The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [31]
Kerney looked at the five names. They were all new to him. “How many of these people knew Anna Marie?”
“As far as I know, just Cassie,” Osterman said, pointing to the first name on the list.
“Is Bedlow her maiden name?”
“No, it was Norvell back in college.”
Kerney folded the napkin and put it in his shirt pocket. “I may need to speak to you again.”
“If you must, please call me at home,” Osterman said, rising from his chair. “I’m new here, and I’d rather not have to deal with the police at work. It doesn’t create a good impression.”
“I assured the people in personnel that you are not under any suspicion,” Kerney replied.
“That doesn’t stop office gossip,” Osterman replied, “and you haven’t reassured me.”
“Thanks for taking the time to talk,” Kerney said.
Osterman nodded curtly and left in a hurry. Kerney followed suit, not feeling overly optimistic that he was making any progress, but pleased to have some new ground to cover. He’d start with trying to locate and talk to Jeremiah Perrett.
When Clayton struck out on picking up Ulibarri’s trail through a canvass of car dealerships and rental companies, he made the rounds of the few available public transportation services, which were limited to a shuttle service to El Paso, one taxicab company, a bus station, and the regional airport served by a small puddle-jumping airline. Ulibarri hadn’t used any of them. So he was still in the area or he’d gotten a ride out of town.
Back at the office, Clayton worked alongside Quinones and Dillingham, calling what seemed to be an endless list of places where Ulibarri could be staying. As a tourist and vacation destination, Ruidoso boasted lodging options ranging from tent and RV campgrounds for the budget-minded to swanky resorts for the well-heeled. In between there were motels, hotels, cabins, privately owned houses and condos, bed-and-breakfast operations, and apartments available for short-term and long-term rental. Beyond the town limits but within reasonable driving distances were villages and towns with even more possibilities.
It was drudge work that frequently meant leaving messages on answering machines at property management and realty companies, or getting no response whatsoever from the mom-and-pop cabin-rental operators who only took reservations during certain hours of the day. After lunch, Paul Hewitt jumped in to help with the calls and sent Clayton out to start making the rounds of places that couldn’t be reached by telephone.
There were cabins off the main roads in canyons sheltered by tall pines, cabins perched above the river, hillside cabins on stilts, cabins that hadn’t yet opened for the season, and cabins sprinkled along and behind the main roads through the city. He stopped at property management firms, tracked down real estate people on their mobile phones, and met with resident condo and town-house managers.
After several hours, with most of his list checked off, Clayton called in. Dispatch passed along more lodging establishments Hewitt, Quinones, and Dillingham had been unable to reach by phone. One of them, Casey’s Cozy Cabins, was close by Clayton’s location.
At the bottom of a hill two blocks behind the main tourist strip, six rental units bordered a circular gravel driveway just off a paved street. Each cabin had a stone chimney; a covered porch; a shingled, pitched roof; and weathered wood siding. Old evergreen trees shaded the structures, and barbecue grills on steel posts were planted in front of every porch. All the parking spaces in front of the cabins were empty.
Clayton cruised by, parked on the shoulder of the road, and walked up to the compound. A hand-carved sign hanging from the porch on the cabin closest to the pavement announced the name of the business. On the porch railing were pots filled with ratty-looking artificial flowers.
Clayton knocked at the door and an older man, probably in his