"Delfmo is right; it is better to search for the gringo than to sit here and risk discovery. If we do not find him, we will come back."
Carlos nodded, cranked the engine, and made a U-turn. Except for a few snowplows and sand spreaders that were busy clearing one lane in each direction, the highway out of town was virtually deserted. the buzzard made Kerney's trip south unbelievably grueling. At times, he was forced to crawl along at ten miles an hour, and on several occasions his unit spun out on black ice without warning. Only the absence of traffic averted an accident.
In Estanda, he contacted the sheriff's department by radio and got directions to Nita Lassiter's house. He turned east into the teeth of the storm, and soon the car wipers were thudding against a rock-solid ice buildup on the windshield. He had to stop repeatedly and scrape the glass, while the storm raged around him, kicked along by gale-force winds.
The drive put him in a foul mood. Born and raised in the desert of the Tularosa Basin, Kerney didn't like snow much, and his aversion to it hadn't changed in spite of the years he'd lived in Santa Fe working for the police department.
He found Nita's house. Facing south, it had a wall of windows running the length of the structure. All the inside and outside lights were on, creating a lonely beacon that barely cut through the whiteout of the storm.
It was the only sign of habitation he'd glimpsed since leaving the outskirts of Estanda, Her four-wheel-drive truck was parked by the front door. He knocked and the door flew open. The look of relief on Nita's face dropped away as he stepped inside.
"I thought you were Robert," she said.
"You haven't found him?" Kerney replied as he unbuttoned his coat. He hung it on the rack in the small entryway.
"No. I have all the lights on in case he's nearby."
"He would need to be within a few hundred feet to see them. Have you searched outside?"
"Twice," Nita answered as she led him into a large room that contained a living area, dining alcove, and kitchen.
"Everywhere," she added.
Kerney nodded and looked around. The house was passive solar with exposed adobe walls, insulated glass panels, a corner fireplace, and brick floors. Doors at both ends of the room led to bedrooms.
"I have people looking for him," Kerney noted,
"although I doubt it will do much good in the storm.
Let's hope he's found shelter."
Nita sank into a low-backed tufted leather chair that faced a sofa.
"He put a pair of my underwear in the commode and rummaged through my bedroom dressers. I have no idea why he did it."
"Where have you looked for him?"
"I covered every back road between Estanda and Manzano, until the storm closed in and I couldn't see beyond the hood of my truck. We need to find him."
"In the morning," Kerney said wearily as he went to get his coat. The cold weather had stiffened his bum knee, and he had to force it to work.
"You can't possibly go back outside," Nita said as she followed him.
"Stay here. I have a guest bedroom."
Kerney shook his head.
"I can't do that."
"You looked exhausted."
"I'll be fine." Kerney slipped into his coat.
"Are you always so bullheaded?"
Kerney turned and looked directly into Nita's eyes.
"Under different circumstances I would gladly accept your offer, Ms.
Lassiter. But you are a confessed cop killer, and I'm the guy who busted you. Staying here tonight is not an option; it would be misconstrued."
"No one needs to know."
"My presence here is a matter of official record. Both the county sheriff's office and the state police dispatcher know exactly where I am."
"You're right; you can't stay."
"I'll get a room at the Shaffer Hotel in Mountainair."
"Will you at least call me when you arrive so that I know you made it safely?"
"I'll do that. Try to think of where Robert might be heading."
Nita nodded and forced a smile, but her eyes were worried.
"What's wrong?" Kerney asked.
"I don't want anything to happen to Robert."
"Robert is a survivor, just like you," Kerney replied evenly.
"He'll be all right."
"Have you always been such an optimist?"
"I have my black moments every now and then."
"When was the last one?"
"The day I had to shoot you," Kerney replied.
Kerney's unexpected response shook Nita.
"I'm sorry that happened. You must think I'm terribly weak."
"I think you're a woman who needs to get on with her life."
"In prison?"
"I hope not, Ms. Lassiter."
"It wasn't fair of me to say that."
"No harm done."
As soon as Kerney said good night and slipped out the door, Nita wanted him to come back. With all the constraints that existed between them, she knew he wouldn't. But she could sense Kerney's loneliness ran as deep as her own, and that left her feeling very sad. ^ Ugly things had happened in Robert's dreams, forcing him awake. Paul Gillespie's face floated through his mind. The face changed into El Malo; horns snaked out of his forehead like worms and his eyes turned fiery red and evil.
Robert opened his eyes, found himself in total darkness, and scrambled to his feet. He could feel the pressure of the walls and ceiling gripping him-pushing him down-and his heart pounded in his chest.
He ran, stumbled against something, groped his way toward a current of cold air that blew against his face, and found a broken window. He crawled out, fell on his knees, and ran until a pain in his side forced him to stop.
Gasping for air, he turned and looked back. The setting moon behind the church made the spire look like a dagger stabbing the sky. He shivered in the cold, but the tension in his body lifted, and he felt better now that he was outside. Then the voices returned.
He could only use his right thumb to plug his ears; somebody had put a plaster cast on his left arm. He tried to rip the cast off, but the plaster was too hard and thick. He gave up and started walking down the road.
Snowdrifts buried the road and covered all but the tops of the fence poles along the highway.
Somewhere, Robert had gotten a new coat, and it felt warm. But the air was frigid and his feet were cold.
He looked down at the boots that flapped against his ankles, wondering where they had come from. As he walked, snow seeped over the boot tops, soaked his feet, and made it hard to move. He stepped carefully to keep the boots from coming off in the snow.
There was no traffic on the road. Everything was silent and still. He stuck his thumb out as soon as he heard the sound of an engine and the scrape of a plow on the pavement behind him. An orange highway department snowplow slowed to a stop. Robert got in.
"Did you go off the road?" the driver asked.
"I didn't see your car."
"No, I'm just walking." Robert stared at a pack of cigarettes on the dashboard.
"Got a spare smoke?"
"Help yourself."
Robert grabbed a cigarette and lit it.
"Looks like you got banged up a little," the man said, eyeing the cast on Robert's arm and his missing teeth.
"Got in a fight," Robert replied, thinking maybe it was true.
"No big deal."
"Where are you heading?"
"Mountainair."
"I can take you as far as the maintenance yard in town."
Robert nodded.
"That's cool. Got any coffee there?"
"The pot is always on." The driver dropped the transission into gear, lowered the blade, and began plowing his way toward Mountainair.
Robert puffed on the cigarette and tried to concentrate on where he was supposed to go after he got to town. Nothing registered. The voices were gone, replaced by a noise like radio static.
Close to town, with the sun just up and the glare off the snow bouncing into the sky, a state police car passed them. Robert turned his head to follow the car, thinking that if he got out and waited, the cop might come back and take him to jail. He shrugged off the thought and snorted. Cops were assholes.