As a cop who over the years had delivered the news of sudden death to many grieving families, Kerney knew that words of sympathy, no matter how heartfelt, seldom gave relief. Surely there was something more tangible he could do for the family. He just didn’t know what would be acceptable to them.
Jack and Irene Burke, like many other small ranchers, were land rich and cash poor, and Riley and Lynette had brought more in the way of shared hopes and energy to their young marriage than tangible assets. Should he sell the horses and give the proceeds to Lynette as her share of Riley’s half equity in the partnership? Would Lynette, an excellent horse trainer in her own right and Riley’s unpaid assistant, be willing to step into Riley’s shoes and take over as Kerney’s partner? Or would it be too painful for her to work day in and day out at the very place where Riley had been randomly gunned down?
He had left for London secure in the knowledge that the partnership was in good hands. But now there was no way without help that he could keep the cutting horse enterprise going and live full-time with Sara and Patrick in England. Maybe it would be best to sell the stock, give the proceeds to Lynette Burke, find a reliable live-in caretaker for the ranch, and wait until Sara retired before trying again to operate the ranch as a business. He decided to hold off on making any decisions until he knew what Lynette wanted to do.
He finished scraping his stud horse Comeuppance’s hoofs and turned him loose by himself in a large paddock near the barn. Like any stallion, he would attack the geldings and try to drive them away or kill them if given the opportunity.
On a selfish level, Kerney didn’t like the idea of getting rid of the stock and dissolving the business. He would then have no legitimate reason other than plain homesickness to make frequent trips back to the ranch.
By sunup the horses were watered, fed, groomed, and inspected. He saddled Hondo, and with the exception of Comeuppance, he trailed the stock up the hill behind the ranch house into the fenced north pasture. He watched them for a while against the backdrop of the morning sun cascading over the slightly misty Sangre de Cristo Mountains. The geldings pranced and high-stepped while Patrick’s pony, Pablito, cantered off in the direction of the windmill. Sara’s favorite gelding, Gipsy, a bald-faced, dark sorrel, trotted back to the gate, snorted, and shook his head as if to signal his displeasure that Hondo couldn’t join him. Then he kicked up his heels and galloped away.
The fun of being back at the ranch made him feel guilty all over again about Riley’s murder. He dismounted, unsaddled Hondo, and turned him loose in the pasture with Gipsy and the other stock. As he walked down the hill with saddle and bridle slung over his shoulder, he wondered what in the hell he could do about any of it.
After breakfast, Kerney cleaned himself up, called Jack Burke, and asked if he could pay a visit. Usually a man of unbridled enthusiasm, Jack sounded emotionally numb and dispirited as he told Kerney to stop by anytime.
Kerney said he was on his way and disconnected quickly to avoid blurting out anything about Riley’s death or Jack’s loss. He still had no idea what he might say, only that he needed to say it in person.
The Burkes lived on a ranch road fifteen minutes from Kerney’s place, in a two-hundred-year-old hacienda sheltered by ancient cottonwoods at the edge of a broad, sandy arroyo. Kerney felt a sudden sense of dismay when he saw Riley’s pickup truck parked in front of the small, enclosed yard that bordered the nearby foreman’s cottage where Riley and Lynette had set up housekeeping.
Jack greeted Kerney on the steps of the screened hacienda porch, shook his outstretched hand, and explained that Irene and Lynette were meeting with the pastor of their church to discuss the services for Riley.
“I’m sorry I’ve missed them,” he said.
Jack nodded listlessly as he ushered Kerney into the living room and gestured at the couch next to his favorite easy chair.
Kerney sat, waited for Jack to settle himself, and asked, “Have the services been set?”
“Not yet,” Jack replied. “We’re still arranging for family to come in. Mine from Deming and Lordsburg, Irene’s from Texas, Riley’s cousins from Spokane and Boise, and Lynette’s parents from Wyoming. It takes a while to get everybody together.”
“I don’t have any words for you, Jack.”
Burke held up his hand to stop Kerney. “That’s good, because there aren’t any, and they all ring hollow in my ears anyhow. Soon, we’ll gather to celebrate Riley’s life. You, Sara, and Patrick have to join us.”
Kerney nodded affirmatively. Last night on the telephone, Sara told him her boss, the admiral, had approved her leave request, and she was ready to book a flight as soon as Kerney gave her the date for the funeral. “We’ll all be there.”
“Good,” Jack replied, gazing down at his tightly clasped hands in his lap. “Good,” he said again, the word barely audible. He tried to brighten. “How is Patrick?’
“He’s fine, Jack.”
“Good. That’s good.”
For a long time, Kerney sat in silence with his friend, imagining how horrible it must feel to lose a son who’d grown into such a fine young man. Jack wasn’t crying or blinking back tears, but he was tensed up tight, every muscle in his hands, arms, face, and neck bunched and corded, a thousand-yard stare in his eyes.
Kerney wanted to tell Jack to let go, give in to the grief, and have a gut-wrenching cry, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he remained seated and unmoving on the couch for a long, uneasy time until Jack rose, excused himself, walked down the hallway to the bedroom he’d shared with Irene for over thirty years, and closed the door behind him.
Kerney waited awhile for Jack to return. When he didn’t come back, he quietly let himself out. He drove home with a great sadness pressing down on him.
After shooting the cop and the old lady on the highway outside Carrizozo, Craig Larson was camped out no more than thirty miles away in some mountains off a seldom-used Forest Service road.
He didn’t know much about Lincoln County, and he’d been anxious to get off the pavement as soon as possible in case a swarm of cops was converging on him. After passing through the village of Capitan, he left the highway for a well-maintained dirt-and-gravel road that ran directly toward some northerly mountains. For several miles he traveled through grassy rangeland before gradually ascending toward what appeared to be a mountain gap. Soon he was driving through woodlands and he felt safe enough to stop and see what exactly there was in the truck.
There were grocery bags on the floor in front of the passenger seat that he hadn’t had a chance to look into and others in the truck bed. He pawed through them and found an assortment of canned goods, coffee and other supplies, two large jars of spaghetti sauce, ground beef, eggs, carrots, potatoes, a large bag of apples, cheese, crackers, four gallon jugs of water, and basic toiletries including soap, shampoo, and women’s disposable razors. According to the sales receipt the woman had purchased them at an Albuquerque discount supermarket several hours before he’d shot her dead. The nice timing gave him a chuckle. What a bummer if he’d offed her before she’d done his shopping for him.
There were two old canvas tarps folded under the bench seat of the truck and a first aid kit with one of those shiny fold-up space-age emergency blankets that were supposed to keep you warm and did a fairly good job of it. There was also a shovel for digging out the truck if it got stuck. Apparently, the old biddy believed in being prepared.
The only thing she hadn’t provided was a mess kit. He’d have to improvise and empty some cans to cook in. It would be a sin to waste the fresh meat and eggs.
He drove through the forest and half a mile on, he came to a side road with a partially open gate. A wooden sign attached to the gate read “1 Peter 2:24.”