The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [103]
From his hallway desk Clayton put in calls to the people Kerney wanted to talk to while Kerney used his cell phone to ask to have Greer fingerprinted and provide some hair samples to be sent down for comparison to the evidence collected at the Ulibarri crime scene.
Page Seton, Hiram Tully’s granddaughter, and her parents, Morris and Lily, were traveling out of state to attend a wedding in West Texas. Hiram Tully had been moved from the hospital to a state-run rehabilitation center in Roswell.
While Clayton called the rehab center to confirm that Tully could see them, Kerney stood with his back against the hallway wall thinking that the working conditions at the sheriff’s department were abysmal. Clayton had no privacy, and the staffers from other county offices passing by had to step sideways behind Clayton’s chair in order to get around him.
He didn’t fault Paul Hewitt; sheriffs in rural counties pretty much always got the short end of the stick when it came to divvying up tax dollars.
The trip to Roswell with Clayton started out in silence. They passed the city park on the outskirts of town, a rather bleak-looking place bordering the highway that consisted of a poorly landscaped nine-hole golf course, some ball fields, picnic tables, and a scattering of trees. Soon after, Clayton slowed and pointed at the burned-out fruit stand up ahead.
“Want to take a look at the crime scene?” he asked.
“I would,” Kerney replied.
Clayton pulled off the highway and together they walked to the building.
“At least the mud has dried up,” Clayton said as he turned on his flashlight to show Kerney where Montoya’s body had been found.
“It must have been a bitch to excavate the remains,” Kerney said, peering into the cold-storage space from the doorway.
“Yeah,” Clayton replied. “Why would Norvell, if he is the killer, put her body here?”
“I’ve thought a lot about that,” Kerney said, stepping back from the doorway. “Let’s say Montoya meets him at the shopping mall in Santa Fe and agrees to go someplace private where they can talk. Norvell takes her to some secluded spot and when he realizes she won’t be dissuaded from unmasking him, he decides to kill her, except he doesn’t have a gun, a knife, or the balls to strangle her. So he punches her, knocks her out, and uses a tire iron to kill her, hitting her not once, but twice. I asked for a forensic analysis of Montoya’s skull. It showed that she suffered a hairline crack to the jaw along with two blows to the head consistent with a tire iron or similar object.”
“But that still doesn’t answer my question,” Clayton said.
“I’m getting to it,” Kerney said as he walked to the back of the building with Clayton following along. “So now he’s got a dead body in his car, a long road trip ahead of him, and a big problem: what to do with the body. On top of that, he’s probably not thinking very straight and is paranoid as hell about getting stopped by the police. He can’t just dump Montoya out at the side of the road, or bury her on his own property. That would be too risky. So he thinks of places he knows where it might be safe to hide the body before he gets home.”
“Even if you can prove Norvell knew about the abandoned fruit stand, have you got probable cause?” Clayton asked.
“That’s the missing piece I need, according to the district attorney,” Kerney replied, stepping back to look at the shell of the fruit stand. A parked car behind the structure wouldn’t be seen from the highway.
He swung around and looked at the mountains. There were no houses or trailers in sight. “Norvell probably passed this place often during the years it sat unused. Maybe he even knew that Tully had no plans to reopen it. Or maybe he thought he’d come back later and move the body, but decided not to when time passed and the case turned cold.”
“Have you seen enough?” Clayton asked.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Clayton locked his gaze on Kerney’s face. “One question: why did you back me as lead investigator with the