Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [39]
He turned the corner on a residential street near a shuttered building that had once served as the town library, and caught sight of a roadrunner scooting around the rear end of a Motor Transportation Division patrol car parked in front of an occupied house.
Part of the New Mexico Department of Public Safety, the MTD primarily enforced federal and state safety statutes of commercial motor vehicles, including hazardous-material and drug-interdiction inspections. Although its officers had full police powers, most of the agency’s resources were allocated to traffic safety, commercial vehicle over-the-road compliance, and drug trafficking.
Farther on Kerney passed another occupied house with a Hidalgo County sheriff’s squad car parked outside. He was on the tail end of his walk, heading down the hill in the direction of the town center, when his cell phone rang.
“I’ve got information on that license plate,” Flavio Sapian said after Kerney answered. “The vehicle is registered to Jerome Mendoza.”
“Tell me about Mr. Mendoza,” Kerney said.
“It’s interesting stuff. Mendoza is an MTD officer assigned to the Lordsburg Port of Entry. Single, age twenty-eight, he’s got a home address listed in Playas.”
“I just passed by his house,” Kerney said. “What’s his connection to the smelter?”
“Unknown. I’m going to call his supervisor after we hang up.”
“I suggest you hold off on that,” Kerney said. “If Mendoza is involved in any wrongdoing, you’d be giving him a heads-up.”
“Why wait?” Sapian asked. “As it stands, I have no evidence that proves a crime was committed, nor can I actually put Mendoza at the scene of the accident.”
“I understand that,” Kerney said. “But for now you might want to treat him as a person of interest, until you have a few more facts.”
“Such as?”
“The victim’s identity, for starters,” Kerney said. “What if it turns up that Mendoza knew the victim? You’d look pretty foolish if you didn’t have that information before approaching him. When will you know something?”
“Tomorrow,” Sapian replied.
“That’s soon enough,” Kerney said. “If he’s clean, it leaves his reputation intact, and if he’s dirty, well, that’s a whole different matter.”
“I hear you, Chief,” Sapian said. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
Back at the apartment Johnny was nowhere to be found. Grateful for the solitude, Kerney read several chapters in the first volume of Gabriel García Márquez’s planned autobiographical trilogy before rolling into bed. He wondered what kind of story Márquez might fashion about the town of Playas. Surely it would be filled myth and magic, enriched with intrigue and imagined dreams.
He was almost asleep when he heard someone pounding on the apartment door. Thinking it was Johnny, Kerney opened up, and two men in suits flashed U.S. Customs agent shields and invited themselves inside.
“You’re Kevin Kerney, right?” an agent with a hook nose asked as he closed the door behind him. He was fortyish, dark skinned, and spoke with a slight Spanish accent.
Kerney nodded. The man’s partner, a blond-headed, blue-eyed, baby-faced man, made a quick inspection of the apartment and returned to the living room.
“He’s alone,” the man said.
Barefoot, wearing only shorts and a T-shirt, Kerney held up his hand to stop any further questioning. “If you know my name, you probably also know I’m a cop. Let me put some clothes on, and then we can talk.”
Hook Nose nodded and said, “We’ll watch, if you don’t mind.”
“Come along,” Kerney said, “if that kind of thing turns you on.”
In the bedroom Kerney fished his badge case and police credentials out of the pocket of his jeans and tossed them to Hook Nose before dressing. He looked them over as Kerney pulled on jeans and a shirt. Back in the living