“Part of what, sir? What did he mean?”
“Eddie…he had connections, at least he claimed he did. Down south.”
“In Mexico?”
Waddell nodded. “There were some guys that he saw, down south of Juarez.” He held up both hands defensively. “Don’t know ’em, don’t want to know ’em. But Eddie was always talkin’ about his big contacts. That’s why he moved to El Paso, you know. ‘That’s where it’s all happening,’ he liked to say. Now look, I know that things didn’t go all that good for him over in Grant County when he worked law over there. I got the impression that he liked seeing that place in his rear view mirror.”
“Do you have a contact in El Paso for him?”
“I had his cell phone around somewhere. Got his email, too. Don’t know what for. I don’t have a computer.”
“We’d like to have that, sir.”
“I’ll find it. I should have thought to bring it with me this time. Don’t have his snail mail address, though. El Paso, is all I know. Or it could be Sunland Park. Somewhere over there.”
“We’ll track that down. Did the two of you discuss how much investment was going to be needed?”
“That irritated the hell out of me. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Eddie liked to say. ‘This is going to be BIG. ’ That was his favorite line. Gonna be big. Gotta be big. Think big. You know,” and Waddell stroked the brim of his hat again. “I don’t think Eddie spent much time thinking about a little item or two…like, the property on that mesa top is mine, not his. He don’t have a share in it. He just assumed, you know. Assumed we were going to buddy up.”
“Did he say how he was going to come up with the money?”
“Nothing specific, sheriff. Just his grand, wild schemes. But I can guess where the money would come from, if he managed it.” He rapped the edge of his hat brim against the desk. “And I can guess why they’d want a toehold in the United States.”
“They?”
“You know who I mean. Those Mexican cartels.” He spat out the words as if they were sour, and then ducked his head in apology. “I mean, I have nothing against the Mexicans, most of ’em.”
“You believe that Eddie Johns was involved with the cartels? Or had contacts with them?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised. Seems like that’s the latest fad, right?” Waddell raised a hand in self-defense. “I’m not saying he was. I don’t know for sure. But I can guess. You know, he used to joke about how easy it was to come across the border with just about anything a body could want. ‘You just got to do it right,’ he’d say.” Waddell shrugged. “I wasn’t interested in that kind of thing, so I tuned him out, mostly. It wasn’t always easy to tell when Eddie was just bullshitting. He did a lot of that, too.”
“But you are interested in the observatory idea,” Estelle said.
“Sure. You know, that mesa top isn’t worth a tinker’s damn for ranching. I bought it thinking that someday, the feds were going to do something about the cave complex that’s under there. They have land on the other side of the road, but nothing on my side. You know the air you said was coming out of that little hole in the cave? Well, that’s just one more sign that I’m right. You know how when you drive to the caverns over in Carlsbad, you have to drive up on the mesa top? Then you look out on all that country down below? Well, hell, the way I see it, that low country that you’re looking at is on the same level as the bottom floor of the caverns. This mesa is the same thing. I haven’t had it surveyed or anything by geologists, but I figure the mesa top is just the roof of the caverns down underneath. Think about that, sheriff. I haven’t walked every square inch of that mesa, but I’ll bet over the past few years, I’ve found half a dozen vents like that, all spewing out cool air. Subterranean air. That’s the sign.”
“Did you ever check that cave yourself? Where we were this morning?”
“Nope. Like I told you earlier, I didn’t know that one was there.”
“But you had someone working from time to time on that little access road to the top.”
Waddell nodded. “Just enough to be able to drive up on top without wrecking the truck. I’m not going to pay for more than that until something firms up. I’ll tell you one thing…this is slow business. You think we’re mañana- land, you ought to work with the feds and the Aussies.”
“Who did the road work for you?”
“Gus Prescott, most of it. He’s got that old grader of his. For a few days there when he could keep it running, he gouged out that two-track for me. Enough to reach the top, but I’m going to have to have someone come in with some serious equipment to do it right. Put in culverts and the like.”
“That’s tough country.”
“You bet.”
“And a lot of money.”
Waddell huffed agreement. “You’re telling me. I paid Gus a fair lick, but I figure it’s going to cost me fifty grand just to make a quarter mile of safe gravel two-track, and that’s after what he did. Maybe more. Sometimes I think that Eddie had the right idea. Capital’s capital. Maybe it doesn’t matter where it comes from.”
“But some years have gone by now,” Estelle pointed out. “You hadn’t heard from Eddie Johns in what, four or five years?”
“At least that. And I haven’t heard much from the Aussies. I don’t know if they lost interest, or what. Maybe Eddie scared ’em off. What I’m figuring to do is talk to the Park Service. I think we could work a partnership. That’d be the way to go.” He put on his hat, and leaned forward. “But now we have this mess to worry about. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.” He thumped the arm of the chair. “I’ll get that cell phone number and email for you. Sorry I don’t have his address.”
“We’ll find it, sir.” She reached across and turned the tape recorder slightly, as if Miles Waddell needed to be reminded of its presence. “How is it that you didn’t inquire about Mr. Johns when he didn’t turn up again? You’ve known him for how long?”
“Off and on for maybe twenty years. Knew him when he was a detective over in Grant County…even before that.” Waddell shrugged. “I don’t know, sheriff.”
“You didn’t try to call him? You didn’t wonder when he never showed his face around the ranch? Never saw him at the Broken Spur?”
Waddell studied his fingernails. “Time slips by, I guess.” That sounded lame, and Waddell obviously knew it. “Look…you ever had an acquaintance that you’d just as soon see vanish off the face of the earth one day? Me and Herb Torrance used to joke about Eddie now and then. ‘Surprised nobody’s shot that son-of-a-bitch,’ Herb used to say. If this was the 1880s, Eddie Johns would be the sort of bully who’d end up face down in some muddy street.” He shrugged again. “So maybe I didn’t care that he went missing. Didn’t think about it too much. Hate to say it, but that’s the way it is.”
“What was Eddie driving the last time you saw him, sir?”
The question caught Waddell by surprise, and his face went blank. “Driving?” He frowned and stared at the floor. “A nice rig, that’s what he always drove.” He looked up quickly. “Ford three-quarter ton. Diesel. I remember that, for sure. He’d never shut the damn thing off. Seemed to think that was the thing with diesels. Have to let ’em run. I could never figure that one out. A black Ford.”
“That’s what he took to the mesa top?”
Waddell nodded. “Without a scratch. He was a hell of a driver, I’ll give him that. I’d ride with him anywhere.”
“Regular cab?”
“Crew cab. Big as a ship.”
“Camper shell or anything like that?”