Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [126]
Leo’s eyes widened. He read the report on Walter Shaw and grunted in disappointment. “There’s nothing here that tells me Shaw is a bad guy. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything. What do you want to do?”
“Talk to the saddlemaker and show him Martinez’s photograph. Ask around in Virden to learn if Martinez has ever been seen up there. Try to discover if there is a pattern to Shaw’s visits to his farm. If the two of them are moving product, I’m guessing he’s using his property to warehouse it.”
Leo pulled himself out of his chair. “I’ll go with you to make it official. We’ll take my unit.”
They picked up Martinez’s records on the way out the door. He had a DWI conviction and one arrest for battery against a household member, which had been dropped when the victim refused to press charges.
Leo bypassed the cutoff to Virden and drove straight to Duncan through desert breaks that hid the Gila River from view. There wasn’t much to the town. The mountains beyond were uninviting shadows in the distance. Railroad tracks bordered the main highway, which ran through the river valley toward some low-lying westerly hills. Along the main strip were a smattering of local businesses and a much larger number of vacant buildings with fading signs and chipped stucco exteriors. An old Korean War-era air force jet mounted on a tall arched pedestal overlooked the town from the knob of a small hill. Below, house trailers, manufactured homes, and pitched-roof cottages sat on dusty, dirt-packed lots sheltered by occasional trees. Only a glimpse of the shallow valley could be seen as it spread toward humpback mountains.
From the main strip a hand-painted billboard planted on the side of the road directed them to Matt Thornton’s saddlemaking establishment. A quarter mile off the pavement on a gravel road, they arrived at a tree-shaded house and adjacent shop. Surrounded by a lawn, it was a cool, inviting oasis, but no one was there to greet them.
At a local eatery Kerney asked the proprietor, an older woman with dyed blond hair, if she knew where Thornton might be. She told him Thornton was the president of the Greenlee County Rodeo Association, and if he wasn’t in his shop, he’d most likely be at the county fairgrounds and racetrack just outside of town.
The access road to the fairground was lined with trees and the entrance gate stood open. Matt Thornton was in the office behind the rodeo arena and covered bleachers. A shade under six feet tall, he had curly graying hair and a droopy mustache that almost matched Leo’s in size.
“What can I do for you, gents?” Thornton asked, eyeing the shield and sidearm clipped to Leo’s belt.
Leo made the introductions and after handshakes all around, he showed Thornton the driver’s license photo of Buster Martinez.
“Have you ever seen him in your shop?” he asked.
Thornton studied the picture. “Yep. He’s been in once or twice, but not for a while. Who is he?”
“Possibly the man who broke into your shop and took the saddle you reported stolen late last year,” Leo replied.
“I’ll be damned. Have you got my saddle back?”
“Not yet,” Kerney said. “When did you last see him?”
“Now that I think of it, before the break-in at the shop. In fact, I was finishing the saddle at the time.”
“Do you know Walt Shaw?” Kerney asked. “He grew up in Virden.”
“Can’t say that I do. I’ve only been here ten years. Came down from Wyoming to get away from the harsh winters.”
“I’ll let you know when we have your saddle,” Leo said. Outside the office he chuckled. “Don’t you just love dumb crooks?”
“I do,” Kerney replied.
They made their way to Virden, past deep green fields, pastures, and the lush river-bottom bosque that lounged against a spate of rocky hills. Kerney had Leo slow down as they passed Shaw’s farm.
“I didn’t get many votes in this part of the county,” Leo said. “Folks around here