The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [28]
“Good idea,” Hewitt said. “What if Ulibarri isn’t traveling?”
“I’ve thought about that, and I’ve asked Sergeant Quinones and Von Dillingham to start phoning area motel and hotels, ASAP.”
“Work it hard,” Hewitt said, waving Clayton out of his office.
Kerney started a new day still looking for the “doctor” who had called Walter Montoya asking for Anna Marie. Yesterday, he’d checked with the licensing boards for physicians, psychologists, counselors, chiropractors, optometrists, and practitioners of Chinese medicine. The few names he got wound up as dead ends.
After making no progress at the state nursing board, he put in a quick appearance at the office and then paid a visit to the state department of education, asking about any recent appointments of a male PhD in area school districts. He scored another zero.
He moved on to the local colleges, hoping perhaps a midyear faculty vacancy or an administrative position had been filled by someone matching the scanty information Walter Montoya had provided. That failed, so he went back to the office and expanded his search by phone, calling colleges in Albuquerque and some nearby area branch campuses, on the chance his unknown party commuted to work from Santa Fe, as more and more people did these days. The hunt fizzled out quickly.
The more Kerney worked to find the mystery caller, the more he began to realize that he still had a lot of ground to cover. The number of specialties, professions, and disciplines offering doctoral degrees had mushroomed over the last thirty years. There seemed to be PhD programs for virtually every occupation. Academia had apparently become a head-count growth industry, much like the private prisons that were springing up all over the country.
He called churches looking for newly installed reverend doctors, local high-tech think tanks asking about recently hired scientists, and state and local civil service personnel offices, hoping to locate any PhDs who were newly employed in the public sector. Zip, zilch, zero, nada.
He dropped the phone in the cradle and grunted in frustration as Helen Muiz, his office manager, walked in.
“My, my,” Helen said. “Should I warn the troops that you’ll be short-tempered and testy today?”
“You are cursed with a wicked sense of humor, Mrs. Muiz,” Kerney said with a laugh.
In her fifties, Helen was a grandmother who didn’t look like one. Always well dressed, today Helen wore tan slacks and a red silk top. Years ago she’d served as Kerney’s secretary when he was chief of detectives. He was delighted to have her working with him once again.
“I like to think of it as a survival skill,” Helen said, “made necessary by working in a male-dominated, testosterone-charged environment. That issue aside, Mr. Walter Montoya is waiting to see you. He says it’s about his sister.”
“Send him in,” Kerney said.
Montoya entered, looking a bit sheepish. “First, I’d like to apologize about yesterday.”
Kerney stepped from behind his desk and raised a hand to cut him off. “There’s no need. I wish the world was more perfect, Mr. Montoya, so that nobody had to go through what you and your family have experienced.”
Montoya nodded and gave Kerney an opened envelope. “This came in yesterday’s mail at my parents’ house.”
Kerney read the return address. He’d spent hours trying to come up with the information that had just been dropped in the palm of his hand. He waved the envelope at Montoya and smiled. “I take it this is from the man who called looking for your sister?”
“Yes.”
Kerney nodded. It got him one step closer to talking with someone who might have new information. “This could be very helpful.”
Montoya shrugged, paused, and spoke slowly, the words coming with difficulty. “Or not, I suppose, given what few facts you have to work with.”
“If this doesn’t pan out,” Kerney said, tapping the envelope with a finger, “we won’t stop looking for your sister’s killer,” Kerney said. “I promise you that.