Serpent Gate kk-3

by Michael Mcgarity

  He turned off the light, locked up, went to his office, and logged on at the computer. Except for Kansas and Colorado, it was time to let the network know that the pipeline would be shut down until further notice. gilbert martinbz got to work early and found a memorandum tacked to the office door. The memo, signed by the vehicle maintenance supervisor, directed Gilbert to produce his unit for servicing immediately. It cited departmental policy, and noted that failure to comply could result in disciplinary action.

  It was the second memo Gilbert had received in a week, and while he didn't expect to be reprimanded, the car badly needed a tune-up. He unlocked the office, dumped his briefcase on the desk, and walked down the hall to a back suite that looked out on the maintenance building.

  The overhead doors were open and the lights were on. Maybe if he got the unit in immediately, he could have it back in a couple of hours.

  He drove to the shop, parked by an open bay, found the vehicle supervisor in his office, dropped the car keys on the desk, and asked when he could pick up the unit.

  "End of the day," the man said gruffly.

  "I'm gonna have to fit you in where I can."

  "I need another car," Gilbert said.

  "Don't have one," the man replied.

  "You'll have to borrow from somebody who isn't using their vehicle, or catch rides with one of the uniforms."

  "That won't work," Gilbert said.

  The man shrugged.

  "You caused the problem, Sergeant, not me. I had you scheduled for maintenance last week. Next time, get your car in when you're supposed to and I'll have a leaner for you."

  Back in his office, Gilbert discovered two manila envelopes on the seat of his desk chair containing information on Rancho Caballo sent over by the Environment Department and the Santa Fe county clerk.

  He thumbed through the paperwork. One set was compliance documents for the effluent discharge and gray water system at me clubhouse. He set it aside.

  The Santa Fe county clerk's packet contained release of mortgage documents, warranty deeds, and copies of the mortgages held on Rancho Caballo. Gilbert read the material carefully. Twelve liens against Rancho Caballo had been released by a company called Matador Properties, based in Santa Pc. The total amount paid off to Matador exceeded a hundred million dollars. Matador held another hundred million in paper against the corporation.

  Gilbert checked the due dates on the release documents.

  Each were ten-year notes that had been paid off way ahead of schedule.

  Gilbert wasn't a financial expert, but paying off so much debt so quickly seemed unusual to him, especially for a real estate project with land and houses still unsold. He went through the forms again, this time scanning the signature blocks. Sherman Cobb, Roger Springer, and Bucky Watson had signed off on each of them, Cobb for Rancho Caballo, Springer as corporate counsel, and Watson for Matador Properties.

  It's such a small world, Gilbert thought, as he heard footsteps in the hallway. He looked up, expecting to see Chief Kerney appear in the doorway, ready to ream him out for his late-night visit to Roger Springer. He relaxed when the footsteps receded.

  Gilbert leafed through the papers again. Matador Properties was taking a hard hit on interest earnings because of the accelerated payback on the notes. And while everything appeared legal, he wondered why Watson would keep financing a project that yielded such low returns. He needed some expert advice.

  The official workday had begun, which meant that Joe Valdez should be in his office. Valdez, a senior investigator and a certified public accountant, specialized in white-collar and corporate crime. Gilbert picked up the paperwork and went looking for Valdez. He found him anchored behind his desk, reading glasses perched on his wide nose, punching the keys of a desk calculator.

  Valdez had a full chin and big ears with thick lobes.

  He wore his hair short with no part. He looked more like a prizefighter than a cop or a CPA.

  "Hey, Sergeant," Joe said as Gilbert walked in.

  "What's up?"

  "Doing the monthly family budget?" Gilbert asked.

  "There is no family budget," Joe grumbled, pushing the calculator aside.

  "A budget assumes that I can actually plan for expenditures. That's impossible to do with two teenage daughters in high school."

  "Marry them off," Gilbert suggested, sliding into a chair.

  "Too young," Valdez replied with a shake of his head.

  "Plus, they both want to go to college before they get married. As it is, I'm running a tax service out of the house in my spare time, trying to put some money aside for tuition. It costs a bundle to send kids to college.

  Now that the wife is working, we just might be able to swing it."

  "The rewards of police work come from the satisfaction of the job, not money."

  "Don't give me that crap."

  "You'll have both girls in college at the same time?"

  "One right after the other, starting in two years."

  "I'm looking forward to the same experience with my girls later down the line."

  "You'll love it," Joe predicted sourly.

  "What have you got?"

  "Take a look at these and tell me what you think."

  Gilbert handed Valdez the documents and waited for a reaction.

  "I don't like what I'm seeing," Valdez finally said, flipping back and forth from document to document.

  "These kind of real estate development projects usually attract more than one financing source, especially at this level. Two hundred million is a hell of a lot of money for one company to invest in this state, unless it's a banking institution."

  "What about the accelerated loan payoffs?"

  "That, too," Joe replied. He rubbed the bald spot on the back of his head.

  "There's a lot of cash moving back and forth here over a short period of time."

  "Between the same group of people."

  "Exactly. I'd be looking hard at Matador Properties, if I were you.

  Scope out the assets of the corporation."

  "That's the place to start?"

  Joe nodded.

  "You bet. Track down the source of that money. What kind of income is generating that level of investment capital? If it looks clean, then jump over to Rancho Caballo. The corporate earnings to debt ratio might prove interesting, once you know what amounts from the loan proceeds were actually plowed into the development."

  Valdez held out the paperwork for Gilbert to take back.

  Gilbert didn't move.

  "Would you do it? I don't know the first thing about all this crap."

  Valdez dropped the papers on the desk.

  "Have I just been suckered into something here?"

  Gilbert grinned.

  "Only if you think it's worth your time."

  Joe scratched his chin.

  "It may be. I'll make some calls. If I learn anything interesting, I'll let you know."

  "Pair enough," Gilbert said.

  "Are you using your unit today? If not, I'd like to borrow it. I'm stranded without a vehicle."

  "No way," Joe answered with a snort.

  "I only do one favor a day for newly anointed sergeants." caklos couldn't remember a time in the past when he had been invited to join the patron for a cup of coffee.

  He sat at the dining room table holding the delicate cup carefully in his hands while the maid cleared away the breakfast dishes. De Leon gazed out the window at the snowcapped mountains and didn't speak until the woman departed.

  "So Kerney has no girlfriend? No private life outside of his job?" De Leon asked, shifting his gaze to Carlos.

  "No, patron. He works and goes home. That is all."

  "What did he do in Albuquerque last night?"

  "According to a nurse at the hospital, he visited a patient, a man who had been found beaten in a small village called Mountainair."

  "What prompted Kerney to visit this man?"

  "I do not know, patron. But he identified h
imself as a police officer to the nurse in charge of the unit."

  "Where is this village?"

  "South of Albuquerque, east of the mountains."

  "Tell me about Kerney's workplace."

  "The buildings are fenced, isolated from the highway, and on a small hill. There are many police around, including students and officers who stay at the police training academy. Those who work there must either pass through a reception area or use security cards to enter the exterior doors. Cards must also be used after hours to open the security gate."

  "Could Kerney be killed from a distance as he leaves?"

  "Yes, but at some risk," Carlos replied.

  "The highway is very busy and there are nearby businesses along the strip that attract customers."

  "What is the best vantage point?"

  "There is a new car lot directly across the highway.

  From there I can see who comes and goes, but only if I use binoculars.

  I have been able to follow Kerney by identifying his vehicle. He parks in the same reserved space every day."

  "Using a sniper won't work."

  Carlos nodded.

  "We would have better success where Kerney lives. He resides in the guest quarters of a house near the state capitol. It is on a private lane at the end of a street, shared by only one other residence.

  The house is situated in a hollow, almost hidden from sight. From the lane, you can see only the roofline and part of the driveway. There are many places that can be used for concealment."

  "Who is Kerney's host?"

  Carlos pulled a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket.

  "His name is Fletcher Hartley."

  De Leon eyes closed. Fletcher Hartley was the man at the Rancho Caballo clubhouse who had forced Bucky to make an introduction. Had Hartley been acting on Kerney's behalf?

  "Can the house be entered easily?" Enrique asked.

  "Yes, jefe. There is one door at the front, a patio door at a rear garden, and a separate entrance to the attached guest quarters. There are no alarm or security devices to contend with. Under cover of darkness, with three men to assist me, there should be no problem."

  Enrique nodded, pleased with Ruiz's thoroughness.

  He now had a clear picture of what needed to be done.

  "Is the information sufficient?" Carlos asked.

  "You've done well," De Leon replied as he refilled his coffee cup.

  "Go to the house tonight. After Kerney arrives, send the men in. One through each entrance.

  Have them kill Kerney and his host. When it is done, rendezvous with me at the airport."

  "Are we returning home, patron?"

  "For a time." gilbbkt dug through the sheaf of National Crime Information Center reports on the people who had been interviewed and questioned since the investigation began. There were no hits for arrests or convictions until he reached Bucky Watson. In the early seventies, Bucky had served eighteen months in a California state prison for drug dealing.

  Gilbert reached for the telephone just as Chief Kerney appeared in the doorway.

  "Chief," he said, pulling his hand away from the receiver.

  "Sergeant," Kerney replied with a smile.

  "I understand you've been assigned as my partner."

  "I'll try not to cramp your style," Gilbert said, smiling back.

  "Do you have anything new on Carlos Ruiz?"

  "Nada. We don't even know where he is."

  "What about Enrique De Leon

  "Nothing."

  "Fletcher met a man last night named Vicente Fuentes. He's pretty sure Fuentes is a Mexican national.

  He said you have a snapshot of him that was taken at the O'Keeffe Museum benefit."

  "Has Fletcher been playing detective again?" Gilbert asked, handing the photograph to Kerney.

  "It would seem so." Kerney looked at the photograph and froze.

  "What is it?"

  "Enrique De Leon he said, tossing the picture on the desktop.

  "Have this photo enlarged and cropped. Give it to every officer in the district. I want De Leon located ASAP. Hit Rancho Caballo hard. Put an entire team on it."

  Gilbert slid the NCIC hit on Bucky across the desk.

  Kerney scanned it.

  "What eke do you have on Watson?"

  "He's been funneling millions into Rancho Caballo through a company called Matador Properties, and getting it back in accelerated repayments."

  "Put somebody on it to do a full probe," Kerney said.

  "We need to know if Watson is linked to De Leon "Sherman Cobb and Roger Springer are officers in Rancho Caballo."

  "Dig into it," Kerney said.

  "Is that all?" Gilbert asked as Kerney stood in the doorway.

  Kerney grinned.

  "Try not to piss off Roger Springer again for a while."

  "Don't make me wait for the other shoe to drop, Chief," Gilbert said.

  "Give me the full skinny."

  Tve been ordered to reprimand you."

  Gilbert sighed.

  "What should I expect?"

  "Nothing. I refused to comply. What did you do to Springer, anyhow?"

  Gilbert laid out the specifics.

  "Springer's reaction sealed it," he concluded.

  "If he wasn't screwing Amanda Talley on his uncle's office carpet, I'll eat my hat."

  "Very slick. Sergeant," Kerney said.

  "Slightly over the edge, but slick nonetheless."

  Gilbert smiled at the compliment.

  "I won't do it again, promise. Any word from Belize on the Amanda Talley double?"

  "Yes, indeed," Kerney replied.

  "The Belize authorities reported that Amanda Talley fell overboard from an excursion vessel and has presumably drowned. The body hasn't been recovered."

  "This could turn into a very interesting day."

  "It already has."

  "Chief, can I borrow your unit, if you're not using it?

  Mine's in the shop."

  Kerney tossed him the keys.

  "While you're out, check in on Fletcher occasionally, will you?"

  "Sure thing," Gilbert said.

  "Thanks for going to bat for me."

  "What got into you with Springer?"

  "It's a long story."

  "Maybe you can tell me about it over a beer when the case is wrapped up."

  "I'd like that," Gilbert said. kerney returned to the conference room and found a telephone message from Addie Randall, asking him to come to the Socorro hospital maternity ward to talk with her. He was about to call her back when Andy walked in looking very unhappy. He sat down, scratched his cheek, and scowled.

  "Well, do you have to fire me?" Kerney asked.

  "If the governor's chief of staff had his way, you'd be out the door on your ass for refusing to reprimand Sergeant Martinez."

  "Did you get raked over the coals?"

  "Big time. It's not nice to upset the governor's nephew. I told the chief of staff to put the request to terminate you and transfer Martinez in writing over Harper Springer's signature. I also told him if I was ordered to do it, he could have my shield."

  "You put it on the line, didn't you?" Kerney said.

  Andy grunted.

  "It didn't win me any popularity contests at the Roundhouse."

  "But the troops will love it when the word gets out," Kerney predicted.

  He looked at the message in his hand.

  "Can I use the helicopter for a quick trip to Socorro? I've got one last interview to conduct in the Gillespie murder case."

  "Do it. Get out of my sight. Today, you'd be nothing but an albatross around my neck."

  "You get so irritable when your butt gets chewed."

  "I know it," Andy said.

  "Don't waste time in Socorro.

  I want these cases cleared before we both get the boot."

  "Is that likely?" Kerney asked.

  "Politics is the art of the possible." the state police helicopters and all the fixed win
g aircraft were tied up on assignments until mid-mo ming When he finally boarded a chopper, Kerney expected to reach Socorro in under an hour. Instead, he found himself stranded at the Los Lunas Airport, fifty miles north of his destination. A winter squall had moved across the central plateau, bringing sleet, freezing rain, and wind gusts of fifty knots an hour.

  By radio, Kerney asked for ground transportation, but all available units were out handling fender benders on the interstate.

  The morning passed as he waited in the chopper with the pilot and listened to the sleet and rain pelt against the metal skin of the aircraft. There were no public facilities at the airport, and nowhere to go; Santa Fe and Albuquerque were socked in under heavy fog.

  Every ten minutes the pilot checked by radio on weather updates. A young man with an easy, laid-back attitude, the kid had plucked two stranded hunters out of a remote canyon near the Colorado border before flying down to pick Kerney up for the trip to Socorro.

  The pilot cracked chewing gum, hummed to himself, and kept looking for a break in the cloud cover.

  "If the wind lets up and I see a hole, we can slip right through.

  Chief," he promised.

  During his tour in Vietnam-maybe about the time this kid was born, if he stretched it a bit-Kemey had decided that chopper pilots were a totally insane breed of adrenaline junkies. Over the years, his opinion hadn't changed.

  "You think so?" Kerney asked.

  The pilot nodded emphatically and rubbed his nose.

  "No sweat. A little less wind, a little more sky, and we can cut right through the squall. Most of these low-level disturbances come in pulses. I can usually find a window to get through. But I've got to get airborne to see it."

  Kerney knew that seasoned chopper pilots, aside from being crazy, were highly competent. They had to be to survive in such unforgiving flying machines.

  "How long have you been a pilot?" he asked.

  "Six years. Three in the army and three with the state police."

  Kerney latched his seat belt.

  "Find your window and get me to Socorro," he said.

  "You got it, Chief," the kid replied as he hit the starter switch. after three abortive attempts and two hours in the air, Kerney arrived at the Socorro Airport a little green around the gills, where an obliging city cop waited to drive him to the hospital.

  At the hospital, he almost ran over Nita Lassiter on his way to the maternity ward. She looked tired and her eyes were red from crying.