Everyone Dies

Chapter 13

F ast-moving clouds drifted over the Jemez Mountains, diffusing the glare of the sun in short bursts, revealing it again and again as shafts of brilliant light cut through the billowing white cumulus caps. Not yet low enough on the horizon to light up the sky with colors, it studded the tips and underbellies of the clouds with a soft pink hue. Passing shadows dotting the basin gave way to patches of dense blue sky that turned hot white as the sun broke through, lighting up a distant peak and exposing a carmine-colored hillside in high relief.

The breathtaking vista pushed all the fears and worries of the week from Sara’s mind. She felt lighthearted as she walked Andy and Gloria through the clutter of what would one day be her very first house, showing them the footprint for each room. The crew had started laying the interior adobe walls, and for the first time Sara could see actual room dimensions rather than have to imagine them from the plans.

She’d brought her camera, and as she took snapshots, she excitedly pointed out window placements, fireplace locations, how the entry alcove would give way to the great room, and the view she would have from the kitchen window over the sink.

Finally, she took them out on the recently poured slab for the portal that ran the length of the house, where they stood and looked down on the canyon below. A huge cottonwood glistened pale green along the edge of an arroyo that fanned out across the canyon floor. A slash of exposed limestone glimmered in the escarpment that hid the railroad spur from view.

“We’ll hear trains,” Sara said, pointing at the ridgeline that hid the tracks from view.

“I love the sound of trains,” Gloria said.

“You’ll have clear night skies and the Milky Way above you,” Andy said.

“And coyotes howling,” Kerney added, squeezing Sara’s hand.

They stopped talking momentarily to watch a small herd of antelope warily enter the canyon, led by a male who first scanned for danger before beginning to graze. The females and juveniles quickly followed suit.

Sara adjusted the camera lens to zoom in on the herd and snapped the shutter.

“How beautiful,” Gloria said in a whisper. “It’s paradise.”

They walked the perimeter of the house. The curving wall for the courtyard patio had been poured, and Sara showed Gloria where she planned to put the planting beds, how the flagstone walkway would veer off from the main path to an adjacent patio that would be accessed through French doors.

“With a pergola, it would be a perfect, sheltered place to breakfast,” she said, eyeing Kerney. “We’d have a lovely view of the pasture, horse barn, the hill beyond, and the tips of the mountains in the distance.”

Kerney laughed, put his arm around Sara’s waist, and patted her tummy. “Okay, we’ll build the pergola,” he said as the early evening shadows began to lengthen. He turned to Andy and Gloria. “Are you up for a short drive? I want to show you something.”

“What’s that?” Andy asked.

“A special place.”

The foursome piled into Sara’s vehicle. Kerney drove up the hill past the spot were he’d buried Soldier, wound through the rolling grassland and into a draw bracketed by a low, rocky ridgeline, and pulled to a stop where marsh grass and cattails encircled a pond at the foot of a hillock.

“My God,” Andy said, climbing out of the SUV, “you’ve got live water.”

“Which has never run dry,” Kerney said, following Andy to the edge of the pool.

“Unbelievable,” Andy said. Any constant source of live water away from the rivers and streams was a rarity to be treasured in arid New Mexico.

“A hacienda stood here two hundred years ago,” Kerney said, pointing to the rubble of the rock footings. “For a long time, it was the main stop on the cartage road from Galisteo to Santa Fe.”

“And it’s on your land?” Andy asked.

Kerney nodded and pointed at animal tracks in the soft earth at the edge of the water. “Yep, and it comes with a resident bobcat, who hunts rabbits here at night. I’ve found fresh tracks and kill sites just about every time I’ve come out here.”

He watched Gloria and Sara kneel down to examine pieces of partially exposed petrified wood scattered under the base of an ancient willow tree on the other side of the pond.

Suddenly, Sara stood upright and looked at Kerney with a serene smile on her face. “It’s time to go,” she said.

“We’ve got a good twenty minutes before sunset,” Kerney replied, glancing at the sky.

“It’s time to go to the hospital,” she said as she patted her belly and moved toward the SUV.

“Right now?”

“I think so.”

Kerney gave his cell phone to Andy and raced to Sara’s side. “Call the doctor. Press speed dial, then nine. Tell her we’re on the way.”

Sara laughed. “Slow down, cowboy. I don’t need you four-wheeling me over hill and dale. We’ve got time.”

“Let’s go,” Kerney said, easing Sara into the vehicle, not realizing that both Andy and Gloria were already on board.

He ground the gears putting the vehicle into motion, and Andy laughed at him from the backseat.

Samuel Green left his car on a point beside the railroad tracks where the sand looked too deep to pull through, checked his watch to time himself, and started walking at a fast pace in the direction of Kerney’s property. He ducked through the barbed-wire fence, scrambled to the top of the ridgeline, saw the outline of a pickup truck at the construction site, and dropped quickly to the ground.

He slipped off the backpack, took out a pair of binoculars and carefully scanned the vehicle. It wasn’t Kerney’s truck. He wondered if security had been hired to watch the place at night after the crew went home. That would put his plan in jeopardy.

After making sure the truck was unoccupied, Green scanned the building site and horse barn several times for movement before deciding the pickup had probably been left behind by one of the workers.

He waited a few more minutes before he moved quickly off the ridgeline, loosening small rocks that cascaded down the slope in front of him. At the base of the incline he zigzagged in a lope across the rangeland, using small stands of pinon trees for cover, keeping his eyes fixed on the truck and house just in case someone came into view.

Green stopped at the last grove of trees about two hundred yards from the truck and used the binoculars again to search for activity before moving into the open pasture. The dry grass cracked under his feet. It would burn nicely.

Halfway across the field he heard the sound of a train clattering over the tracks, followed by the blast of its horn. Over his right shoulder the headlights of a car appeared at the top of the hill behind the horse barn. Green wheeled and ran back for the cover of the trees, cursing his bad luck and hoping he hadn’t been spotted.

“Oh, the sound of a train,” Gloria Baca said from the backseat as they passed Soldier’s grave again. “How lovely.”

At the top of the hill, Kerney saw the figure of a man freeze in the pasture, turn, and start running for the trees. He pressed the accelerator.

“He’ll make the trees before we can reach him,” Sara said, reaching for her camera. “Stop the car.”

“We’ve got to get you to the hospital.”

“Stop the damn car, Kerney,” Sara said as she set the camera on automatic zoom.

Kerney hit the brakes. From the backseat he heard Andy calling out his troops on the cell phone. Sara leaned out the passenger window and took pictures just before the man reached the cover of some trees.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said pulling her head back into the car.

“Drop me off at my truck,” Andy said, as Kerney drove down the hill.

“Don’t chase him,” Kerney said.

“I’ve got units rolling code three,” Andy said. “I’ll head for the highway and coordinate from there.”

“Have someone meet the train in Santa Fe,” Kerney said.

“Why the train?” Andy asked as he jumped out of the SUV.

Kerney watched in frustration as the distant figure of the running man disappeared over the ridgeline. “There’s no reason for the engineer to sound his horn.

The nearest railroad crossing is several miles from here. Something caught his attention, and the runner is heading for the tracks.”

“Consider it done,” Andy said, as he held out his hand. “Give me the camera, so I can get the film developed.”

Sara passed it through the open window. “Don’t you dare lose my pictures of the house.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Andy said as he gave her Kerney’s cell phone and reached for his own. “Gloria will stay with you.”

“Good,” Sara replied, reaching back for Gloria’s hand to give it a squeeze. “At least I’ll have someone with me who knows what I’m going through.”

A contraction made her catch her breath and let go of Gloria’s hand. “Start driving, Kerney,” she said. “And this time, please go a little faster.”

“Catch this guy, Andy,” Kerney said as he hit the gas, leaving Baca standing by his pickup, choking on the dust thrown up by the rear tires.

Three squad cars with flashing emergency lights sped by as Samuel Green impatiently waited at a traffic light near the Interstate that would take him back to Santa Fe. It wasn’t the cops that worried him; he’d ripped a gash in the palm of his hand climbing through the barbed wire fence to get to his car. A deep cut that bled freely, it had soaked through the rag he’d wrapped around it.

The light turned green and he drove to town with his hand throbbing in pain. At the hospital parking lot, he inspected the wound. It ran from just above the wrist to his forefinger, and he’d lost a patch of skin. He needed stitches and a tetanus shot for sure.

He clenched the rag in his hand to slow the bleeding and thought things through. The car at the ranch had been too far away for anyone in it to get a clear look at him. Besides that, the light had faded and he’d been running with his back to the vehicle, so nobody saw his face. Finally, the cops would be looking for Olsen anyway, not him.

But his plan to burn Kerney’s ranch and bring him out in the open was now off the table. He couldn’t risk going back. He’d have to find another way to learn where Kerney was hiding out.

He decided to calm down, stop thinking about Kerney, and get his hand fixed. He would use a fictitious name and pay cash for the hospital bill, so he couldn’t be traced.

Inside the urgent care center, a nurse looked at his hand and took him directly to an exam room. She cleaned and inspected the wound as he fed her a line of bull about cutting himself as he was taking down an old fence on his mother’s property.

She shook her head sympathetically, placed his hand in a bowl of peroxide solution, let it sit there for a few minutes, and then elevated it on a tray table. “When was your last tetanus shot?” she asked.

“Years ago when I was a kid,” Green replied.

“Leave your hand where it is,” the nurse said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to give you a shot and stitch you up.”

Sara was taken directly from the admitting area to labor and delivery, where the doctor was waiting. Dr. Carol Jojoya finished her exam of Sara, stripped off her gloves, and stepped back from the bed. Jojoya had a slightly dimpled chin, thick, curly dark hair, impish brown eyes, and an easy, calming manner.

“I think we’ll keep you overnight,” Jojoya said to Sara.

“What’s wrong?” Kerney asked, jitters getting the best of him.

“Nothing,” Jojoya said with a reassuring smile. Her eyes held a hint of amusement. “The baby isn’t quite ready to make his appearance, but there’s no sense in having Sara go home just to turn around again and come back.”

“You’re telling us everything?” Kerney asked, as he stepped over to Sara, who shook her head to signal that he was acting silly.

“My only concerns,” Jojoya said, “are that Sara has a narrow pelvis, and is about to deliver her first child. Sometimes those factors can make childbirth a bit difficult on the mother.”

“How difficult?” Kerney demanded.

Jojoya laughed. “Not to worry. Your wife is very physically fit. It’s just that first births can take a little more time. At the worst, your wife will probably be exhausted and sore when it’s all over.”

“That’s it?” Kerney asked.

“That sounds like enough to me,” Sara said.

“Relax, Chief Kerney,” Jojoya said. “Everything is normal. We’ll leave Sara here and wait for nature to take its course.”

“I want her in a private room,” Kerney said.

Jojoya shook her head. “She doesn’t get a room until she’s done her job.”

“Then I’ll stay with her,” Kerney said.

“Go away, Kerney,” Sara said with a wave of a hand. “Just post a security guard nearby and get back here in time to meet me in the delivery room.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kerney said, “and it will be a police officer who’s stationed outside, not a security guard.”

“What on earth for?” Jojoya asked, her voice ringing with surprise.

“Don’t ask him to explain,” Sara said. “Just accept it as a good thing to do.”

Jojoya looked at the couple, decided not to probe, and patted the edge of the bed. “I’ll be around,” she said. “Just press the buzzer when the contractions start up again.”

Jojoya left and Kerney leaned over and kissed Sara’s cheek. “You’re all right?”

“Peachy,” Sara replied, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“I’ll arrange a few things and be back in a flash.”

Sara gave him a weak smile and waved him away with her hand.

In the area just outside Sara’s exam room, Kerney met with Gloria Baca, filled her in on Sara’s condition, and made arrangements by cell phone to post one officer at the hospital and have another take Gloria home.

Gloria went in to see how Sara was doing, and Kerney used the time to call Andy Baca.

“So, are you a father?” Andy asked.

“Not yet,” Kerney replied. “It may be some time before the baby comes, so I’m here for the duration. I’m sending Gloria home with one of my officers. How’s the search going?”

“We missed him,” Andy said. “But the train engineer reported he blew his horn as a warning because a car was parked on the railroad right-of-way access road. Maximum speed on the spur line is fifteen miles per hour, so he got a pretty good look at the vehicle. It was an older, full-size domestic sedan, possibly an Oldsmobile or Buick, white in color, with Arizona plates. I’ve got people out there now looking for evidence, but they’re probably not going to find much until daylight.”

“Where are you?” Kerney asked.

“Halfway to town, taking Sara’s camera to the lab. I’ve got a tech standing by to print the photos she took. I’ll bring them to you ASAP.”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“Best to Sara,” Andy replied before he cut the connection.

Kerney looked through the open door into the waiting room. A young mother paced the floor holding a crying infant, and an older man with a swollen cheek sat reading a magazine. A bald-headed man with a bandaged hand came out of an exam room, glanced at Kerney, and walked off in the direction of the billing office, holding a piece of paper. From the blood on his pants, it appeared he’d cut himself badly.

Kerney felt more awake than he had in several days. The pending arrival of Patrick Brannon had gotten his adrenaline pumping. He found Jojoya, who told him it might be some time before the baby was delivered, and went to check on Sara.

“You again,” she said, as he gave her another kiss.

“Yeah, me,” Kerney said. “Looks like we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Why don’t you find something to do?” Sara said. “I don’t need a nervous, expectant father hovering over me.”

“Am I acting silly?” Kerney asked.

“Almost.”

Kerney sat in the chair next to the bed, called Sal Molina and told him to gather up Cruz Tafoya plus all the case materials from the Socorro crime scene investigation and get to the hospital pronto.

Sara smiled as he hung up. “That’s better.”

“I’m staying until the officer arrives.”

“You’re damn right you are,” Sara replied.

Samuel Green quickly paid his urgent-care bill with cash and returned to the waiting area to find Kerney nowhere in sight. His initial shock of seeing Kerney had rapidly given way to the happy thought that he no longer needed to search for him. But now Kerney was gone, and Green wondered if he was back to square one. He decided not to hang around inside hoping Kerney would reappear, and walked through the automatic doors to the parking lot just as two city police squad cars pulled to the curb.

Green tensed up until the two cops passed him without a second look. He stepped between one of the police cruisers and the SUV parked in front of it and stopped. The temporary license sticker in the rear window of the SUV was made out to Sara Brannon. Because of the pain in his hand, he’d paid no attention to the vehicle on his way in.

Had Kerney brought his wife in to have the baby? Or had she called Kerney and driven herself to the hospital? Were the two cops inside to provide security, or was Kerney there on official business?

Samuel Green needed clarity. He walked to the side of the building. There were no ambulances, police, or fire department vehicles outside the emergency room entrance, and he couldn’t find Kerney’s unmarked unit in the almost empty parking lot.

Kerney might have left, but Green doubted it. He sat in his car waiting to see what happened next. Within several minutes, a hospital security officer took up a position outside the urgent care entrance, and a second security guard entered the lot in a hospital vehicle, cruising past parked cars.

Green drove off the hospital property to a nearby medical office building where he had a clear view of the entrance, and settled down to watch. When Kerney came outside, moved his wife’s vehicle from the curb to a parking space, and went back into the hospital, Green knew for sure the baby was on the way.

Now he could start thinking about the exciting times that lay ahead. The mental picture of a helpless Kerney watching as he brought the hammer down on the baby’s head made Green chuckle in anticipation.

After the officer came, Kerney got permission from the hospital administrator on duty to use a staff training room. Sal Molina and Cruz Tafoya showed up within minutes and immediately asked Kerney about Sara’s condition. Although he remained anxious and concerned, he told them everything was just fine.

They joined him at the long table and Molina arranged a number of digital photographs in front of Kerney.

“Pino sent these up by computer,” Molina said, as he leaned over Kerney’s shoulder. “They’re shots of five circular burial mounds, about ten feet in circumference and three feet tall, taken before excavation began.”

Molina lined up another set of pictures. “These are shots of the individual mounds with the remains exposed. We don’t yet know the causes of death, and it will take dental records to identify the victims. But we do know that Olsen mined rock from a nearby quarry to build them. His fingerprints were all over the wheelbarrow and tools left at the pit.”

Molina took a seat and continued. “Based on the decomposition of the bodies, the ME thinks there’s about a five-year span between the earliest and most recent burial, which he believes is no more than six months old, but that’s a guess.”

Cruz Tafoya passed Kerney a list of names on a printout. “All the victims are male,” he said. “Using that information, the ME’s suggested time frame for the burials, and statements by Olsen’s friends that he didn’t like gays, we searched the missing-persons data banks. Hits came back on five gay, single men who’ve gone missing from Albuquerque over the last four and a half years; a hair stylist, bartender, nurse, bank clerk, and flight attendant.”

“It’s like Olsen built a burial shrine to commemorate each murder,” Molina said.

“And he probably isn’t finished killing,” Tafoya said. “Clayton Istee located another sandy shelf about a hundred feet away from the existing cairns where Olsen had dug a sixth circular round hole down to bedrock.”

“We’re guessing it’s for the prisoner Olsen had chained up in the utility room,” Molina said. “The techs say the bloodstains probably post-date the last burial.”

“Which may explain who Olsen had in the back of his van when he went to get money at his bank,” Tafoya said.

“That makes no sense,” Kerney said. “Why would Olsen take a prisoner he plans to murder with him to Santa Fe just before he embarks on a killing spree?”

“Maybe he likes to play with them before he kills them,” Tafoya said.

Kerney shook his head. “I don’t buy it. The Santa Fe killings are motivated by revenge, and the Socorro murders are clear-cut serial sex crimes. These are two distinctly different signatures.”

“Which gets us back to the notion that Olsen either has an accomplice or is acting on someone’s behalf,” Molina said. “Remember, we’ve got two sets of footprints and so far only one suspect.”

“What is the lab telling us about the new evidence that’s been collected?” Kerney asked.

“There are no fingerprints on the scrapbook found in Olsen’s house,” Molina said. “But Olsen’s prints are all over Manning’s cell phone, and the hair and fiber from the wig found in the van match some found in Olsen’s bathroom.”

“Olsen wears a wig?” Kerney asked.

“Not according to his mother,” Tafoya said. “He’s got a full head of shiny, blond, baby-fine hair.”

“Do we have anything new that absolutely puts Olsen in Santa Fe?” Kerney asked.

“Not really,” Molina said. “The enhancement of the video surveillance tape outside the municipal court building was inconclusive. What we do have are eyewitness descriptions of an unknown male subject who looks like Olsen, evidence seized in Socorro that ties him to the crimes, and the blue van he left behind with Drake’s body in it.”

“Which, according to the entry and exit visa stamps in Olsen’s passport,” Tafoya said, “was purchased from the El Paso junk dealer while he was out of the country.”

“He could have bought it from another party after he returned,” Kerney said.

“That’s what we thought,” Molina said, “until the Tucson PD got back to us on their meeting with the ex-con who installed the rebuilt engine. Allegedly, he never met with the customer in person. One morning when he came to work, the vehicle was outside his shop with the keys in it and a new engine in the back. The transaction was conducted entirely by phone. He got a money order in the mail for the labor, and when the work was done, he was told, again by phone, to leave the van outside with the keys under a floor mat. The next day it was gone.”

“The calls to the mechanic were made from public pay phones in Tucson,” Tafoya said, “on days when Olsen was working at his job in Socorro.”

Kerney glanced nervously at the cell phone on the table next to his hand and then looked away at the chalkboard, which was filled with notes on how to evaluate terminally ill patients for placement in hospice care. It seemed like a dismal way to end a life.

He pulled his thoughts back to the subject at hand. “We saw a trespasser on my property just before sunset,” he said. “The distance was too great to make an ID, but Sara was able to take a few telephoto pictures as he ran away. Chief Baca is having them developed.”

“Do you think it was Olsen?” Molina asked.

“Whoever it was, it’s highly suspicious,” Kerney said. “The property is posted and there’s no access for a casual hiker to get on the land easily, other than by fence-jumping.”

“Speaking of photos,” Tafoya said, “do you want to look at the ones we took at headquarters during the protest demonstration?”

Kerney nodded and Tafoya handed him a packet, telling him each unidentified subject was marked by a small X. He fanned through them, and froze at the closeup image of the bald-headed man he’d seen in the waiting area outside the urgent care center.

Kerney had screwed up big time by not looking at the pictures earlier in the day. His face flushed in silent anger at the blunder. Put a blond wig on his shaved head and the man could easily pass for Noel Olsen. Or maybe it was Olsen.

He pushed back from the table, got to his feet, and tossed the photograph on the table. “This man was in the hospital less than an hour ago. Get a search started, secure his admission and treatment records, talk to security and medical personnel, and look for somebody with a bandaged left hand.”

Kerney’s cell phone rang before Molina or Tafoya could react. He picked up, and Carol Jojoya told him the baby was on his way.

“Make it snappy, Chief,” Jojoya said, “we’re going into delivery right now.”

“Are there any bald-headed strangers near your location?” he demanded, thinking about the knitting needle in Victoria Drake’s abdomen and the killer’s two-for-one threat.

“No,” Jojoya said.

“Where’s the uniformed officer?” Kerney said, striding for the door.

“Right behind us,” Jojoya replied.

“I’m on my way.” He turned to the two detectives, the blood from his pounding heart thundering in his ears. “The baby’s coming. Find the son of a bitch now.”

He raced for the stairs, taking them two at a time with Molina and Tafoya on his heels, calling for backup on their cell phones.

Sara didn’t give a damn that her legs were spread wide open and people were staring at her crotch. She was sweating profusely and panting hard. Deep heaving sounds in a stranger’s voice came booming out of her chest.

What was taking so long? Why was Jojoya telling her to relax when she wanted it over and done with?

The last contraction hit like a great purging that emptied her from head to toe. All she could think of was meeting Patrick Brannon Kerney, seeing him, holding him, talking to him face-to-face for the very first time.

Without thinking, she let go of Kerney’s hand and reached out for her baby, who seemed to be singing instead of crying, making the sweetest little la-la sounds.

With her arms still outstretched, she watched Kerney cut the umbilical cord and Jojoya wash the waxy, blood-drenched coating off her son as the pain of the after-birth hit her.

“He has your hands and feet,” Sara said with a gasp as Jojoya wrapped Patrick in a blanket and handed him to her. “Quite the handsome lad.”

“That’s because his mother is a beauty,” Kerney said, as he sponged her face with a towel. “How are you?”

Sara gazed at Patrick Brannon, who stared at her peacefully with pretty blue eyes as if to say everything was going to be just fine. “I’m very happy to finally meet our son,” she said.

Kerney touched his son’s cheek with a gentle finger. “Me too.”

The baby gurgled and Kerney quickly pulled his hand away.

“He won’t hurt you, Kerney,” Sara said with a giggle.

Kerney’s eyes danced as he squeezed her hand. “I’m overwhelmed by it all. It’s a miracle.”

Sara’s expression turned serious.

“What is it?”

“Let’s keep him safe,” she said in a whisper.

“Always,” Kerney whispered back.

When more police cars arrived at the hospital, Samuel Green went back to the house. In the war room he sat on the mattress, snacked on canned sardines and crackers, and mulled over his fuck-ups. Doing a reconnaissance of Kerney’s ranch hadn’t been a bad idea, but he should have thought things through better before acting. He was pissed off at himself for not checking the train schedule for the spur line.

He’d caught a look at it before it had rounded a bend. The engine had been pulling two old Pullman cars and a flatbed filled with tourists taking a sunset excursion ride. The way the train had crawled along the tracks, only a blind person would have missed seeing his car.

The license plates on it were stolen and the registration was phony, so that shouldn’t cause a problem. But he couldn’t afford to be driving a vehicle the cops were looking for. He’d leave it locked in the garage, call a cab in the morning, and buy a clunker for cash at a used car lot on Cerrillos Road.

Green brushed cracker crumbs off his shirt, thought about his next mistake, and decided that being spotted at Kerney’s ranch wasn’t worth worrying about. The distance between him and the vehicle had been too great and the light too poor for anyone to make an ID. But the cops might find some blood traces on the barbed wire where he’d cut his hand, and decide to question the urgent care staff at the hospital. If so, the nurse who’d stitched him up could give them a real good description, as could Kerney.

Green licked the oil from the sardines off his fingers, walked into the backyard, and took a piss on the bushes that grew over his mother’s grave. He couldn’t risk having the cops find his war room. He zipped up, went inside, stuffed his weapon, binoculars, and camera equipment into his backpack and moved everything else into the garage. He grabbed the makeup kit, wig, and toiletries out of the bathroom, changed into a fresh pair of pants, and closed all the windows.

It wasn’t likely the cops would be able to unmask him. He’d made the legal name switch to Samuel Green with forged papers bought in Mexico to insure that Richard Finney disappeared without a trace. So if the cops came to the house, they’d be looking for a person who no longer existed. But why make it easy for them?

He went into the garage, turned off the furnace pilot light, uncoupled the gas line, and wrapped the bloodstained trousers around the pipe to slow the flow of gas into the house. In the kitchen, he slung on his backpack, lit the stove burners, and left the house on foot, cutting through the groves of pinon and juniper trees that surrounded the neighboring homes.

Green was a half-mile away when a fireball blew through the roof of the house. He watched it blossom into the night sky for a moment and walked on, skirting the major streets and sticking to the residential areas. He’d get a room in a motel on Cerrillos Road, where he could sleep and plan his next move. He had a lot to think about now that things were a bit out of kilter.