"Right."
Wilier took a swig of coffee. "That all?"
"Give me a body and I'll tell you more."
"We're working on it. K-9?"
A nervous, carrot-haired man hastily squared some papers: Wheatley, from Albuquerque.
"We took six dogs up to the area in question on June fourth-"
Wilier interrupted. "Two days later, after there'd been a hard rain that got all the washes running, swept the Maze free of tracks or scent trails." Wilier paused, staring aggressively at Wheatley. "I mention that for the record."
"It's a remote area, hard to get to." Wheatley's voice had ridden up a notch.
"Go on."
"On June fourth, with three handlers from the Albuquerque K-9 tracking division, the dogs picked up a scent. . ." He looked up. "I've got maps here if you want to-"
"Just give the report."
Picked up a possible ground scent at the scene. They followed it up the canyon and up onto the rim of Mesa de los Viejos, where it was noted that there was insufficient ground cover to hold a good scent-"
"Not to mention that half inch of rain."
Wheatley paused.
"Proceed."
"The dogs were unable to maintain tracking. Three subsequent attempts were made-"
"Thank you, Mr. Wheatley, we get the picture. And now?"
"We've got the dogs on cadaver-sniffing duty. We're working a grid, starting from the crime scene and using GPS to cover the canyon floors. We're working simultaneously deeper into the Maze and down toward the river. Next we'll go up on top."
"Which brings us to the river search. John?"
"The river's low and slow. We've got divers going into all the deep holes and snags, working downstream. So far nothing-no personal effects or remains. We're almost at Abiquiu lake. It doesn't look likely the perp disposed of the body in the river."
Wilier nodded.
"Scene-of-Crime?"
It was Calhoun from Albuquerque, the best guy in the state. At least they'd lucked out on the forensics. Calhoun, unlike the K-9 team, had gotten his ass up to the site at first light.
"We did a complete particle and fiber search, which was a real bear, Lieutenant, given that we're basically working in a dirty sandbox. We picked up anything that looked artificial within a hundred feet of the killing. We also sifted a second site, 220 yards to the northeast, where it appears a burro was standing- we found his droppings. We also looked at a third point on the bluffs above."
"A third point?"
"I'll get to that in a minute, Lieutenant. The killer covered things up pretty good, erased his tracks, but we got a fair amount of hair, artificial fibers, dried foodstuffs. No latents.
Two M855 rounds."
"Now we're talking." Wilier had heard about the bullets but not the results.
"These are standard NATO rounds, 5.56mm, metal-jacketed, lead alloy core with a steel penetrator, mass of sixty-two grains. Instantly recognizable because of the green tip. Our
shooter was probably using an Ml6 or similar military-type assault weapon."
"Could be ex-military."
"Not necessarily. There are a lot of gun enthusiasts who like these weapons too." He consulted his notes. "One round was embedded in the ground; we found the entry channel-gave us an idea of the angle. The killer was shooting from above, thirty-five degrees off the horizontal. With that we were able to nail the location of the shooter: an ambush point on the rim. That was the third point you asked about. We found some partial boot prints, couple of cotton fibers from what might have been a bandanna or thin shirt. No shells. We had a hell of a time getting up to the shooter's vantage point. The guy knew the country and must've planned the killing ahead of time."
"Suggests a local."
"Or someone who scoped it out pretty carefully."
«T T • -S»
Hair?
"None at point three."
"And the second bullet?"
"Deformed and fragmented by passing through the victim. Traces of blood on it, matched the blood in the sand. Again, no latents."
"Anything else?"
"Wool and cotton fibers at the site of the killing-we're still analyzing-and a human hair with root. Golden brown, straight, Caucasian."
"From the killer?"
"Could be anyone: victim, killer, one of your cops. Maybe even me." He grinned, ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Won't be the first time. We're getting DNA on it, see if it matches the blood. Might need to get some hair from your guys for elimination purposes."
"Broadbent, the guy who found the body? He's got light brown, straight hair."
"Might need a sample from him, too."
Wilier thanked Calhoun, turned to his deputy. "Hernandez?"
"I checked out Broadbent's story. Seems he rides around a lot in the high mesas."
"So what was he doing in the Maze?" Wilier asked.
"He says he was taking a shortcut up Joaquin Canyon."
"A long cut, you mean."
"Says he likes the ride. Says it's nice country."
Wilier grunted. "I thought he was a vet. Vets are supposed to be busy."
"He's got a partner, a guy named Shane McBride."
Wilier grunted again. He hadn't liked Broadbent from the beginning and he had a feeling that the guy was holding out on him. It was asking a lot to believe he just happened to be up there when the man was shot. "Hernandez, I want you to ask around, see if Broadbent's shown any recent interest in that area up there-prospecting, pot hunting, that sort of thing."
"Yes, sir."
You consider him a suspect?" asked the D.A. He's what you'd call a 'person of interest.' '
was a guffaw from the D.A. "Yeah, right.
No wonder they couldn’t convict, anyone ,these days, with guy’s like that in th D.A’S
office. He looked around. “Any bright ideas"
Calhoun said, “This is a bit out of my field, but I’m curious - is there any permanent water up in those canyons?
"Idon'tknow.Why?"
"It'd be a great place to grow marijuana”
"Noted. Hernandez?"
"I'll look into it, Lieutenant."
15
WEED MADDOX WAS just rising from his hiding place in the chamisa when he heard a sound from the house-the shrill of a telephone.
He hastily crouched back down and raised his binoculars. She had gotten up from the table and was walking toward the phone in the living room, disappearing around the corner. He waited. She must have answered the phone and was talking.
At the corner of the house he could see where the phone lines came in. He had rejected the idea of cutting them, because a lot of houses these days had private alarm systems that notified a firm offsite when the phone lines went down. He cursed softly to himself; he couldn't move on her until she was off the phone. He waited, five minutes.. . Ten. The stocking on his head itched, the latex gloves made his hands hot and sticky. She reappeared in the living room, coffee cup in one hand, holding a cordless to her ear with the other, nodding and talking-still on the phone. He felt a rising impatience, which he tried to quell by closing his eyes and reciting his mantra-to no effect. He was already too keyed up.
He clutched the Clock. The unpleasant smell of latex filled his nostrils. He watched her take two turns around the living room, talking away and laughing, her blond hair swinging. She picked up a brush and began brushing out her long hair, head tilted to one side. Now that was a sight to see, the long golden hair sprung out by static, backlit by the sun as she passed a window. She shifted the phone to the other ear, brushed the other side, her hips swinging with the effort. He felt a tingle of anticipation as she went into the kitchen. From his vantage point he could no longer see her, but he hoped she was hanging up the phone. He was right: she reappeared in the living room without the phone, went toward the front hall, and disappeared again-into a bathroom, it looked like.
Now.
He rose, scurried across the lawn to the patio door, flattened himself against the side of the house. He took a long, flexible shim out of his pocket, began working it in between the door and the frame. He couldn't see into the house now, but he would be inside in less than sixty seconds, before she got out of the John. When she emerged, he'd get her.