Under the color of law kk-6

by Michael McGarrity

  "And she was decorated with the Distinguished Service Medal. I heard they wanted to give her the Silver Star, but that would have meant admitting that she'd been in a hostile action with North Korean troops.

  Isn't that something?"

  "She's an ass-kissing bitch," Applewhite said.

  "That's what got her the DSM and the promotion."

  Sara fell asleep on the couch. She woke up to a knock, saw that a piece of paper had been slipped under the door, and looked through the peephole, expecting to see a bellhop waiting for a tip. Instead, she saw a man holding up an SFPD shield. Kerney wandered out of the bedroom groggy eyed and in his underwear as she picked up the piece of paper and unlatched the door.

  Molina held up his clipboard with an attached piece of paper that read:

  YOUR ROOM IS BUGGED.MEETME IN THE LOBBY.

  Sara nodded, closed the door, and glanced at the paper. It was a handwritten fax message to her that read:

  Go BACK To Your post.

  A five-digit number followed the message. They dressed and hurried to meet Molina.

  "Who wants you to go back to your post?" Kerney asked as they walked down the corridor to the elevators.

  "And why?"

  "I don't know," Sara replied in a troubled voice.

  The elevator doors slid open on the ground floor to reveal Molina pacing impatiently. The night manager behind the guest check-in counter looked on with unabashed interest.

  "How did you locate us?" Kerney asked Molina.

  "Ingram faxed your wife a message," Sal said, holding up an office key.

  "I've got a place where we can talk. What did the message say, Chief?"

  Sara answered.

  "Basically, it said get out of town."

  Molina took them into the general manager's office and slipped a minicassette into his pocket tape recorder.

  "This was just picked up from Agent Applewhite's room," he said.

  "I recorded it off my handheld radio, so the sound quality isn't great, but you can still make it out."

  Sara and Kerney listened to the tape of Ingram's conversation with Applewhite.

  Molina glanced over Ingram's fax message. When the tape ended Sal asked,

  "What do the numbers in the fax message mean?"

  "Each West Point graduate is assigned what's known as a Cullen number,"

  Sara said.

  "It's named for the general who began chronicling biographies of every graduate in 1850. The numbers are assigned alphabetically and in sequence starting from the first graduate through the most recent class.

  Everyone has a unique number. I'm betting this one is Tim's.

  He wanted to make sure I'd know who sent the message."

  "So that you'd take it seriously," Kerney added.

  "He also gave Applewhite a suggestion on how to ease you out of the picture."

  "Exactly. Something nasty is in the works and Ingram isn't happy about it. He risked a lot to warn me."

  "How did he get onto you so fast?"

  "I think I know," Molina said. He looked totally sleep deprived.

  "Perry never showed at the airport, so Sloan took Apple white. I waited until Ingram arrived and followed him. He went directly to the federal courthouse, where he stayed for a good three hours."

  "Did you keep a surveillance log?" Sara asked.

  "I can give you exact times," Molina said, consulting his notepad. He read off a chronology of Ingram's movements in hours and minutes.

  "He tapped into my laptop," Sara said.

  "Either through Carnivore or SWAMI," Kerney said, swinging his attention to Molina.

  "This is the second trip someone's made to the federal courthouse."

  "Yeah, Perry last night," Molina said with a weary smile.

  "But it feels like it happened a week ago."

  "That's where the tapes are," Kerney said.

  "How reliable is your informant?"

  "Jake? He's a retired sheriff's captain."

  "Perfect. That makes him a rock-solid source. See what more you can squeeze out of him. Get specific information about what's inside that room. Concentrate on communication equipment, radio and television monitors, computers-any kind of hardware that's used for electronic surveillance."

  Molina took notes.

  "He might not budge."

  "Find a way to push him."

  "Anything else?"

  "Get background information on his law-enforcement career. I'll need to be able to show that he has expert knowledge of undercover operations and equipment."

  "Are you going for a search warrant?"

  "You bet I am. That room may hold exactly what's needed to break this investigation wide open. Where's Sloan?"

  "Following Ingram back to Albuquerque."

  "Someone has to keep an eye on Applewhite while you're busy with Jake.

  Have Deputy Chief Otero backstop you. He's filled in on the operation.

  If Charlie Perry makes an appearance, Larry covers him."

  "How long do you want us to go with this, Chief?"

  Kerney looked at his watch. It was four in the morning.

  "We pull the plug in twelve hours, as originally planned. Can you hang in there?"

  "Ten-four, Chief. Where will you be in case we need to make contact?"

  "Sara and I will be paying some early visits to a couple of people.

  I'll keep in touch with you by cell phone."

  Chapter 13

  Sara's early-morning cranky stomach slowed them down. She drank a special herbal tea she'd brought along and waved off Kerney's suggestion to proceed without her. His attempts to comfort her were likewise rebuffed.

  She dressed while Kerney booked the hotel suite for the remainder of the weekend. She emerged from the bedroom looking shaky and pale.

  Kerney wondered how she could do a five-mile run every weekday morning before her classes at Fort Leavenworth.

  On the streets school buses collected small groups of waiting students at intersections, slowing up impatient drivers who zipped around the buses as soon as the red warning lights stopped flashing.

  They waited behind a bus and Sara said, "Before Lieutenant Molina showed up, I did some Internet surfing on Trade Source. Proctor Straley was one of the original investors. He netted fifty million dollars after the company went public, and still holds a sizable block of shares."

  The school bus moved. Kerney let cars go around before passing.

  "That tangles the web a bit," he said.

  "What if the information Phyllis Terrell passed on to Father Mitchell came from her father and not the ambassador?"

  "I've given that some thought," Sara said.

  "If Straley is involved in the cover-up, Ingram will have warned him by now about our interest in his Trade Source connection."

  "If Straley's guarded when meet with him, or not the grieving father, that could tell he's been alerted."

  "Not necessarily," Sara said.

  "Straley's a heavyweight corporate player. He's dealt with hostile take-overs, angry shareholders, and a Justice Department antitrust probe. I bet he knows how to hold a good poker hand."

  On the valley road to the Stewart residence an SLJV filled with school-aged teenagers sped by. Sara looked at the hillside houses and the sweet mountain views. Cloudlike wisps of snow floated off higher peaks. Soft morning light sparkled against the tree cover.

  "Nice neighborhood," she said.

  "Why don't we rent something up here until we build?"

  "Are you serious?"

  "Don't be such a penny-pincher, Kerney. Spend some of those riches you've inherited."

  Kerney rolled to a stop in Stewart's driveway.

  "Let me girl-talk with Mrs. Stewart," Sara said.

  "Are you feeling up to it?"

  Sara ate a saltine cracker, gave Kerney a winsome smile, swung her legs out of the truck, and said, "I'm fine."

  Kerney hung back and let Sara take the lead. The older woman who let them in
to the foyer spoke in hushed tones. Her daughter couldn't possibly be disturbed, the family was in mourning, the children would become even more upset than they already were.

  Sara countered with a sympathetic smile and reassurances. She understood completely, the visit would be brief, there was new information to be shared.

  The woman left to consult with her daughter. She came back and took them down a long hallway past a kitchen where an older man was preparing breakfast for two silent young boys sitting at a long country-style table. They climbed stairs to a second-floor master suite where Mrs.

  Stewart sat on a couch in a sitting room clutching a pillow around her stomach. A long velour skirt covered her legs. Her hair, parted in the middle, fell loosely across her shoulders. She had a sharp nose that didn't detract from her wholesome good looks, and eyes that seemed slightly tranquilized. An untouched cup of coffee sat within arm's reach on an end table.

  "Lori, are you sure you want to talk now?" the older woman asked.

  "It's all right, Mother."

  "Do you want me to stay with you?"

  "No, you go on."

  The woman left and Sara sat on the far end of the couch. Kerney moved to a horizontal window that framed the valley panorama below and perched silently on a low ranch-style bench.

  Sara turned to face Lori.

  "Thank you for seeing us. I know this must be hard."

  "What do you want to tell me?"

  "We have evidence that strongly suggests your husband was with Phyllis Terrell the night she was killed," Sara said.

  Lori Stewart studied Sara unflinchingly.

  "What bearing does that have on Randall's death?"

  "You're not surprised?"

  "From what I've read, her killer was identified by the FBI," Mrs.

  Stewart replied.

  "Randall may have been many things, but he was not a murderer."

  "Many things?" Sara echoed.

  "I'd rather not go into it."

  "I can understand how you might want to keep family matters private,"

  Sara said.

  "My parents adored Randall," Lori said.

  "Now that he's gone I see no need for them to feel otherwise."

  "He was with Phyllis the night she was murdered."

  "I'd rather not comment."

  "I know how difficult it can be to talk about personal matters with strangers," Sara said.

  "If you wish, for the sake of your parents and your children, what you tell us doesn't have to be made public."

  Lori reached for her coffee with a shaky hand. She clasped the cup with both hands, took a sip, and said, "You can promise me that?"

  "Yes," Sara said.

  "Please tell me about Phyllis and Randall."

  "I never wanted Randall dead. I only wanted him out of my life. I knew he was sleeping with Phyllis. It wasn't the first time he'd been unfaithful."

  "Tell me how you knew."

  Lori Stewart put the coffee cup down.

  "It started six months after Phyllis moved in. We'd met her socially at neighborhood gatherings, and I could see that Randall was drawn to her.

  She started calling and asking if she could borrow him to help her with her computer. He liked to think he was something of an expert.

  Soon after that it became obvious what was happening."

  "How so?" Sara asked.

  "He changed his jogging schedule. Said he thought it would be better to go running later at night, especially during the warm weather. He'd be gone much too long."

  "Did you confront him with your suspicions?" Sara asked.

  Lori Stewart shook her head.

  "No. I talked to an attorney about divorcing him.

  He said I'd be much better off to wait until after our tenth anniversary to do it. The court takes a more favorable view of equitable settlements if the marriage has had longevity."

  "Was that your plan?"

  "Yes, I was going to file for divorce in six months."

  "And Randall didn't know about it?" Sara asked.

  "No one did. It would've been hard enough to face my parents and the boys when the time came. As far as Randall was concerned, he was happily married with a nearby honey pot to dip into."

  "On the night Phyllis Terrell was murdered, did you know he was with her?"

  "Yes. He said he had to stay up late to do some work. I went to bed.

  After he thought I was sleeping, he left the house. I saw him cut across the arroyo to the Terrell property. I stayed awake until he came back.

  He was gone for an hour."

  "What time was that?"

  "He left at a quarter to eleven and got back shortly before midnight.

  The next day, when I learned that Phyllis had been murdered, I thought about telling the police. But I was certain in my mind that he couldn't have killed Phyllis. No one who has done something terrible like that can fall asleep so easily."

  "Could he have left the house again after you went to sleep?"

  "I would've known it. Randall always wakes me up when he gets out of bed. I'm a very light sleeper."

  "Thank you," Sara said.

  Kerney stood up.

  "What size shoe did your husband wear?"

  Lori Stewart gave Kerney a bewildered look.

  "A size nine. He had very narrow feet. Why do you ask?"

  "Just curious," he said, stepping to the door. The shoe print found at the Terrell residence was a size larger.

  "That's all for now. We won't take any more of your time."

  Traffic backed up along the feeder road to the Interstate. Soccer moms cut across lanes, hurrying to get kids to school before the tardy bell rang. Big-rig truckers pulled off on the shoulder of the road at a twenty-four-hour stop-and-rob near the southbound onramp for coffee refills.

  "If you're going to become an alley cat, Kerney, tell me now," Sara said.

  Kerney laughed.

  "I bet Lori Stewart, on advice of counsel, kept a diary of her husband's late-night visits to Phyllis Terrell."

  "What a good idea," Sara said brightly.

  "I'll have to remember that. I almost choked when she said she didn't want her husband dead."

  "At least she managed to keep the dollar signs from flashing in her eyes."

  "Tidy-looking lives can be so messy," Sara said.

  "Let's not do that," Kerney said.

  "Do what?"

  Kerney shrugged.

  "Fake it with each other."

  Sara patted Kerney's cheek.

  "Not a chance."

  "You don't think it's possible?"

  "Ask me in ten years."

  Kerney accelerated south down the Interstate. It was a good four-hour drive to Ramah, where Proctor Straley lived. None of the vehicles behind him looked suspicious. He kept his eye on the rearview mirror anyway.

  Sal Molina went to Jake's home, only to be told by his wife that he was up on the mesa for the weekend at the family's ranch feeding cattle.

  She gave him directions and Molina drove the all-wheel drive minivan up the unpaved rocky country road, skidding over frozen mud bogs, digging through deep snow-covered slushy ruts, until he reached the old abandoned farming settlement of Ojo de la Vaca. Roofless church and schoolhouse walls still stood along the dirt road and a few dilapidated cabins peppered the valley. Molina drove down a dirt track to a cabin where smoke rose from the chimney and a hay trailer hitched to a pickup truck was parked outside.

  An unsmiling Jake waited for him on the front step. Bits of hay clung to his faded sweatshirt and dusted his curly salt-and-pepper hair.

  "What are you doing here?" Jake asked.

  "You've got cows, Jake?" Molina said.

  "I didn't know that."

  "Yeah, I've got cows. What do you want?"

  Molina looked across the narrow valley to a pine forest that filled a ridgeline.

  "It's pretty out here. Old family place?"

  "My great-grandfather settled it. Get to the point, Molina." />
  "You know what I want."

  Jake shook his head.

  "You got your favor for helping my son, so I'm off the hook with you, Molina."

  "Don't put me in a position that could cost you your job, Jake," Sal replied.

  "You've gotta need the money it brings in. Look, up to now, you're a nameless confidential informant. Let's keep it that way."

  "Don't threaten me."

  "Come on, Jake. You were a cop for twenty-five years. How many times did you have to give somebody a little push?"

  "Enough. But I never ratted off a snitch."

  "Neither have I, and I don't want to. I've only got a couple of questions. Did you ever get a look inside the basement room?"

  "What if I did?"

  "I don't care about the people in the room. I'm just interested in the equipment and machines you might have seen, stuff you would have easily recognized."

  "Are you going for a search warrant?"

  "If we do, there will be no names in the affidavit and we'll ask for a sealed order."

  "Good luck," Jake said.

  "Help me out here, Jake. I've got dead bodies piled up and the feds lying through their teeth to me."

  "The way I hear it, the damn case is solved."

  "You heard about the murdered priest? It's part of the same investigation "You gotta be kidding me," Jake said.

  "I'm not. Cut me a break, Jake. I promise you won't be involved.

  What's in the room?"

  "I only went in once to do a search when a bomb threat was called in.

  That was seven, maybe eight months ago. Mostly it's filled with communication gear and computers."

  "Any surveillance equipment?" Molina asked.

  "Some of that too."

  "Like what?"

  "Wand microphones, wiretap units, miniature video cameras, room bugs."

  "Keep going," Molina said, writing everything down. *** Blindfolded, cuffed, and shackled, Charlie Perry felt hands lift him off the bed into a standing position. His body felt rubbery, alien, feeble. The heavy dose of muscle relaxants made his knees buckle, his arms flap at his sides. His mind was giddy, untroubled, his thoughts scatterbrained. He could sense the presence of a goofy smile on his face. He giggled and wondered what type of psychotropic drug they'd used on him.

  Two pairs of hands removed his cuffs and shackles and stripped off his clothes.

  The blindfold stayed in place throughout. He shivered as the cold metal cuffs and shackles were tightened down and locked around his wrists and ankles. Guided to a chair, he sat and waited. A hand rubbed warm lather with the scent of cheap shaving cream across his face. A razor scraped across his chin. He felt the blade nick his Adam's apple. A hand grabbed his wrist and straightened his arm.