The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [26]
“That’s not true.”
“Really? Sheriff Hewitt pays you a compliment and you can’t even accept it graciously. What is that all about?”
Clayton lowered his eyes.
“I’m not saying all this to hurt your feelings,” Grace said, reaching across the table for Clayton’s hand.
“I know,” Clayton said with a sigh. “I was short with Kerney on the phone yesterday. He accused me of trying to push his buttons. Said he expected me to treat him with civility in professional matters.”
“Well?”
“He’s right, I guess.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
Clayton smiled. “Think about stuff.”
“That’s a start.”
“But you did say one thing that’s wrong,” he said, squeezing her hand.
“What’s that?”
“I married you because you’re smart, beautiful, and I fell in love with you.”
Grace took his hand, kissed it, and placed it against her cheek. “I know that.”
Clayton’s pager beeped. He read the message, reached for the phone, dialed, and identified himself. As he listened, his eyes shifted away from Grace and his expression turned sour.
“I’ll be there in a few,” he said shortly, punching the off button and dropping the phone on the table.
“Is something wrong?” Grace asked.
“That was Moses,” Clayton said. “One of his security officers just reported finding Humphrey’s car in the parking lot behind the towers at the resort with an expired guest permit. I have to go.”
“That should be good news, shouldn’t it?” Grace said, responding to Clayton’s tone.
“It would be, if I hadn’t been so stupid,” Clayton replied. “I didn’t even think to look for the vehicle when I was at the resort. I just assumed Ulibarri drove away in it when he checked out.”
He snatched his car keys, gave Grace a quick kiss, and hurried out the door.
Chapter 4
While Grace and the children slept Clayton rose early, ate a quick breakfast, and went to meet the state police crime scene tech assigned to conduct an evidence search of Humphrey’s car. Clayton had made the request the night before, after having the Cougar towed from the resort to the state police impound lot in Alamogordo.
On the drive from his house he reminded himself to try to be friendlier to people.
The technician, Artie Gundersen, a retired San Diego police officer, was working on the Cougar when Clayton arrived. In his late forties, Gundersen was an outdoor enthusiast who had moved to New Mexico so he could hunt, fish, and camp without sharing the forests, streams, and wilderness with thirty million other Californians.
Sandy-haired, blue-eyed, lean, tanned, and fit, Gundersen looked like an aging surfer. Clayton forced a smile as he walked up to him. It felt phony.
“I just finished a visual inspection,” Gundersen said. “The owner was a pig. There’s gotta be ten years’ worth of fast-food garbage and trash on the floor-boards.”
Clayton glanced at the open trunk. “What’s back there?”
“It’s stuffed with paper sacks filled with dirty clothes, cardboard boxes of what looks like pure junk and who knows what else.”
“What kind of junk?”
“A broken Walkman, some trashed cassette tapes, some tools—stuff like that. We’ll take a closer look in a little while.” Gundersen pulled a pair of plastic gloves from his back pocket and gave them to Clayton. “Let’s start with the passenger compartment. I’ll take the driver’s side. Stop whenever you find something that piques your interest and tell me what you’ve got. Then bag it and tag it. And don’t smudge any surfaces with your gloves that might yield prints.”
Although it rankled to be cautioned like some rookie cop, Clayton took Gundersen’s direction without comment. He forced another smile and nodded.
“What do you hope to find?” Gundersen asked.
“Anything that puts my suspect in the vehicle would help, but finding the murder weapon would be nice. The victim was killed with a knife.”
Gundersen shrugged. “You never know. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Two hours later, the two men sat in Gundersen’s office and agreed they’d gotten fairly lucky after all. The pocket of a wadded-up threadbare