Free Hermit's Peak by Michael McGarrity Page A

taker barricaded inside one of the structures with captives.
    He saw no movement, but stayed put for a few minutes before getting a tarp out of the back of the 4 x 4 and covering the corpse. He didn’t want crows feasting while he waited for backup.
    He called for assistance, positioned himself at the rear of the vehicle where he had the most protection, and kept scanning the cabin and greenhouse. All the preliminary work—photographing, measuring, and evidence collection—could wait until he was sure the area was secure.
    The crows flapped lazily off the wire, circled above him, and cawed. There would be no free lunch for them today.
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    Kerney’s bedroom phone rang. He reached for it and checked the time: it was seven o’clock. He listened to the dispatcher’s report, asked for a helicopter to stand by, and hung up.
    â€œWhat is it?” Sara asked as she sat up in the bed and pulled the sheet up over her breasts.
    â€œCold?”
    â€œNo, modest.”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œAre you going to tell me or not?”
    Kerney looked at Sara, wondering how she could look so sexy on such little sleep. They had stayed awake and talked through most of the night, catching each other up. Kerney now knew about the firefight in the DMZ that had led to her meritorious promotion, and the Distinguished Service Medal. Kerney thought the honors were richly deserved.
    â€œA homicide at a cabin near my property,” he said. “Want to go with me?”
    â€œDoesn’t that sound romantic?” Sara said as she stretched out and put the pillow over her head.
    â€œIs that a no?”
    Sara muttered something.
    â€œWhat?”
    Sara took the pillow off her face. “I’ll pass. I’m going back to sleep and then I’m going shopping. I haven’t bought any new clothes in almost two years, and I need a few things to wear. Besides, I drove straight through from Cheyenne yesterday, just to get here last night.”
    â€œDo you want me to find you another tour guide for the day?”
    â€œAre you trying to pawn me off to somebody else so soon?”
    â€œNo way.” Kerney sat up and swung his legs to the floor. “I’ll leave you a key and be back in time to take you out to dinner.”
    â€œPick a nice place to eat; I plan to be dressed to kill. Are you in a hurry to leave?”
    â€œThe chopper will wait for me.”
    Sara kicked off the bedcovers.
    â€œNot sleepy anymore?”
    â€œNot that sleepy,” Sara replied. “Come here.”
    Kerney saluted and followed orders.
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    Several hours into the preliminary investigation of Carl Boaz’s murder, Gabe saw the chopper carrying Chief Kerney come over the mesa and land in the meadow. From the porch he watched Kerney walk toward him. He limped badly for a few steps before smoothing out his gait.
    Gabe knew Kerney’s knee had been shattered in a gunfight with a drug dealer. It had happened some years ago when Kerney was with the Santa Fe PD. It wasn’t the only time the chief had used deadly force. In high-risk situations, the man knew how to keep his cool and survive.
    In his twenty years as a cop, Gabe had never been under fire. He wondered how he’d stack up if he had to put it on the line.
    Gabe had assigned Russell Thorpe the job of receivingevidence and recording the personnel entering the crime scene. He watched Thorpe intercept Kerney halfway across the meadow and hold out a clipboard with a sign-in sheet. Kerney signed it and spent a minute talking to the officer before moving on.
    Down at the greenhouse, Ben Morfin, the district narcotics agent, was conducting an inventory of marijuana plants. He was at one thousand and counting.
    â€œBring me up to speed, Sergeant,” Kerney said when he reached Gabe.
    â€œCarl Boaz, age thirty-five, died last night from a single gunshot wound to the