the driveway. Kerney parked in front of the house and helped Sara out of the backseat as the two units turned around and left. She reached in and released Patrick’s restraints, and he snorted in his sleep as she cradled him in her arms.

“We’re home,” he said, reaching for Sara’s purse and one vase of flowers, “and it’s just us.”

“You’re staying?” Sara asked as she walked to the front door.

“Yes, I am,” Kerney answered as he unlocked the door.

Sara paused in the doorway and kissed him on the cheek.

“What’s that for?”

“Doing the right thing,” Sara said. “This is our first day as a family, and except for the three of us I want the world to go away at least for a little while.”

Patrick opened his eyes, cooed and waved a tiny hand.

“But I’ll make an exception,” Sara said, “if Clayton decides to stop by.”

Kerney smiled, pleased that he hadn’t mentioned the police sharpshooter concealed on the hill behind the house and the detective stationed at a bedroom window of the neighbor’s house across the street.

Samuel Green had gone to bed thinking that it might be best to let time work to his advantage. If he backed off for a couple of weeks, maybe even left town, Kerney and his wife would probably let their guard down. Surely, the new baby would distract them and he could find an opportunity to strike safely and without much difficulty.

In the morning, from his motel room, Green called the hospital, identified himself as a worried relative from out of state, asked about Sara’s welfare, and learned that she’d delivered a healthy baby boy last night.

In the bathroom, he carefully cut down the blond wig so that it just covered the tips of his ears and draped slightly over his shirt collar at the back of his neck, put it on, and added a cap. Then he glued a big fake mole under one eye, added a blond mustache, and admired the results. No cop looking for a bald-headed man would give him a second glance.

In good spirits, he grabbed his backpack and walked past the Indian School to a used car lot, where he spent time picking out a car, haggling over the price, and signing all the required paperwork. After exchanging cash for the car keys, he drove to a diner a block away and ordered breakfast. On the empty table next to him a departing customer had left the daily paper. He scooped it up before the waitress could clear it away, eager to see if the house fire had made the front page. There it was, headline news complete with a color photo of the burned-out wreckage. The caption called it a suspicious fire under investigation.

The story described all the usual stuff: the extensive damage to the structure, the number of fire trucks called out, how long it took to battle the blaze, the neighbors’ reaction to it, and a quote from an arson investigator on the scene, who wanted the unknown occupant to come forward.

Green smirked in satisfaction and turned to an inside page of state roundup news, which carried the headline:

FIVE BODIES FOUND IN SOCORRO

Always interested in murder, Green read the story quickly and stopped short at the mention of Noel Olsen’s name as the primary suspect in the investigation. He almost snarled at the waitress when she slid the plate of bacon and eggs in front of him and refilled his coffee cup.

His breakfast forgotten, Green read the story again, and a deep anxiety washed over him. His choice of Olsen as an unwitting beard had been flawed in an unimaginable way. How could he have possibly known that Olsen had been secretly killing queers for the past five years?

Distressed, Green put aside the paper, pushed his plate away and silently cursed Olsen. If he had it to do all over again, he would kill the son of a bitch much more slowly and painfully.

He forced down thoughts of Olsen and concentrated on his predicament. All he’d learned about crime and cops told Green that Kerney now knew it wasn’t Olsen who was stalking him. He pulled the plate of food to him and chewed a piece of bacon. He had to assume that he was now vulnerable, which meant that time was no longer on his side. He would move fast, get the job done, and vanish.

He reached for another bacon strip and started mulling over a strategy. First on the docket, he had to locate Kerney and his family. Then he needed a way to get to them without raising alarm or suspicion. Finally, and most importantly, he had to escape cleanly.

He broke the fried egg yokes with a slice of toast and started running down schemes in his mind. As soon as Green decided that it really didn’t matter how Kerney died or in what order he killed the family, ideas began to flow.

Propped up on the bed with Patrick in her lap, Sara called her parents in Montana. While she talked, Kerney carried in the two remaining bouquets from the car, placed them on a dresser, and then moved the crib into their bedroom, so that Patrick would be close at hand once Sara decided to let go of him.

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and looked at his wife and son. Patrick was sleeping soundly. Kerney studied his face, the little wisps of hair on his head, the shape of his nose and chin, noticing for the first time his resemblance to Sara. He felt a powerful, almost overwhelming connection to his son that came out of nowhere and both surprised and sobered him with its intensity.

He switched his attention to Sara, who smiled at him as she continued talking about the beautiful baby boy in her lap. Her tired eyes sparkled as she stroked Patrick’s head and described once again to her mother how perfect he was, noting his weight, height, and calm disposition, laughing with joy as she said it.

The alarming sound of the doorbell pulled Kerney up short. He walked into the living room reassuring himself that all was well, peeked out the window, and saw a flower delivery truck in the driveway. He opened up, accepted another bouquet of flowers, tipped the driver, and took them to the bedroom. The attached card was from the city manager.

He handed the card to Sara as she passed the phone over to him, and he spent a pleasant few minutes confirming Sara’s assessment of Patrick’s perfection for his in-laws, reassuring them that their daughter was all right, and jotting down their travel plans. They would arrive in two days.

Sara took the phone back, said a long goodbye, and placed a call to her brother and sister-in-law, who would also be coming to Santa Fe, although for a much shorter time, since the ranch needed minding.

After the conversation ended, Sara handed Patrick to Kerney and asked him to put him in the crib. Gently, he took his son in his arms, turned to the crib, and set him down.

“You need to rest,” Kerney said, as he returned to Sara.

“First, a kiss,” she said.

He kissed her on the forehead, eyelids and mouth, and squeezed her hand.

“How do you like fatherhood so far?” she asked sleepily.

He felt his life had changed in a hundred different ways, but didn’t have adequate words to express it.

“You’ve given me a great gift,” he finally said.

“Speaking of gifts,” Sara said, “there’s something in the top dresser drawer.”

Kerney stepped to the dresser and took out a package wrapped in silver paper tied with a ribbon. “What’s this?”

“A birthday present for Patrick. Open it.”

He untied the ribbon, loosened the paper and looked at the glass-framed, velvet-lined box. Inside were duplicates of all of his military decorations from his service in Vietnam. A lifetime ago, he’d buried the original medals in his parents’ freshly dug graves on the Jennings ranch west of the Tularosa.

Speechless, he held the box out, looking at Sara.

“I want our son to know what a remarkable man his father is,” Sara said.

Kerney put the box aside and took Sara in his arms.

Clayton topped out on La Bajada Hill ten miles outside Santa Fe just as the temperature gauge red-lined and steam started seeping from under the hood of his unit. He pulled into the rest stop that gave visitors a view of the city in the distance and the mountain range beyond, checked to see what the problem was, and discovered the water pump had failed.

He called state police by radio, identified himself, and asked to have a tow truck dispatched to his location. While he waited next to his unit, Clayton thought about the unkept promise he’d made to Grace months ago to bring the family to Santa Fe for a weekend outing. As soon as things settled down he’d do it. Actually, with Sara having the baby, he knew Grace would now give him no choice in the matter.