"Not really," Kerney replied.
"Who did you talk to?"
Kerney gave him an abbreviated list of names, and Gatewood wrote them down.
"That's not a lot of people," Omar noted.
"I didn't have much time," Kerney reminded him.
"Too bad about you getting fired," Omar said with false sympathy.
"Do you think the bombing was tied to your investigation?"
"What do you think?" Kerney countered.
"It could be. Or maybe you just pissed somebody off."
"I don't think I've been around long enough to make any enemies on my own account."
"Some people don't need a lot of time to piss folks off. And working for the Forest Service is enough of a reason for some folks not to like you," Gatewood replied with a slow grin.
"Do you have particular folks in mind?"
"None in particular." Gatewood leaned back in his chair and stared down his nose.
"So tell me something: what's keeping you here?"
"Inertia."
"No lady friend?"
Like maybe Fletcher's wife, Kerney thought.
"No," he answered.
"Maybe a lady with a husband or boyfriend?"
Omar nudged.
"No."
"Mind telling me where you were last night?"
"I stayed with Jim Stiles and his girlfriend."
Gatewood looked disappointed.
"They'll vouch for you?"
"I don't see why not. Do you have any leads at are "Not on the bombing, but we have a small break on the Padilla case," Gatewood answered, getting to his feet and walking to the office door.
"The state police got a tip on that ATV you were looking for.
Damn thing was stashed in an old Forest Service cabin up in the Mogollon Mountains. The tires match the tread evidence at the Elderman Meadows crime scene."
"Ownership?" Kerney inquired.
"Stolen about two years ago in Las Cruces."
Gatewood held the office door open.
"But we might get lucky if the lab boys can lift some prints. You'll stick around for a few days, won't you? Just in case we need to talk some more?"
"I will," Kerney replied, joining Gatewood at the door.
"Carol Cassidy told me you have a militia group operating in the county.
Do you have any intelligence on them?"
Gatewood guffawed.
"The militia is nothing more than a bunch of sword-rattling good old boys who like to play soldier."
"No political agenda?" Kerney prodded.
"Of course they have an agenda. Some time back they circulated-what do you call it? — a manifesto.
They want the feds out of Catron County and the land returned to the people."
"Sounds like a good place to start," Kerney suggested.
Gatewood's eyes narrowed.
"You just love to tell me how to do my job, don't you? For your information, I know every mother's son in the organization, and I've been talking to them on the telephone all day long. Nobody knows nothing."
"Seems like you've covered all the bases," Kerney said as he left Gatewood.
Alan Begay was in his motel room when Kerney knocked.
"You didn't get a key?" he asked, when he opened the door.
"No. I'm not staying. I just stopped by to thank you for your offer."
"No sweat, man. Come in, if you can stand the mess."
The room had camping equipment strewn all over it. There were half a dozen large ice chests stacked in a corner along with boxes filled with bottles of nitric acid, filters, and unused plastic sample jars. A portable water pump and battery sat on the desk next to an assortment of meters and probes. The bed was strewn with maps, cameras, and lab report forms. At the foot of the bed were a pair of wading boots, a face shield, a lab coat, and lab gloves.
"Tools of the trade," Begay said, as Kerney looked around. He cleared some papers off a chair and perched on the end of the bed.
"Have a seat."
Kerney sat.
"You've got some questions you want to ask me?"
"Why do you think I have questions?"
"Because it was pretty dumb of me to be showing off this morning," Begay replied.
"Made me look suspicious. I figured you'd want to at least check me out."
"I already have checked you out. I called your boss in Gallup."
"And?"
"You're a choirboy, according to your boss."
Begay laughed, his eyes twinkling.
"Sure, he said that. If I'm such an upstanding citizen, what are you doing here?"
"You spend a lot of time in the backcountry.
Maybe you've seen something."
"A lot of beautiful country and a few pissed-off ranchers is about all I see."
"What about official personnel?"
"Who do you have in mind?"
"Steve Lujan."
Begay nodded.
"I know him. He works with Amador Ortiz. But I don't see him when I'm in the mountains."
"Anybody on an ATV?"
"Nope."
"Who have you seen on this trip?"
"Just one guy I never met before. I was working on the Negrito Creek last week, checking for mercury and zinc seepage from an old silver mine. He was at one of the private ranches in the Gila."
"Doing?"
"He didn't say. He flew in. The owner has a landing strip. I was half a mile downstream when the plane came over, so I hiked in to see what was up."
"It wasn't the owner?"
"No. This guy was much younger. In his thirties.
The owner is an insurance millionaire from Detroit.
Older man. Fifty-something, at least."
"You've met the owner?"
"Yeah, once, when he was out for an elk hunt."
"Tell me about the stranger."
"Like I said, midthirties, six feet, maybe a hundred and eighty. Blond hair with no sideburns. Pale complexion. The guy didn't look like he spent much time outdoors. Didn't say much. Talked with a real thick southern accent."
"Did you get a name?"
"No, I didn't. He was kinda hurry about me being there. I had to show him my ID."
"Thanks, Alan. You'd make a good police officer."
Begay grinned.
"Think so?"
"Yes, I do."
Alan shook his head.
"I'll stick to protecting natural resources. From what I saw of your trailer, it's a lot safer then being a cop."
Kerney laughed.
"How about helping a cop for a few minutes?"
"What do you need?"
"How well do you know Steve Lujan?"
"Not very well."
"Would he recognize your voice on the telephone?"
"I doubt it."
"Good. Thirty minutes after I leave I want you to call him and say that you saw someone breaking into the shed behind his house this afternoon.
Keep it simple. Give him the message and hang up. Will you do that for me?"
"You want me to tell him what?" Begay asked, giving Kerney a quizzical look that didn't completely mask a half-formed smile.
Kerney carefully repeated the message he wanted delivered.
"Did the break-in really happen?" Alan asked.
"Yes."
"Okay, I'll do it, but where will you be when I call him?"
"I'll be watching to see what Steve does."
"That's sneaky."
"That's police work," Kerney corrected.
Dusk came, and Kerney wondered if he had completely missed the boat about Steve Lujan. From a fire road in the hills behind the valley he watched Lujan's house through binoculars, waiting for Steve to make a move.
There were a few kids still riding bikes up and down the lane, popping wheelies in the dirt and practicing stunts, and Lujan's nearest neighbor had a barbecue grill going, but that was the extent of activity in the small collection of homes sprinkled in the valley west of the river.