Slow Kill

by Michael McGarrity

  Outside under the street lights, some kids were kicking a soccer ball around, and two teenagers sat in an old primer-gray Chevy smoking cigarettes and playing loud rap music on the car stereo.

  It wasn’t the Santa Barbara in the travel posters or real estate ads. Not that there was anything mean or menacing about the area. It was just another one of those tucked-away places you could find in any city that the underclass lived in and everyone else avoided.

  Kerney drove away thinking about Lou Ferry. He’d spent a lifetime on the job as a cop and a PI. All he had to show for it was ownership of a run-down trailer park and a woman who couldn’t wait for him to die. It wasn’t the happiest of endings.

  What Kerney had learned about Clifford Spalding’s efforts to defeat his ex-wife’s search to find her son gnawed at him, as did the New Mexico connection that kept popping up. He decided, if time allowed, to speak to Penelope Parker again and get a little more background on the man.

  He glanced at the dashboard clock. But first there was Sergeant Lowrey to deal with. He hoped she was stationed outside his motel room waiting for him to show.

  Five blocks from his motel, Kerney’s cell phone rang. He pulled to the curb and answered. It was Ramona Pino.

  “What have you got for me, Sergeant?”

  “Interesting stuff, Chief. We’ve just finished up with Nina Deacon. It seems like Claudia Spalding and Kim Dean started out as horseback-riding buddies and the relationship segued into a hot love affair about two years ago that’s still going strong. Recently, Claudia has been crying on Deacon’s shoulder about the prenuptial agreement she signed with her dead husband.”

  “She wanted out of the marriage?” Kerney asked.

  “Affirmative,” Ramona replied. “But she didn’t want to lose the Santa Fe house or her lifestyle. According to Deacon, any divorce caused by infidelity on Claudia’s part cuts her out of Spalding’s will. The way Deacon tells it, the Santa Fe property is in his name as the sole owner, with a legal agreement signed by Claudia to back it up. About all she could walk away with would be her horses, other gifts he’s given her over the years, a half interest in the furnishings they bought together for the house, and whatever is in her personal checking account.”

  “What else?” Kerney asked.

  “Spalding was out here about two months ago for ten days. He got sick about halfway through the visit. Fatigue, heat intolerance, the sweats. Deacon said Spalding thought he was just having a reaction to the dry climate and the change in altitude.”

  “Did he see a doctor?” Kerney asked.

  “No, Claudia nursed him, cared for him hand and foot until he left.”

  “The loving wife. Where is she now?”

  “At the Albuquerque airport waiting for a flight to Burbank. According to Deacon, she keeps a car in Burbank and drives up to Santa Barbara.”

  “Did Deacon see her before she left?”

  “Yeah. Claudia told Deacon that probably Spalding’s heart had given out.”

  “Will Deacon keep her mouth shut about your visit?” Kerney asked.

  “She’d better. Both Thorpe and I made it clear that warning Claudia about our inquiries would make her liable to be charged as an accessory.”

  “Did that sink in?”

  “Big-time, Chief,” Ramona said. “She squirmed in her seat and promised to be a good girl.”

  “Put somebody on Kim Dean to keep an eye on him. I don’t want him suddenly disappearing.”

  “It’s already done.”

  “Have you got Sergeant Lowrey’s cell phone number?”

  “I do.”

  “Call her now and brief her.”

  “You don’t want me to do time-delayed information sharing on this go-round?” Ramona asked with a hint of a smile in her voice.

  Kerney laughed. “No, let’s get this over with so I can come home without a black cloud floating over my head.”

  “Ten-four to that, Chief. Thorpe is on the horn to Chief Baca with the news right now. Get ready to have him rib you about all of this when you get home.”

  “He’s already started,” Kerney said. “Good job, Sergeant. Pass on my appreciation to Officer Thorpe.”

  “Thanks, Chief. Will do.”

  He disconnected, sat back against the car seat, sighed with relief, and looked at the dashboard clock. He’d give it five minutes before driving to the motel in the hopes that a sheepish Sergeant Lowrey would be waiting for him with an apology in hand.

  Ellie Lowrey watched Chief Kerney enter the motel parking lot and ease to a stop next to her unit. Although she’d been rehearsing what to say to him, her mind suddenly went blank and her mouth got dry. She motioned at him to join her.

  He slid into the passenger seat, closed the door, and nodded a silent greeting.

  Ellie waited a few beats, hoping Kerney would say something to break the ice and let her off the hook. When the silence between them became unbearable, she said, “I guess I had my eye on the wrong target, Chief Kerney.”

  “Your instincts were good,” Kerney said, keeping his voice flat.

  “It wasn’t personal,” Ellie said, hoping Kerney would make eye contact with her.

  Kerney stared straight ahead. “I know that.”

  “I’m sorry for the hassle.”

  Kerney glanced her way and smiled. “It’s okay, Sergeant. You were doing your job, and doing it well.”

  “You’ve talked to Santa Fe?” Lowrey asked, trying to keep the relief she felt out of her voice.

  “I have. Now it’s your turn to fill me in.”

  Ellie told Kerney about the preliminary findings from the postmortem, the discovery of the hormone replacement medication in a pill case in Clifford Spalding’s clothing, and Price’s telephone conversation with Spalding’s doctor.

  “You only found one pill?” Kerney asked.

  “Yeah. Is that important?”

  “I talked to a caretaker at Spalding’s estate who told me Spalding had been on a business trip for the past two weeks before he went to the ranch. I doubt he’d be foolish enough not to keep a supply of medication on hand.”

  “We didn’t find a prescription bottle,” Ellie said.

  “Did you search his car?” Kerney asked.

  Ellie shook her head.

  “It might be a smart thing to do. The caretaker also told me that Clifford Spalding forgot to take his medication with him while visiting his wife in Santa Fe two months ago, and had to get his prescription refilled locally. Don’t you find that interesting, given who Claudia Spalding has been sleeping with?”

  “I do,” Ellie replied.

  “Who better to tamper with or alter medication than a pharmacist? And if it was Dean who filled the prescription, did he dispense a one-month, two-month, or three-month supply?”

  Ellie mulled it over. “Claudia Spalding told Nina Deacon her husband probably died of heart failure, which comes pretty close to the autopsy findings. Now, how would she know that, given the fact that Spalding was in good health at the time of his last checkup?”

  “Exactly,” Kerney said.

  “So how would Dean have done it?” Ellie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kerney replied, as he opened the passenger door. “But the caretaker mentioned that since his return from Santa Fe, Spalding had been complaining about sleeping poorly and blurred vision.”

  “Which means his condition may have been deteriorating,” Ellie asked, reaching for her cell phone.

  Kerney got out of the unit.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find an address for an all-night pharmacy while you call in for a search of Spalding’s car.”

  The on-duty pharmacist at the discount drugstore, a woman with a button chin and a long, narrow nose, stood behind the counter at the back of the store and listened carefully as the female police officer described a well-known brand of thyroid medication.

  “Yes, it’s used as a hormone replacement.”

  “If, as a pharmacist, y
ou wanted to alter or tamper with it, how would you do it?”

  “The easiest way would be to coat it with a clear substance. That way the pill would look perfectly okay.”

  “Barring that, what could you do?” Ellie asked.

  “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  “What if you wanted to change the actual composition of the pill?” Ellie asked.

  “Well, this is a medication that you can get in a powdered form. Some pharmacists who specialize in mixing their own compounds like to fill prescriptions that way. But it wouldn’t look anything like the pharmaceutical version.”

  The tall, good-looking man with the female officer smiled at her.

  “How could you change the dosage or ingredients and yet have it look identical to the real thing?” Kerney asked.

  “Same size, shape, color, and brand name?” the pharmacist asked.

  “Yes. Could it be done?”

  “I suppose, if you made it with a mold. But it would be painstaking work.”

  “How would you go about it?” Ellie asked.

  “Well, I’d start with making an impression of the lettering on the pill so I could duplicate it,” the woman said. “Then I’d have to build a mold to form it based on the precise measurements of the pill and its lettering.”

  “What kind of a mold?” Kerney asked.

  The woman tapped her finger against her chin. “Ceramic perhaps, but certainly something that wouldn’t break under pressure when you formed the pill, especially if you wanted to imprint a brand name.”

  “What about the coloring?” Ellie asked.

  The pharmacist smiled. “That would be the easy part. I’d use a natural dye.”

  “Could you duplicate the shape of the pill by hand?” Kerney asked.

  “Sure, but it would take some time to make a good supply, and the brand name would still need to be stamped on the pills to make them look authentic.”

  “What’s the usual refill supply that’s given to patients?” Kerney asked.

  “Three months is the norm, if the patient is stabilized on the dosage.”

  “You’ve been a big help,” Ellie said.

  The woman looked from the female cop to the man. “Now, please tell me what this is all about.”

  “Crime, of course,” Kerney said, stepping away from the counter.

  Ellie waited until they were in the parking lot before asking Kerney what he thought should be done next. He suggested having the pill found in Spalding’s pocket analyzed and getting started on the paperwork for a search warrant of Dean’s pharmacy and residence in Santa Fe.

  “I don’t have enough evidence to get a search warrant approved yet,” Ellie said as she unlocked the passenger door to her unit.

  “I bet you will have after the lab results come back tomorrow,” Kerney said as he ducked into the cruiser. “But you may not need to have the search warrant served right away. If you play your cards right, Claudia Spalding might just crack under questioning. Then you can go for an arrest warrant on Dean and serve both simultaneously.”

  Ellie got behind the wheel and fired up the engine. “Want to be there for the Q&A with Claudia Spalding?”

  Kerney shook his head and laughed. “Not a chance. Because of you, I’m spending an extra day in California, so I might as well enjoy it.”

  “Sorry about that, Chief,” Ellie said as they arrived at Kerney’s motel. “I’ll call you when things shake out.”

  “Leave me a message,” Kerney said as he climbed out of the unit.

  Ellie watched Kerney unlock his motel door and step inside. He’d never once flared up under the pressure she’d put on him. Beyond that, he’d gathered important information to advance the investigation and had graciously accepted her apology without laying into her.

  She’d come to Santa Barbara ready to ream Kerney out for meddling in her investigation. As she drove away, Ellie thought that Chief Kerney would be a hell of a good boss to work for.

  Chapter 4

  Kerney slept hard, got up early, showered, dressed, and studied a tourist map that promised to guide him to Santa Barbara’s finest dining, shopping, and entertainment experiences, including an adult video store and a gentlemen’s club featuring fully nude live dancers.

  He located a restaurant that looked interesting at a place called Hendry’s Beach outside of town. On the drive there, he enjoyed the quiet of the morning, the absence of traffic, and a view of the bay with gentle waves of surf rolling in.

  The restaurant, located next to the beach, wasn’t open for business when he arrived, although several servers were busy setting the tables on an outdoor patio. He took his boots and socks off, rolled up the cuffs of his jeans, and walked in the shade of the cliffs that lined the shore. Only a few people were out, including some joggers, a couple walking two dogs, and several tourists snapping pictures near some rocks where a young seal seemed to be calmly posing for a photo shoot. Out beyond the surf, a dolphin briefly surfaced, drawing the attention of a lone seagull circling overhead.

  On top of the cliffs, which showed signs of constant erosion, houses surrounded by tall, skinny palm trees looked out at the ocean. Steep stairs, some rickety and dangerous, provided access down the cliff face to the beach. Kerney wondered how long it would take before the sea, the wind, and the rain brought everything crashing down. A hundred years? A thousand? Ten thousand? Eventually, it would happen.

  His thoughts turned to Sara and the beaches they’d walked together on their honeymoon in western Ireland. There, cliffs of solid rock towered over them and a heavy surf threw angry plumes of white foam into the air. It had been a happy time on the shore of a turbulent sea under misty gray skies.

  Sara had spent hours inspecting and gathering seashells, stuffing the choice ones in the pockets of her windbreaker, enlisting Kerney to fill his pockets as well. The shells now sat in a large, hand-blown glass bowl on Sara’s desk at the Pentagon.

  He wondered how Sara and their son, Patrick, were doing back on the East Coast. He pictured her getting Patrick out of bed, fed, and ready for the day, Patrick banging his rattle on the high chair and giggling, Sara dressing hurriedly and running a brush quickly through her strawberry blond hair.

  The restaurant was open when Kerney returned, and he took breakfast on the patio, careful as always not to eat too much. He’d been gut shot in a gun battle with a drug dealer some years back, and it had damaged his stomach badly.

  He finished his meal and decided it wasn’t too early to call Penelope Parker. She answered on the first ring and readily agreed to meet with him again. He left the restaurant just as a smiling young couple with a toddler sitting happily on the man’s shoulders entered. The sight of the family made him miss Sara and Patrick all the more. But soon he’d be with them for two solid weeks. He would be teaching some classes and taking a top-cop seminar at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, thirty miles away from the small house Sara and he had bought in Arlington, Virginia.

  The thought of seeing his family made the day seem much brighter. He smiled as he headed down the road to visit Penelope Parker.

  Ms. Parker seemed pleased to see Kerney when he arrived. There was a nervous energy to her greeting that he couldn’t quite decipher. He wondered if it came from spending her days cut off from the world while tending to Alice’s needs. She escorted him to the patio where coffee, juice, and a platter of warm scones were arranged on a table, and seated him so he could have the best view of the city and the bay.

  Parker had dressed up for the occasion. She wore a pair of dainty, open-toe shoes, black slacks that accentuated her slender legs, and a short-sleeved, partially unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt that emphasized the curve of her breasts. Without prompting, she told Kerney that Alice still didn’t understand that Clifford was dead.

  “I don’t know if she’s able to process it,” Parker said as she leaned over Kerney’s shoulder and poured his coffee. “She may never be. Her mental capacity is diminishing rapidly.”


  The color rose on her cheeks when Kerney looked up and thanked her. He quickly realized Parker was lonely for more than simple companionship.

  “Do you have any help to look after her?” he asked.

  Parker nodded as she sat and served Kerney a scone. “Trained caregivers are here at night, and I do get an occasional weekend off. But when Alice becomes confused, I’m the only one who can deal with her, so I always try to be fairly close at hand.”

  “Where is Alice now?” Kerney asked.

  Parker smiled as she stirred cream into her coffee. “She’s in her room. I asked the caregiver to stay over for a while to be with her so we could talk without any interruption.”

  “What can you tell me about the origin of Clifford Spalding’s wealth?”

  “As I understand it, he owned an old motel in Albuquerque adjacent to a very large shopping mall that wanted the land for expansion. The developer had a pending lease agreement with a national chain to build an upscale motor lodge for vacationers and out-of-town weekend shoppers. Clifford negotiated a deal that gave him some working capital and a minority ownership in the franchise. That’s how it all started.”

  “When did this happen?” Kerney asked.

  “Long before my time,” Parker replied. “The same year George was killed in Vietnam, or soon thereafter.”

  “How did Clifford parlay his profit into a hotel empire?” Kerney asked.

  Parker leaned forward, revealing a bit more cleavage. “Another hotel company wanted to establish a presence in Albuquerque and offered an attractive buyout deal for the property after the new motel was up and running. Mr. Spalding retained his minority interest as part of the deal and used his cash-out from the profit he’d made to buy a ninety-nine-year lease on a run-down motel in downtown Santa Fe. He got some investors to put up money for the renovation, and turned the place into a thriving boutique hotel operation.”