The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [107]
“In Roswell, just outside the old air force base.”
“Were you able to read the plate?”
“Not with these tired old eyes,” Kerney replied.
“What do you want to do?” Clayton asked.
“Find out who our friend is,” Kerney said.
They talked it over. Kerney suggested a traffic stop, using a state police patrol officer, who could ID the driver. Clayton agreed, adding that he thought it best to wait until they were back in Lincoln County. Kerney brought up the idea that their “friend” might not be very friendly at all. Clayton conceded the point and imagined that it might be best to use two uniforms to make the stop, doing it casually but treating it as high risk. Kerney felt that would work if they had the state police come up behind the Camaro while a second unit, preferably from a different department, passed by in the opposite direction, and then stopped to render assistance.
They crossed the county line with the blue Camaro still hanging back behind them. Clayton got on the horn to a state police officer and a patrol deputy, explained the situation, told them what he wanted to do, and where he wanted it to go down. They gave him a twenty-minute ETA.
“What do I write the driver for?” New Mexico State Police Officer Sonia Raney asked.
“I’ll speed up when you’re in position,” Clayton said. “That should get you a legal stop.”
“You said high risk but casual, right?”
“Ten-four, whatever that is,” Clayton replied.
Officer Raney laughed.
“I’ll do a thirty-second count after you pull him over,” Deputy Dillingham said to Raney by radio. “Then I’ll come into view and swing around behind you.”
“Don’t run Code Three,” Clayton cautioned.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Dillingham replied. “I can’t act casual with my emergency lights on.”
“Let me know when you’re in position,” Clayton said.
There were very few cars on the two-lane highway that ran from the Hondo turnoff to Carrizozo. Fidel kept his distance, letting the cop’s police vehicle become a speck on the pavement up ahead. On the curves he sped up to regain visual contact. Through the village of Lincoln, the cop slowed, but tourist traffic on the road allowed Fidel to remain inconspicuous. He looked at the old buildings fronting the highway, wondering why anybody would want to stop and look at them. The place had nothing to offer: no bar, no gas station, not even a roadside diner or a convenience store.
In the hills past Lincoln the road curved and rose. The cop picked up speed, traveling well above the posted limit. Fidel hit the accelerator, and topped out on a plateau to find the cop nowhere in sight. He heard a siren behind him and saw flashing emergency lights in his rearview mirror. Had he been made?
He dropped down to the speed limit and watched the vehicle come up fast, hoping it would pass him. It was a black-and-white state police car. It slowed and flashed its lights in a signal for him to pull over.
He thought about taking off, decided not to, eased to the shoulder, and watched the squad car roll to a stop behind him. The cop, a woman, was talking on her radio, probably running his plate. He rolled down his window, killed the engine, took his semiautomatic out of the shoulder holster, stuck it under the seat, and waited.
He froze when a sheriff’s vehicle came around a bend toward him, thinking it was the Indian cop. But it wasn’t running with emergency lights or traveling very fast, and the only occupant was an Anglo uniformed deputy. The vehicle slowed, made a U-turn and pulled in behind the patrol vehicle.
Fidel let out a sigh, got his driver’s license from his wallet, searched the glove box for his registration and insurance card, and waited.
Officer Raney keyed her microphone. “The car is registered to Fidel Narvaiz,” she said to Clayton, who was parked up the road by an abandoned building that had once housed a bar with a bad reputation.
“Use extreme caution,” Clayton replied, “and let me know the ID of the driver as soon as you can.”
Raney dismounted her unit while Dillingham took up his backup position at the right rear fender.