“Are you looking at anyone else as a suspect?” Kerney asked as he got up.
“Agent Fidel thinks Ira Dobson, the guy who manages the water-works for the town and the smelter, may be involved.”
“Fidel still thinks the smelter may be being used as a safe house for smuggled illegals?”
“That’s his theory,” Bratton replied.
Kerney walked Bratton to the door. “Good luck with it.”
Bratton smiled. “Thanks. I’ll keep you informed.”
After Bratton slipped outside into the night, Kerney thought about what he’d just heard. It made sense to use an undercover rookie agent, assuming he’d been well coached and adequately prepared, to bust up a smuggling ring. Cop shops frequently used novice officers in such roles. But Bratton seemed completely out of his element and totally uncomfortable in his assignment.
Why would the Border Patrol bring in a second fresh-faced rookie after the first one had been killed? That didn’t make any sense, especially if the smuggling ring included dirty cops. The circumstances called for experienced investigators to be working the case.
Kerney realized that he actually had very little specific information about the case-he didn’t even know the murdered agent’s name. The more he thought about it, the more he questioned why Fidel had asked for his assistance.
Could it be Fidel was playing him? There was no compelling need for Bratton to pass information to Fidel through him. Bratton could easily reach Fidel directly by cell phone without drawing attention to himself.
The night of his meeting with Fidel the agent had managed to get Kerney to help short-circuit Officer Sapian’s investigation. Then he had kept the murder covered up and the victim’s identity hidden from everybody, including Bratton. Kerney found himself wondering if the dead man on the highway was actually a cop at all.
He went over his conversation with Bratton one more time. Fidel had the kid concentrating primarily on Mendoza and Dobson as suspects, in spite of no hard evidence to support it. None of it made any sense.
Kerney decided to check into Agent Fidel’s operation a bit more thoroughly before cooperating with him any further.
An early call had Kerney up long before dawn. Reluctantly, he woke Patrick, who had no desire to get out of bed, and after they were dressed the two of them went outside into the chill of the desert night, where the sky was a flat dark slate. Under a big tent in the mercantile-building parking lot a long line of people was queued up for the buffet breakfast. It seemed that the size of the film company had doubled overnight. He checked the call sheet for the day and discovered that several street scenes, requiring a large number of extras, were scheduled to be shot by the second camera unit, while Usher continued filming at the Jordon ranch.
He looked around for familiar faces and saw Buzzy and Gus, the gaffer and the key grip, hurrying off toward loaded equipment trucks. None of the leading or featured actors was present at the picnic tables inside the tent. Kerney assumed they were either breakfasting in the privacy of their custom motor coaches or preparing for the day’s work in the wardrobe or makeup trailers.
He was about to take Patrick to the nanny when Johnny Jordan came up behind him.
“This must be your son,” Johnny said, reaching out to rub Patrick’s head, which earned him a quizzical look. “Good-looking kid. Where’s your wife?”
“This is Patrick,” Kerney said, although Johnny clearly didn’t care what his son’s name was. “Sara couldn’t make it.”
“That’s too bad. I wanted to meet her.” Johnny plopped down on the bench next to Kerney. “I hear Dale had to bail out because Barbara got sick.”
“Emergency appendectomy, but she’s going to be fine. Where have you been?”
“L.A.,” Johnny replied, looking pleased with himself. “I drove all night to get here. I’ve got big things happening, Kerney. Couple of deals in the works. Can’t tell you about it yet, but I’m moving to Hollywood after we finish the picture.”
“So you’re going to be a movie mogul.”
Johnny grinned. “Something like that.” He was full of nervous energy, thumping the heel of his boot against the bench leg as he talked. “The talent in L.A. is incredible, man.”
“I’m sure lots of creative people live there.”
Johnny chuckled as he scanned the people in the breakfast buffet line. “I’m talking about the women, Kerney. They’re unbelievable. Have you seen Susan Berman?”
“No. What can you tell me about Walt Shaw?”
“Why? Did you have a run-in with him?”
Kerney shook his head. “Have you?”
“Nope. My parents swear by him, and for a time I thought he and Julia were going to be a serious item, but I can’t tell you more than that.”
“Where are Joe and Bessie?”
“Off at their cabin in Ruidoso for the duration, and I’m glad they’re gone. The last thing I need is to have the old man bitching at me about how much he dislikes seeing his ranch turned into a movie set. He’s getting a chuck of money out of it, plus some improvements to the ranch, which you’d think would make him happy.”
“I guess,” Kerney said noncommittally, thinking back to Julia’s comment about all the money Johnny had borrowed from Joe over the years and never repaid.
Johnny got to his feet and flashed one of his patented smiles. “Gotta go.”
Prepared to give full value for his consultant services, Kerney spent the morning on location at the ranch and soon realized that he had little to do. At sunrise the shot of the police cruisers speeding down the ranch road, with emergency lights flashing through a haze of dust and a brilliant dawn breaking over the mountains, was captured on film in one take. At the ranch headquarters Usher got the initial confrontation between the rancher and the police out of the way and then ordered multiple takes of emotional interactions between the leads.
Kerney had sometimes seen military or law-enforcement technical advisors listed in movie credits and had wondered why the films were so inaccurate. Now he knew. In moviemaking action and drama trumped authenticity every time.
After a catering truck arrived with lunch, Kerney sought out Susan Berman and asked if there was anything she needed him to do for the rest of the day.
Berman flipped through some papers in a three-ring binder. “Not really. You’ll be a cowboy in the cattle-drive sequence, but we don’t start filming at the Shugart cabin until the day after tomorrow. I do know Malcolm wants you nearby when we’re shooting at the smelter, and he may have some technical questions for you during the courthouse sequence scheduled for next week.”
As if she’d read his mind, she said, “If you’d like to spend some time with your son, I can always reach you on your cell phone in case you’re needed.”
“I’d like that very much,” Kerney replied.
When Kerney arrived to pick up Patrick, he found the door to the house open and the playroom empty. He called out for Libby and Patrick and got no response. Through the kitchen window he spotted Libby reading a book to the other four children as they sat on the backyard lawn under a shade tree, but there was no sign of his son.
“Where’s Patrick?” Kerney asked as he stepped onto the patio.
Libby got to her feet. “He went to use the bathroom just a few minutes ago.”
Kerney searched the bathrooms, found them empty, and went through every other room of the sprawling house looking for Patrick. By the time he’d finished, Libby and the children were inside.
“How long has he been gone?” he demanded.
“No more than three or four minutes.”
Kerney circled the house. Behind the backyard it was all desert. Cactus, creosote, and fluff grass peppered the chaparral slope of the low hills, and rock-strewn, sandy arroyos flowed down from brushy mountain hogbacks. How far could a three-year-old wander in five minutes?