The Big Gamble

Table of Contents

 

 

“Each new Michael McGarrity novel about New Mexico lawman Kevin Kerney is better than the last. . . . An amazing accomplishment . . . [McGarrity] does it with intelligence and heart-pumping suspense, without skimping on either characterization or local color. . . . One of the most chilling and satisfying thrillers of the year.”—
Los Angeles Times

“This is McGarrity at his best. The story moves at a fast pace, is highly readable, and eerily believable. The description of the Southwest landscape, combined with both a believable plot and characters, makes this a must read for mystery fans or anyone seeking a good read.”—
Tulsa World

“A good story and lots of suspense in this continuing series.”—
The Sunday Oklahoman

“Taut prose and snappy dialogue. . . . [McGarrity] renders an Elmore Leonard-like fast-paced wit. . . . A masterfully realistic world in which a rugged rancher-cop negotiates the wintry mean streets of Southwest mystery fiction.”—
Santa Fe New Mexico

“There are some devious minds at work in
The Judas Judge
. . . which loops with serpentine grace through the ranches, railroad towns, Indian reservations, and open spaces of [New Mexico]. McGarrity’s portrait of the region is a strong one, built on meticulously detailed intelligence gathered, sifted, and analyzed for unspoken secrets and lies by the author’s own deeply cunning mind.”—
The New York Times

“A crisp, riveting police procedural enriched by acute psychological insight.”—Jonathan Kellerman

“Highly suspenseful.”—
Los Angeles Times

“Taut and convincing. . . . I read this one in a single sitting.” —
Chicago Tribune

“
The Judas Judge
rivets attention . . . a book that’s hard to put down.”—
Publishers Weekly

“A roller-coaster ride . . . [and] so much more than a murder mystery. . . . A seamless story that will keep you turning the pages.”—
The Colorado Springs Gazette

“With each succeeding mystery, McGarrity is ever more sure of his central character, Kerney. Richly textured in setting and character, this series gets better with each outing.”—
The Dallas Times Herald

“
The Judas Judge
is solid evidence that a good series . . . can actually become even more satisfying. Quite a page-turner.”—
Library Journal

“McGarrity imbues his fiction with a good deal of authentic police work and local lore but doesn’t stop there. Kerney and the other characters . . . have size and dimension, and his plots are suspenseful and action-packed. We can’t ask for more than that.”

—
Los Angeles Times

“Michael McGarrity does for New Mexico what James
Lee Burke does for Louisiana. The land is in his blood.
So is crime writing. He’s a natural-born storyteller with
hard-earned personal knowledge of how cops work.”

—David Morrell, bestselling author of
First Blood

“How good it is to follow a detective created by a man who has been there and done that.”—Tony Hillerman

“McGarrity’s novels are a perfect blend of riveting action and richly evoked characters, making Santa Fe look more irresistible than ever.”

—Linda Fairstein, bestselling author of
Final Jeopardy

“Few write as convincingly and accurately using the Southwest as a setting as does McGarrity. He knows the territory and it shows.”—
Tulsa World

Also by Michael McGarrity

ONYX

Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

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Published by Onyx, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in a Dutton edition.

First Onyx Printing, August

Copyright © Michael McGarrity, 2002

Excerpt from
Everyone Dies
copyright © Michael McGarrity, 2003 All rights reserved

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eISBN : 978-1-101-14398-8

 

 

 

 

S
heriff Tom Sullivan of Lincoln County, New Mexico, helped me gain insight into the operation of his department. My thanks go to him for giving me valuable information and several good ideas for the book.

Mrs. Genora V. Moore and Gene and Barbara Thorn-ton graciously allowed me repeated access to the family ranch outside of Santa Fe. My thanks go to them for giving me a chance to find the perfect piece of land where Kerney could build his home.

 

 

 

 

T
he cement block walls of the abandoned building kept the fire fairly well contained until the roof ignited. Then wind whipped burning embers into the dry grass along the shoulder of the highway. In the predawn light, Deputy Sheriff Clayton Istee watched the volunteer firefighters chase down and drown rivulets of orange flames that snaked quickly through the grass. A year of drought had made any fire dangerous, and the incessant spring winds that rolled across Carrizozo and the surrounding rangeland could easily transform a cinder into a catastrophe engulfing the whole valley.

Flames licked through the boarded-up side doorway and the long opening at the front of the structure, which had once served as a counter for baskets of apples and jugs of freshly pressed cider. Under a steady stream of water from a pumper truck, the remnants of the roof crashed in, showering brilliant pinpoint sparks into the sky, momentarily illuminating a large, somewhat faded plywood sign nailed to the building that read:

Hewitt was Clayton Istee’s new boss. Three months ago, after five years with the Mescalero Tribal Police, Clayton had accepted the sheriff’s long-standing job offer. His decision hadn’t made his mother or his wife particularly happy, but Clayton was glad to get away from the petty politics and cronyism of the tribal administrators.

Ray Bonnell, the volunteer fire chief, stepped up to Clayton’s side. One of Paul Hewitt’s best friends, Bonnell could be found just about every weekday morning having an early cup of coffee with the sheriff at the Dugout Bar & Grill. In his sixties, with the thick upper body of a man who’d spent a lifetime doing hard physical work, Bonnell was a third-generation native of the valley. He ranched, owned a local propane gas delivery company, and ran the fire department in his spare time.

“Smell that?” Bonnell asked.

Clayton nodded.

“Know what it is?” Bonnell asked.

“Burned flesh,” Clayton answered.

“Yep. You got yourself a crispy critter inside. Let’s just hope it isn’t somebody we knew, or worse yet, somebody we knew and liked. Best to tell Sheriff Hewitt.”

“He’s already rolling,” Clayton replied. “ETA ten minutes.”

Bonnell smiled. “Paul said you were a good one. Guess I don’t need to tell you how to do your job.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get, Chief,” Clayton said.

“Then help yourself to the spare pair of Wellington boots in the back of my truck,” Bonnell said with a laugh as he moved away. “You’re gonna need them. After we soak down the inside of that fruit stand it’s gonna be a soggy, god-awful mess.”

All the burned grass along the roadside had been covered with dirt and doused. Firefighters walked in circles around the charred patches of earth checking for hot spots, hosing down anything that looked like it could combust or flare up again. At the burned-out building two men on ladders directed high-pressure jets of water into the guts of the structure.

Soon murky black water started oozing out the door frame. Clayton went to Bonnell’s truck, got the rubber boots, and put them on, figuring whatever crime scene evidence there was inside the building had to be pretty well trashed. Nothing could be done about it. Putting the fire completely out was the first priority, especially since the warmth of the early morning sun topping the mountains had stirred up strong gusts coursing out of the canyons.