“Does this happen often?” Kerney asked.
Sapian, a stocky man with a fleshy face and deep chest, waved at the cowboys as they drove off. “Not like this. Sometimes a rancher will find a body on his land, or the coyotes-the smugglers who bring the illegal immigrants across the border-will abandon them in the desert. But mostly that happens west of here, where the copper smelter is located. It’s forty miles north of the border. The coyotes and immigrants use the flashing lights on top of the smelter stack as a beacon to guide them into the United States. They call it the Star of the North.”
“Do you think the dead man fell or was pushed?” Kerney asked.
“It’s hard to say,” Sapian replied. “If he was riding in the panel van as you suggest, you’d think there would be skid marks or other evidence to indicate that something happened to cause the rear door to pop open and the victim to fall out. On the other hand the coyotes pack their customers in trucks like sardines to maximize their profits. The victim could have been leaning against the door and it just gave way.”
“That may not be what happened,” Kerney said as he walked to the spot where the body had landed on the highway. “He hit facedown, and the only bruising and blunt-force trauma was on the front of his head and torso. There’s nothing here or on the body that shows he either tumbled or slid along the pavement.”
“That doesn’t prove murder,” Sapian said.
Kerney looked at Sapian. “You’re right, but homicide can’t be ruled out either.”
Sapian shrugged. “Maybe the autopsy will tell us something.” “Yeah,” Kerney said as he stared at the bloodstained pavement.
“You did the best you could to save him,” Sapian said.
“He was just a kid.”
Sapian nodded solemnly. “When I was first married, I’d come home from work and my wife would ask me how my day went. Some days I’d just say that she didn’t want to know. Once she asked and I told her. She doesn’t ask that question anymore.”
“There are days it just gets to you.”
“I know that feeling, Chief,” Sapian replied, eyeing Kerney’s blood-splattered face, hands, and shirt.
“I look a mess, don’t I?” Kerney said. “Is there anyplace nearby where I can clean up?”
“Not until you get to Hachita. But there’s a ranch a few miles north of here. Sign on the highway says Granite Pass Cattle Company. I’m sure the owners wouldn’t mind if you used one of their water tanks. I’ll give them a call, if you like, so you don’t get run off for trespassing.”
“Who are the owners?”
“Joe and Bessie Jordan,” Sapian replied. “An older couple, pretty much retired now. Joe’s gotta be pushing eighty. Their manager, Walter Shaw, and their daughter run the operation.”
Kerney smiled at the thought of seeing Johnny’s parents and sister. “Joe, Bessie, and Julia.”
“You know them?”
“You could say that,” Kerney replied. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give them a holler for me.”
A mile in on the ranch road the mesquite and greasewood shrubland gave way to open range that swept north and south along the flank of the Little Hatchet Mountains. Just off the road on the edge of a grassy pasture stood a rodeo grounds, complete with an elevated crow’s nest. A sign on it read: JORDAN ARENA.
The arena, enclosed by sturdy railroad ties and wire, had chutes at one end, gates at the other, and electric light poles outside the perimeter. Not that many years ago ranch rodeo arenas were a common sight in many rural areas of the state. Once or twice a year ranch families and working cowboys would come together to socialize and show off their skills in friendly competition. Folks would back their pickups against the fence and set up folding chairs in the truck beds to view the action. Events usually consisted of team penning, wild-horse catching, team branding, team roping, and wild-cow milking.
Kerney was glad to see that Joe and Bessie Jordan were keeping the old tradition alive.
Behind the holding pens was a stock tank fed by a windmill. Kerney stripped off his shirt and stuck his head and arms into the clear water, raised up, and started scrubbing off the dried blood with his hands. His moist skin dried almost immediately in the arid heat of the day. He stuck his head in the tank again and splashed water on his chest, shoulders, and back. He came up for air and a voice behind him said, “Remember when we used to go swimming in the stock tanks on Daddy’s Jornada ranch?”
He turned and looked at the woman who stood in front of a three-quarter-ton flatbed truck. “Hello, Julia.”
“Hello, yourself,” Julia Jordan said. “I understand you tried to save somebody who died on the highway.”
Kerney nodded as he gazed at Julia. Although now a bit more full figured, she still retained her good looks, and her laughing eyes, which always seemed to be a bit mocking, hadn’t lost any luster. Her long, curly hair, more gray than dark brown, cascaded onto her shoulders.
“I didn’t help much.”
“You look good with your shirt off,” Julia said slyly. “Care to go skinny-dipping with me?”
“I don’t think so.”
Julia laughed as she glanced at Kerney’s wedding band. “I’m not surprised. You always were the straight-arrow type.”
Quickly, Kerney slipped into his blood-splattered shirt. “Was I, now?”
“My God, were you hurt?”
Kerney buttoned up. “No, it’s not my blood.”
“Do you have a fresh shirt to wear?”
Kerney nodded.
Julia stepped to the three-quarter-ton. “Good. Follow me home. My parents can’t wait to see you. Mom’s in the kitchen cooking up a storm for you. You were always the one friend Johnny had that Mom favored the most. Me too.”
“Why didn’t I know this back then?”
Julia grinned as she climbed into the three-quarter-ton. “I’ve often wondered that myself.”
The drive to the ranch headquarters was a straight shot to low, grassy hills that rolled on toward the mountains. Four houses, all of them white pitch-roofed structures with screened front porches painted in green trim, sat in a large grove of shade trees within easy walking distance of a horse barn. A water tank, windmill, and feed storage bins stood behind the barn next to a large metal shop and garage. Everything about the place was spic and span. Even the heavy equipment parked outside the garage was lined up in a neat row.
Julia stopped in front of the largest house in the compound, a long ranch-style home with a big picture window that looked out on the porch. She led him through the unoccupied front room, a comfortable space filled with art, books, and easy chairs, to a spare room, and left him there to change his shirt. When he returned to the front room, Joe and Bessie greeted him, both smiling broadly.
Bessie wiped her hands on her apron and gave Kerney a hug. She felt like a feather in his arms, so tiny now and stooped of shoulder. The top of her snow-white head barely reached his chest. Joe Jordan’s handshake was hearty and firm. He also was white haired, but still ramrod straight and lean. Wire-rim spectacles sat low on the bridge of his nose, and his face was wind-burned a deep red, accenting the furrows of crow’s feet at the corners of his blue eyes.
Julia stepped out of the kitchen holding a tall glass of water, which Kerney gratefully accepted and quickly drained.
“Since I found him on the ranch,” Julia said with a grin, “can I keep him?”
“Not from the looks of the wedding ring he’s wearing,” Joe replied with a laugh as he herded Kerney into the kitchen.
At the kitchen table Bessie passed around a platter of sliced cold beef, a basket of hot fresh biscuits, a bowl of sauce for the beef, a salad, and a pitcher of lemonade. She’d set the table with her best flatware and linen napkins.
Over lunch Joe questioned Kerney about the fatality on the highway. He answered but left out the gory details.
Joe shook his head as he cut a small piece of beef and dipped it in the dollop of sauce on his plate. “Those Mexicans are so damn poor, not even the fear of death stops them from crossing the border. A neighbor south of here found two dead bodies on his land just last year. A young woman and a middle-aged man.”