Page 21 of Badlands (Nora Kelly #5)

C ORRIE DROVE SLOWLY through the town of Bernalillo, New Mexico.

Although it was a suburb of Albuquerque, she’d never been there and was curious about what the place looked like.

With a population of ten thousand, it was the seat of Sandoval County, remarkable for being home to a dozen Indian reservations within its boundaries.

The downtown itself was unremarkable, mostly a continuation of Albuquerque’s sprawl, the only charm being its location along the Rio Grande.

Corrie had done what research she could on Mandy Driver.

She’d grown up in Bernalillo before going off to college.

Her mother had died two years ago, and her father, Horace, still lived in town.

In fact, he was employed by the same company—Geo Solutions GmbH—where his daughter worked.

Like father, like daughter—except that Mandy Driver’s residence was on the opposite side of town.

Corrie had also learned that, since Mandy’s disappearance, Horace Driver had been raising hell with the local police department, apparently without much success.

He made many visits to the police station and sheriff’s department, demanding they find his daughter, and he raised such a ruckus that he’d been threatened with arrest. And from what Corrie could ascertain, Driver was justified in his frustration: the police and the county sheriff’s office had done squat in investigating the disappearance.

As a subtle rebuke at the tepid law enforcement response, Corrie had passed off to the local sheriff the task of breaking the news to Driver of the discovery of his daughter’s remains—and to let him know that the FBI was now involved in the case and would be contacting him.

She had a lot of questions for Driver, but she’d wanted to give him time to process the shock before she interviewed him.

That had taken place the day before yesterday.

And now, after driving through a small commercial area boasting an Applebee’s and a Motel 6, she pulled into the entrance to Enchanted Hills: a sprawling, fake-adobe apartment complex off Highway 550.

The elder Driver had an apartment with a balcony on the second floor, and his door was marked only by a number.

It took him nearly half a minute to answer her knock.

When he did, she found herself looking at a man of sixty with grizzled white hair inching up from his ears toward a well-trimmed crown of black.

His face was weather-beaten and lean, his eyes intense but guarded.

He was wearing jeans and a chambray work shirt.

Corrie had made the appointment the evening before and wondered if he’d taken the day off to see her.

Then again, it was twelve thirty—maybe he was on his lunch break.

She introduced herself and showed her badge.

The man wordlessly stepped aside to let her in, gesturing her into a combined living and dining area.

The balcony overlooked the highway—with the windows tightly shut, traffic sped noiselessly past in both directions.

He motioned her to a seat.

“Would you like coffee? Tea? Water?”

“A glass of water would be great, thanks.” She watched as he moved off into the adjoining kitchen.

She wasn’t thirsty, but she wanted time to collect herself and examine the room.

It was sparely decorated but fastidiously clean, walls hung with watercolor landscapes of New Mexico and framed family photographs.

In these latter, she recognized Driver, a woman who was clearly his wife—and Mandy.

He returned with a glass filled with ice and a small bottle of spring water, chilled from the refrigerator.

She thanked him, cracked it open, filled the glass, and took a sip.

“Beautiful paintings,” she said, nodding at the watercolors to break the ice.

“My wife did them.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable pause.

His face was closed and without expression, but his eyes drilled into hers.

“Mr. Driver,” she went on, “I want to express my sincere condolences for the loss of your daughter.”

He gave a curt nod.

“And I want to assure you we’re doing everything we can to find out what happened.”

A stony silence.

Corrie felt her nervousness rise.

“I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your willingness to see me at this difficult time.” She sensed he did not particularly want to sit through any more expressions of sympathy or chitchat, and so she took out her notebook.

“So you’re the one who found her?” he asked with a bass voice, low and resonant.

Corrie nodded. “I did.”

“The cops who had me ID her body didn’t say much. But then, they never do say much. What can you tell me about what happened?”

The gleam in his eyes, combined with the expressionless face, unnerved her.

Normally it was not good to begin an interview by answering questions instead of asking them, but with Driver she would make an exception.

Taking her cell phone out, she placed it on the table beside her water glass.

“May I record this conversation, Mr. Driver?”

He glanced at the phone, then nodded.

She tapped the button, stated a few particulars about the impending conversation, then looked back at the man.

“I can’t tell you much at this point, as we haven’t gotten back any lab work. What I can tell you—” she swallowed—“is this: Mandy wasn’t the first woman to die in this manner.”

The man took in a deep, long breath, his eyes on her.

She knew the police hadn’t told him about Molly Vine—and so far, that investigation had been kept under wraps.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Sir, what I’m going to tell you is confidential.” She went on to sketch out, as briefly as possible, the discovery of Vine’s remains, and how that in turn led to a helicopter search and the finding of Mandy.

As she spoke, Driver remained as stone-faced as ever.

When she had finished, he sat in silence, and then spoke.

“Let me see if I get this: Both women were found naked, in the desert, having taken off all their clothes. No water, no cell phone, no ID—no nothing. Holding green rocks in their hands.”

“That is correct. The main difference is the time period. Molly Vine has been dead around five years—your daughter, two months.”

“And this other girl—you say she was studying archaeology at UNM as well?”

“Yes, sir. Did your daughter know Molly, by chance?”

“That motherfucker Oskarbi,” Driver burst out, not answering the question.

“Wrecking students’ lives with his mind games.”

This was completely unexpected, and Corrie quickly revised her line of questioning.

“Mind games, Mr. Driver?”

“I met that bastard twice when Mandy was starting grad school—that was enough. Smooth-talking, drug-taking, jive-ass hippie punk.”

Driver’s face, which before had been stoic, seemed now to move through a range of emotions: grief, anger, disgust, loss.

“Um, can you elaborate on that?”

“When I was a young man in Detroit, I worked for a while in the dean’s office of the local community college. I must have seen half a dozen of his type go through the disciplinary process—

professors . It’s a type. Passing themselves off as hip, dope-smoking mystics, more interested in getting laid than teaching. I had him pegged from the jump.” Driver shook his head.

“But he was slippery. When I asked him about Mandy’s future, what kind of job she’d get, how she was going to make a living, he went all woo-woo on me, telling me that she would ‘figure it out in her own time.’ And him there, just slavering.”

Corrie frowned.

“Slavering? Are you implying that Oskarbi, ah, slept with her?”

“I’m not implying it. That’s what he did. And not just her. I saw those girls he surrounded himself with.”

“Was he sleeping with them, too?”

“Sleeping with them or trying to. I was fixing to come after him just before he disappeared.”

Corrie took a moment to consult her notes and let Driver cool off.

“To get back to an earlier question, did Mandy know Molly?”

He shook his head.

“Probably. They were in the same department with that bastard.”

“Just so I understand,” Corrie went on.

“You believe that Oskarbi was—what? Psychologically manipulative with his students?”

“That’s putting it mildly. He was a narcissist. He went around implying that book he’d written was a sacred text. Mentioned it both times we spoke. And to hear him talk, that was just the beginning. The next one was supposedly going to be a real humdinger.”

“The next one? You mean next book?”

“Right. That’s what he kept telling Mandy, anyway.” He shook his head, scoffed.

“Made Mandy his lab assistant. Filled her head with a lot of nonsense.”

Corrie glanced up again at the pictures framing the walls.

Mandy Driver had been exceptionally pretty—even more than the reconstructive software had shown.

“Did Mandy tell you she was having a relationship with him?”

“No, she was closemouthed about it, but I knew.”

“Did you share your concerns about Oskarbi with her?”

“ Certainly I shared my concerns. But what can you do with a starry-eyed daughter? She’d had boyfriends before, but they were chickenshit compared to the Great and Famous Professor.”

Privately, Corrie tried to imagine a high school boy passing muster with this formidable father.

“Do you think this relationship with Oskarbi had anything to do with your daughter’s death? He left twelve years ago, and I understand Mandy went on to finish her degree, went on with her life.”

“His leaving almost broke her. Of course, my wife and I were glad to see the backside of that con. My wife and I, we never stopped supporting her. Her dream had been to become a research professor. That’s what Oskarbi had promised—but of course it was all bullshit, and then he disappeared. I didn’t spend twenty years working oil fields so my Mandy would follow in my footsteps.”

His voice was rising again, and Corrie took a moment to pause and consult her notes.

“My understanding was you both worked for the same company?” Corrie had assumed that the father had helped the daughter land a good job at his own firm, but maybe that wasn’t the case.

“Geo. We both worked for Geo.”

“And what kind of work was that?”

“Fracking,” he said, an instant defensiveness creeping into his voice.

“Geo Solutions is an oil company involved in… fracking ?”

“We’re a supplier of fracking equipment in the San Juan Basin oil field.” The defensiveness in his voice had risen a notch.

Corrie swallowed. She wasn’t a fan of fracking, but as an FBI agent it was not her place to express an opinion on that.

Her voice hadn’t betrayed her private thoughts…

had it? Damn it, she had been taken off guard.

Then she looked up into the face of Driver—and the expression she saw alarmed her.

He had picked up her tone.

He wasn’t outraged anymore.

He was now incensed.

“How’s that water tasting?” he asked.

Quickly, Corrie took a sip.

“Good, thank you.”

There was an uneasy silence and the man said, “You have no right to judge what I do— or what my daughter did.”

“Mr. Driver, I meant no disrespect—”

“I’m not ashamed of working with my hands. These hands got my Mandy through college, got her a scholarship to graduate school, got me promoted to foreman.” He looked out the window.

“But she deserved better. She had a brilliant mind. Straight A student all the way. She wanted to be a professor, to teach and write books. Oskarbi was too selfish to let that happen. First, he built up her dreams. Then he vanished… not a word… just abandoned her and sucked out her ambition in the process. So she ended up at Geo, like me, doing contract archaeology for fracking. What you so disapprove of.”

“Sir, I don’t disapprove.”

“Sure,” said Driver.

“I saw you drive up—nice-looking ride, that taxpayer Tahoe. I’ll bet it glides over these New Mexico roads like silk.” He paused.

“Any idea how many gallons of gas it guzzles per mile? Or where all that gas came from?”

Corrie was desperate to get the interview back on track.

“Can you tell me more about Mandy’s work?”

After a glaring pause, he said, “She mapped the proposed fracking leases, showing where the archaeological sites were so they wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“And this was her employment when she disappeared?”

“Yes. It paid well, sure, but it wasn’t the life she dreamed of. She was like you—she disapproved of fracking and hated working for Geo.”

Corrie let that go.

“This is a difficult question—but was she depressed?”

“Absolutely not. Next question?”

“What was her connection to Gallina archaeology? Those rocks she was found with were Gallina artifacts.”

Another freezing silence.

“Years ago, she did fieldwork up there with Oskarbi, who seemed to have a hard-on for all things Gallina. And the San Juan oil field extends into the Gallina area. Geo’s going to begin fracking up there. Which was why she got hired, in fact: because of her knowledge of the area. Next question?”

Corrie went to her notes once again, fumbling through them this time.

“Do you have any idea why she might have done what she did?”

He stared at her.

“So you’re assuming she did it?”

Corrie realized she’d made another mistake.

“Not at all, but it’s a possibility we’re exploring—”

“How do you know someone else wasn’t there, forcing her?”

“We’re considering every avenue—”

At this, Driver stood up.

“You’re starting to sound like the cops I’ve been dealing with these past two months. ‘ Considering every avenue ,’” he mimicked.

“Look, I’m done with this conversation. My daughter’s dead—now go do your shit. There’s no way she would have done something like that on her own. Or been stupid enough to go into the desert she loved and die of heatstroke. Someone did this to her. You find that motherfucker.”