Dead or Alive kk-12
Page 27
“It’s tempting,” Clayton said as he walked to an easy chair, leaned his crutches against the armrest, and eased himself onto the cushion.
Andy settled on the couch. “What’s holding you back?”
“If the Capitan police chief gets elected sheriff in November, and his chances are pretty good, he wants to bring me back at my old rank of lieutenant in January.”
“Does that possibility appeal to you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How about this idea until you do decide,” Andy said. “Finish your convalescent leave and continue to work for me in the Alamogordo office. If you feel you must rejoin the Lincoln County S.O. when the new sheriff gets sworn in, so be it.”
Clayton’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’d do that?”
“Yep, for selfish reasons only.”
“Such as?”
“Well, aside from the fact that you’re a hell of a good detective, it would be bad PR if you weren’t working for me when we pin the departmental Medal of Valor on your chest.”
Clayton looked stunned. “What?”
“We’re giving one to Kerney also.”
“He deserves it.” Clayton shook his head. “But me . . .”
“Do you have a problem with this?”
“Giving me a medal for getting my horse shot out from under me, breaking a leg, and knocking myself unconscious doesn’t make much sense.”
“That’s not quite how the citation will read,” Andy replied with a chuckle. “Don’t be so modest. The cabinet secretary wants to present the medals to you and Kerney at a Santa Fe ceremony.”
“When?”
“We haven’t set a date yet. It depends on when we can get Kerney back from London.”
“Does he know about this?”
“Not yet, but I suspect he’ll be just as cantankerous as you about it.” Andy rose and stepped over to Clayton. “Do we have an agreement?”
“It’s an offer I can’t refuse,” Clayton replied with a grin. He pulled himself upright, stuck the crutches under his arms, and gave Andy his hand. “Thank you, Chief.”
Andy patted Clayton on the shoulder. “I’ll let the Alamogordo office know to start making room for you. Call me as soon as you have a date when you can return to work. We can put you on light duty for a while, if need be.”
“Yes, sir,” Clayton replied.
He walked Andy to the door, watched him drive away, and returned to the easy chair. Clayton hadn’t told Chief Baca that the tribal council had approached him to take over as police chief. But as he’d discussed with Grace, he planned to let the tribal administrator know before the end of the day that he was declining the offer.
He’d worked for the tribal police for over five years before joining the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office, and the chief’s position was a job he didn’t want to tackle, at least not yet. Perhaps when he had a full law enforcement pension that could buffer him from all the intricate tribal politics, he would consider taking it on. Or maybe then he might run for election to the tribal council.
He knew turning down the tribal council’s offer would make his mother unhappy. Ever since he was a kid, she had harbored ambitious plans for him. She had never approved of his decision to get a degree in criminal justice and go into law enforcement. But it was Clayton’s life to live and his mother’s dream of wanting to see her only child installed as a tribal leader would have to wait.
He reached for the phone to call Grace and decided against it. He would talk to her about all of the important news of the day after dinner, when the children were asleep.
Lynette Burke, Riley’s pregnant widow, had agreed to take over the cutting horse enterprise with the understanding that the animals owned jointly by the partnership would be moved to Jack and Irene Burke’s spread. None of the Burkes was ready to spend a lot of time at the ranch where Riley had been gunned down.
Kerney leased some pastureland to a local organic beef producer, who wanted to finish a few head each month on native grass before taking the animals down the road to a small slaughterhouse in Moriarty, a short distance away. He offered State Police Sergeant Russell Thorpe free rent to stay in the guest quarters in return for looking after his remaining horses and keeping an eye on the place. Thorpe jumped at the chance.
Back in London, Kerney was not only glad to be reunited with Sara and Patrick, he also felt surprisingly more at ease in the city than he had before. A growing familiarity had something to do with it, but he also found himself enjoying all the amenities that one of the world’s most important cities had to offer.
After recovering from jet lag and spending a weekend running errands and grocery shopping with Sara and Patrick, Kerney pulled Patrick out of preschool for a week to make up for all the time they’d missed together while he’d chased down Craig Larson. During a glorious run of sunny, mild weather that had Londoners out in droves, the two of them rode horses in Hyde Park, took hikes along the River Thames, visited the children’s zoo at Battersea Park, watched an impromptu softball game played by expat Americans living in London, went boating in Regent’s Park, and explored neighborhoods adjacent to where they lived.
At the end of one afternoon jaunt, they met up with Sara and shopped for the required school uniforms Patrick needed when he entered private school in late August. Running a little late, Sara came rushing into the clothing store to join them, dressed in a black pantsuit and looking strikingly beautiful. Passersby on the street and shopgirls in the store would have never guessed her to be a highly decorated, combat-wounded career military officer.
Patrick didn’t like the summer uniform of rust-colored corduroy shorts and beige short-sleeved shirts, arguing that he should be allowed to wear blue jeans and cowboy boots like he did back at the ranch. Ganged up on by both parents, he quickly lost the squabble.
Because he was growing so fast, they decided to wait until fall to buy his winter school uniforms. Kerney paid the bill, still a bit shocked by what things cost in England compared to the States.
Packages in hand, they took a bus to within a short walk of the embassy for a prearranged tour and visit to Sara’s office. Kerney and Patrick had only seen the building from the outside, during one of their safaris around the city. It was a starkly functional structure except for a huge gilded eagle perched on the parapet and a statue of General Eisenhower anchoring a corner plot outside the building.
According to the embassy staff, in the aftermath of 9/11, the building had been surrounded by portable wire fencing with concrete-and-marble bollards to keep car bombers away. Armed police foot patrols had roamed the grounds and a temporary guard shack served to process visitors.
It had all rather offended the locals, who resented an armed fortification set in the middle of tranquil Mayfair, and they lampooned it as a failure of American aesthetics. Now the embassy was no less well protected, but the portable chain link barrier was gone, replaced by an attractive iron fence, the closed-off road in front of the building had been nicely landscaped, and new entry pavilions had been created to process the steady stream of visitors and visa seekers.
Sara took them through the pavilion reserved for American citizens, where Kerney and Patrick presented their passports and military dependent identification cards to a security clerk who checked their names against a list of authorized visitors. They walked through a formal reception area with a soaring ceiling and walls of bronze plaques to a bank of elevators and went up to a suite of offices housed behind a locked door.
Holding Patrick’s hand, Sara gave them a tour and introduced them to the one-star navy rear admiral who was her boss, and a few of her army, marine, and air force colleagues. Her own large, handsome office overlooked the lush lawn and majestic trees in Grosvenor Square.
Patrick immediately climbed into the chair behind the big desk and started asking his mother questions about the maps and pictures on the walls, the books and papers on the desk, all the people he’d just met, and what they did.
; Sara sat with Kerney on the couch and patiently answered Patrick’s questions as he swiveled in the leather desk chair. When he stopped swiveling, he admired the framed desk photograph taken at the ranch, of himself on his pony, and asked his mother where the glass jar filled with seashells had come from.
“Your father and I gathered those seashells on beaches in western Ireland when we were first married,” she replied, remembering a honeymoon that now seemed so distant, given all that had happened over a few short years.
Patrick eyes widened. “I’d like to go to the beach and see the ocean again.”
“How about next weekend?” Sara proposed as she squeezed Kerney’s hand.
Patrick waited for Kerney’s response.
“The beach and ocean it will be,” Kerney replied.
Patrick beamed and resumed swiveling.
Kerney turned to Sara. “I got a call from Andy Baca today.”
“Really? What did Andy have to say?”
Sara’s telephone rang and she took the call before Kerney could reply. A concerned look quickly crossed her face as she reached for pen and paper and scribbled notes.
After thanking the caller, she hung up, gave Kerney a glum look, and said, “I’m going to have to cut our visit short.”
“Problems?”
“You could say that.” Sara scooted behind the desk and plucked Patrick out of the chair. “In the words of the Royal Army major who just called, one of my chaps has gone missing.”
Kerney raised an eyebrow as Sara passed Patrick to him. “That’s not good news.”
“No, it’s not,” Sara said in agreement. She gave Patrick a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I’ll walk you out. What did Andy want?”
Kerney set Patrick down on the floor. “Nothing that can’t wait,” he said.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael McGarrity is the author of the Anthony Award- nominated Tularosa, as well as Mexican Hat, Serpent Gate, Hermit’s Peak, The Judas Judge, Under the Color of Law, The Big Gamble, Everyone Dies, Slow Kill, Nothing but Trouble, and Death Song. A former deputy sheriff for Santa Fe County, he established the department’s first Sex Crimes Unit. He has also served as an instructor at the New Mexico Law Enforcement Academy and as an investigator for the New Mexico Public Defender’s Office. He lives in Santa Fe.
Also by Michael McGarrity
Tularosa
Mexican Hat
Serpent Gate
Hermit’s Peak
The Judas Judge
Under the Color of Law
The Big Gamble
Everyone Dies
Slow Kill
Nothing but Trouble
Death Song
FB2 document info
Document ID: 0a4c7baa-ce75-4daa-beba-082b71944437
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 7.9.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.67, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Michael McGarrity
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