Serpent Gate kk-3

by Michael Mcgarity

  The city had a quiet, sleepy feel to it.

  Gilbert walked to the corner, crossed the street against the light, and headed for the plaza. In the lobby of the La Fbnda Hotel he used a pay phone and tried without success to reach Springer's lady friends. He left messages on their answering machines and went back outside. He crossed through the plaza to the fine arts museum and stood for a moment by the old Spitz Clock on the corner.

  All the old stores where the locals once shopped were gone, replaced by tourist shops and galleries. The lovely plaza and the beautiful old buildings surrounding it no longer served as the heart of the city for the citizens.

  Instead, it had become nothing more than a charming, high-priced outdoor mall for the thousands of visitors pouring into the city to shop, vacation, and sightsee.

  Gilbert let his resentment over the change surface.

  But his irritation was really with Cobb and Springer, and their air of superiority and condescension.

  He shrugged it off and went into the museum. It was time to find out who put the art collection together for the governor's suite. kbrnet had kicked off his blanket. Stretched out on his back on the twin bed in the guest house, his feet dangled over the edge. He wore only boxer shorts, and while the scar from the gunshot wound and the surgery on his stomach looked ghastly, Kerney's body was lean and muscular.

  Reluctantly, Fletcher shook Kerney awake. His eyes opened instantly.

  "You again?"

  "With my deepest regrets," Fletcher answered with a smile.

  "A very cranky prosecutor named Wesley Marshall gave me an urgent message for you."

  Kerney sat up. Fletcher wore a paint-splattered apron over blue jeans and a shirt. He had obviously been at work in the studio.

  "What was it?" Kerney asked.

  Fletcher consulted the piece of paper in his hand.

  "Mr. Marshall said that you are to be deposed by defense counsel at three this afternoon, and to meet him at his office."

  "What time is it now?"

  "Noon."

  Kerney got to his feet. Three hours sleep was better than none, but he still felt stiff and groggy.

  "Aren't you overdoing it a bit?" Fletcher asked.

  "You look haggard and wrung out."

  "It was a long night."

  "So I gather. I tried to wait up for you. I have information that might be of value to our investigation."

  Kerney walked toward the bathroom.

  "First things first, Fletcher. Do you have any food in your refrigerator?"

  "Would a nice omelette do?"

  "Perfect. I'll be there in five minutes."

  The kitchen, a wide room at the front of the house, had an arched entryway leading to the dining room, and a cobalt blue Mexican tile splash guard on the wall behind the sink, stove, and countertops. There were no cupboards in the kitchen. A series of open shelves held glasses, plates, canisters, and jars. Pots and pans hung from suspended racks, and a huge pantry enclosed by hand-carved doors filled most of the far wall. In the middle of the kitchen sat an antique Spanish Colonial table with thick hand-turned legs, big enough for a family to eat at one end after the meal had been prepared at the other.

  In front of a woven place mat was a small Waterford vase containing a single, showy bronze chrysanthemum.

  Fletcher's best silverware and a fresh linen napkin completed the arrangement.

  Kerney sat as Fletcher eased the omelette onto a plate and brought it to him.

  "All this for me?" Kerney asked.

  "It's far too elegant."

  "Meals should be civilized events," Fletcher replied.

  "And it's just my small way of saying thank you for all the fun I had yesterday. I honestly think I would have made a superb detective."

  "What brings you to this modest opinion?" Kerney asked, as he took a bite of the omelette. It was perfectly done.

  "Because I believe-modestly, as you put it-that I have uncovered new information which may further our investigation."

  "You have my full attention."

  Fletcher beamed a smile at Kerney.

  "Good. My informant, Frank Bailey, owns a gallery on Canyon Road. He recently attended a social function where he overheard a woman named Amanda Talley complain about the lack of protection for the art collection in the governor's office. Bailey said that la Talley went on at some length about how easy it would be to steal it."

  "That's excellent work, Pletcher. Just who is Amanda Talley?"

  "Ms. Talley works at the fine arts museum. She supervised the selection of the art for the governor's offices."

  Kerney swallowed another bite.

  "Maybe you should have been a detective. Did you get a description of the woman? Is she a blonde?"

  Fletcher nodded.

  "Indeed, she is. Frank Bailey seems to know a good deal about her personal life."

  "I'll have somebody talk to him."

  The doorbell rang and Kerney took the opportunity to finish his meal while Fletcher went to answer it.

  Fletcher returned towing Sergeant Gilbert Martinez by the hand.

  "Do you know this dear boy?" he asked Kerney. He guided Gilbert to a chair.

  "He's come looking for you."

  "Yes, I do."

  Martinez flushed slightly and sat.

  "Well, I've known him all his life," Fletcher announced.

  "He grew up across the lane in that lovely two-story home. It broke my heart when his parents sold it and moved away. Such a delightful family."

  Fletcher dipped into the chair next to Gilbert and patted his hand.

  "It's so good to see you. How do you know this Irish cop, Gilbert?" He waved Gilbert off before he could answer.

  "No, don't tell me. Let me guess. You must be the police chaplain.

  Although the fact that you're wearing a suit and tie raises some doubts in my mind."

  "Chaplain?" Kerney asked.

  Fletcher nodded.

  "Yes. The last time I saw Gilbert he was going off to a seminary in the Midwest to study for the priesthood. That was twenty years ago."

  Gilbert smiled.

  "Well, I am a father. I have two daughters."

  "Were you defrocked?" Fletcher asked.

  "Excommunicated?

  Tell me everything."

  "Nothing that dramatic, Fletcher. I changed career paths. I'm a state police sergeant in criminal investigations."

  "Unbelievable." Fletcher turned his gaze to Kerney.

  "He was the perfect altar boy. Angelic."

  "Stop exaggerating," Gilbert said.

  "The old neighborhood doesn't look like it has changed too much."

  "I try to keep the riffraff out."

  "Who lives in my parents' old house?"

  "It has changed hands five or six times since you moved away. The current owners are a New York couple.

  They use it as a vacation home. He's a book publisher and she's a literary agent. I've been thinking of approaching them with a proposal to write my memoirs."

  "Maybe I should try to buy it back the next time it comes on the market."

  "Would that you could."

  "You don't think a sergeant's salary could swing it?"

  "Perhaps you might want to wait until you get another promotion or two," Fletcher said.

  Gilbert's laugh was bitter.

  "That, along with another full-time job, would probably get me a mortgage on the garage my father built." He turned to Kerney.

  "I'd like to bring you up to speed, Chief."

  "What have you got. Sergeant?"

  "My conversation with Roger Springer went basically nowhere, although I did get the names of two women he took on unofficial, late-night tours of the Roundhouse. He swears he wasn't there last week after hours, and the two women aren't blondes."

  "What else?"

  "A curator at the fine arts museum by the name of Amanda Talley-she's a blonde, by the way-picked out the art for the governor's office."

  "I've alre
ady told Kevin about her," Fletcher announced.

  Gilbert gave Kerney a perplexed look.

  "Fletcher made a round of the galleries yesterday at my request,"

  Kerney explained, "and Amanda Talley's name came up. It seems she did some public complaining about lax security for the art in the governor's office, and talked about how easy it would be to rip it off.

  What did you learn from her?"

  "Nothing," Gilbert answered.

  "Talley started a vacation late last week. She's in Belize. She left a hotel number where she could be reached, and I called. She's on a three-day boat expedition, touring some wildlife sanctuaries off the coast. The boat's not due back until the day after tomorrow.

  "One more thing. Chief," Gilbert added.

  "The three O'Keeffe paintings were due to be sent to the O'Keeffe Museum this week."

  "Find out where Talley lives," Kerney ordered.

  "She has an apartment on Yucca Road. I have the address. It's one of those big rental units."

  "Have the apartment manager let you in. If you're questioned, treat it like a missing person case. See what you can turn up."

  "Without a search warrant, whatever we find will be fruit from the poisoned tree. The courts won't admit it into evidence."

  "Do a plain-view search only. Bring back a sample of any hairs you can find."

  Gilbert nodded as Kerney stood. Fletcher held up a hand to keep Kerney from departing.

  "Frank Bailey said that Amanda Talley was with Roger Springer and some other people the night she made her little speech," he said.

  "That's very interesting," Kerney replied.

  "Did you get the names of the other people?"

  "There was a local couple who dabble in collecting art, Bucky Watson, and a Spanish or Mexican gentleman.

  Frank wasn't sure which nationality he was."

  "I need their names, Pletcher," Kerney said.

  Fletcher made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

  "I have them written down somewhere."

  Kerney nodded.

  "Give them to the sergeant." He switched his attention to Martinez.

  "I want deep background checks done on everybody who may have overheard what Talley said."

  "You've got it. Chief."

  "Allegedly, she was tipsy at the time," Pletcher added.

  "Fletcher, tell Sergeant Martinez everything you learned from Frank Bailey."

  "Of course."

  "Meet with Bailey personally, Sergeant. Find out what else he knows and go over everything in detail with him."

  "It's already on my list, Chief."

  "Hook up with Chief Baca and fill him in."

  "Will do."

  "What's my next assignment?" Fletcher asked.

  "Have you finished talking to gallery owners?" Kerney replied.

  "The local ones are covered, but I need to start calling Albuquerque dealers."

  "Do that, but pass any leads on to Sergeant Martinez.

  He'll assign men to do the follow-up interviews, if anything looks promising."

  Fletcher's unhappiness showed on his face.

  "So, am I to be consigned to the back room with a telephone?"

  Kerney stepped around the table and squeezed his old friend's shoulder.

  "Don't fuss, Pletcher. You're still my expert consultant on this case.

  I'd be lost without your help."

  Kerney nodded at Gilbert and left the kitchen.

  Gilbert waited until Kerney's footsteps faded away before he asked the irresistible question that had formed in his mind.

  "Tell me, Fletcher," he said in a low voice, "is Chief Kerney gay?"

  Fletcher laughed deeply.

  "Not in this lifetime, I'm sorry to say," he answered. after burning the van, retrieving Amanda Talley's body at Emory Pass, and recrossing the border, Carlos dropped Facundo and the body at the rancho in the desert De Leon used as a landing field for drug shipments arriving from South America. Pacundo knew what to do with the body; he'd disposed of several in the past.

  Carlos finished the long drive back to Santa Pc, parked the Range Rover in the garage, and climbed the stairs with tired, heavy feet, hoping De Leon would be satisfied with his report. One could never be sure how the patron would react.

  He found De Leon at his desk in the library.

  Enrique looked at Carlos kindly before smiling and gesturing to an empty chair.

  "Sit down, Carlos, and relax. You look very tired."

  Only somewhat relieved by thejefe's reaction, Carlos sat and waited for De Leon to question him.

  "Did all go well?" De Leon asked.

  "Yes, patron. All matters have been attended to. Nick is dead, the woman's body has been disposed of, and me van has been destroyed."

  "I am pleased," Enrique said.

  "Thank you, patron."

  "I have additional work for you after you have rested.

  You are to assemble a complete dossier on Kevin Kerney. I want to know where he lives, where his office is, and who his friends are. Full particulars are essential.

  What is the arrangement of his living quarters? His office? Is either place accessible? Does he maintain a routine schedule? Does he travel the same route to and from work? Is he seeing a woman? If so, would he be vulnerable when he is with her?"

  Carlos nodded.

  "I understand."

  De Leon pushed an envelope across the desk. There is sufficient cash in the envelope to purchase a car which will not attract attention.

  Buy it from a private party, so that you do not have to register it immediately. Follow Kerney closely and take exacting notes. Remember, he knows you. Do not expose yourself to him."

  "I will be careful," Carlos replied, pushing his thumb against his upper plate.

  De Leon saw hate flash in Carlos's eyes.

  "You are to take no action against Kerney."

  "As you wish, patron."

  "Go now and get some sleep."

  Carlos rose, picked up the envelope, and departed.

  Enrique leaned back and thought about Kerney. His last attempt to have the policeman killed injuarez failed when Kerney had been rescued by an undercover army investigator posing as a hunchback. That failure meant that Kerney had to be killed in just the right way to make everything balance out. Retaliation against an enemy was a normal part of doing business. But in this case, the reprisal would be all the more satisfying to achieve. the snowstorm parked over the city stopped before it reached the Galisteo Basin. The escarpment that broke across the valley stood like a vast, ominous battlement looming over the rangeland.

  For several years, while he recovered from the wounds that had forced him to retire from the Santa Fe PD, Kerney had lived and worked on a ranch in the basin with a view of the escarpment and the Ortiz Mountains in the far distance. He had never tired of the sweep of the land against the sky, and the ever-changing colors that painted the scenery new again each passing day.

  Kerney made good time on a dear road. He arrived at the Torrance County courthouse in Estanda and went looking for Wesley Marshall, who wasn't in his office. He found Marshall, Bradley Pollings, and Gary Dalquist waiting for him in an empty jury room.

  Puffings had brought in a co-counsel with impressive credentials.

  Dalquist specialized in capital murder cases.

  He was a short, older man with a deep, rumbling voice and a cherubic face. Criticized as a flamboyant showman, he had a strong track record of acquittals, dismissed cases, and reduced felony plea bargain agreements.

  Prosecutors hated to go up against him.

  Marshall got up and walked to the door.

  "Aren't you staying?" Kerney asked.

  "Can't," Wesley replied.

  "I meet with the grand jury in ten minutes. You can handle it without me."

  Kerney handed him a copy of Robert Cordova's statement.

  "What's this?" Marshall asked in a surly tone as he stuffed the papers in a jacket pocket.


  "Something you might want to read." He nodded in Dalquist's direction.

  "Looks like you have some serious opposition, Counselor."

  Marshall grunted and walked away.

  After a quick introduction, Kerney gave another copy of Robert's statement to Dalquist before the actual Q and A began. Dalquist read it, glanced at Kerney with a gleam in his eye, and passed the document to Puffings.

  "Shall we get started?" Dalquist asked, his finger poised over the tape recorder.

  "By all means," Kerney replied.

  Dalquist was thorough in his questioning. He concentrated on the arrest procedure, Nita's mental state at the time both confessions were made, and the fact that Nita's first confession preceded Kerney's Miranda warning.

  He was looking for screwups he could use to have the confession thrown out.

  Kerney's answers didn't please Dalquist.

  Dalquist moved on to Nita and asked whether or not Kerney thought she knew what she was doing the night she shot Gillespie; Rerney declined the bait.

  Finally, Dalquist turned to Robert's statement and grilled Kerney about Cordova. Kerney obliged with the facts he had at hand.

  "Do you think Mr. Cordova would make a competent witness?" Dalquist asked as he hit the stop button to the tape recorder.

  "I'm not a psychiatrist," Kerney said.

  "But along that same line, has the psychological evaluation on Ms.

  Lassiter been completed?"

  "The report will be in the judge's hands in the morning," Dalquist said.

  "I expect Ms. Lassiter to be released on bail by noon."

  "That's good to know."

  "Do you plan to force Robert Cordova to corroborate Ms. Lassiter's statement that he saw her leaving the murder scene?" Dalquist asked.

  "I don't think I can force Robert to do anything," Kerney replied. wesley marshall waylaid Kerney on his way out of the building.

  "Why the hell didn't you tell me you planned to interview Robert Cordova? The case fell under my jurisdiction when I signed off on the paperwork. You don't take this kind of action without my approval."

  "Robert found me. I didn't go looking for him. Do you want all the facts. Counselor, or just those that will help you win the case?"