Read Under the Color of Law Online

Authors: Michael McGarrity

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Police Procedural, #Thriller

Under the Color of Law (11 page)

BOOK: Under the Color of Law
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"You're quite certain everything is set?" Terrell asked, turning to face Perry, who stood in the galley kitchen stirring sugar into a freshly poured cup of coffee.
"We should be able to wrap it up tomorrow," Perry said as he dropped the spoon into the sink.
Terrell moved to the kitchen, rinsed and dried the spoon, and put it in the proper drawer.
"I don't like this probing by the local authorities into Applewhite's cover."
"That has been contained," Perry said, moving away from Terrell.
"It better be," Terrell said as he dried his hands.
"Is Proctor Stra ley on board?"
Perry sat on the couch facing the fireplace where pinon and cedar logs crackled in a warm blaze, and sipped his coffee.
"Along with his daughter Susan. They know about the affair between your wife and Straley's ranch manager. Mrs. Terrell made no effort to hide it, and both were well aware of Mrs. Terrell's appetites."
"Give me the specifics," Terrell said.
"As we discussed, you'll be the grieving husband."
Terrell stared at Perry, a cocky young man he didn't much like.
"I know my role.
What about the preparations for Scott Gatlin, the ranch manager?" he said.
"It's better if you don't know, Ambassador."
Terrell walked to the fireplace and warmed his hands.
"Don't presume to coddle me, Agent Perry."
Perry's smile vanished.
"Gatlin has been on vacation, fortunately traveling alone with no set agenda. He's due to return late tonight. He'll be intercepted as he arrives, taken to Gallup to be interviewed, and then released. He'll go home, get drunk, write a suicide note confessing to the killing, and put a bullet in his head."
"Is there anyone staying at the Straley ranch?"
"No, and there aren't any nearby neighbors."
"How will you make the confession stand up?"
"Threatening letters from Gatlin to your wife, vowing to kill her if he couldn't have her, were recovered by the FBI last night at her residence. A packet of letters written by Mrs. Terrell to Gatlin demanding that he stop harassing her will be found among his personal effects. Gatlin will be portrayed as a fixated, mentally ill stalker who killed his ex-lover."
"Straley isn't a stupid man," Terrell said, "and my sister-in-law has never liked me. Are you sure this will work?"
"Both of them know Gatlin as a lady's man with a temper and a jealous streak.
With the proof we'll provide there should be no reason for them not to buy it."
"Which is?" Terrell demanded.
"That Gatlin raped your wife the night of her murder. If necessary, we'll produce witnesses who saw him in Santa Fe before the crimes were committed."
Terrell nodded.
"I hope this Kerney fellow is as inept as you say he is."
Perry snickered.
"Kerney? Absolutely."
"I've read Kerney's background file, Agent Perry. His credentials as an investigator are strong, and he's made some impressive arrests over the years."
"I've worked with him before, Ambassador. Believe me, he's a loose cannon.
Besides that, he's running a department filled with shit-for-brains detectives."
"I don't think Chief Kerney remembers I was his commanding officer for a time in Vietnam."
"I didn't know that," Perry said.
"You didn't serve in the military, did you, Perry?"
"No, sir."
"Too bad. Ben Franklin once said that there is no such thing as a 'little enemy." The politicians didn't keep that in mind when we fought in Vietnam.
Don't make the same mistake with Chief Kerney, Agent Perry."
"I won't. We'll continue monitoring the situation."
"Very good. See that you do."
Perry left and Terrell moved to the writing desk, turning his attention to funeral arrangements. He thought about Phyllis as he began making a list: private services at the cathedral, burial at the national cemetery, invitations limited to a small group of government officials and the immediate family.
Aware of Phyllis's loose reputation, he'd married her anyway, because it allowed him access to Proctor Straley's sphere of considerable influence. At the time Straley had almost swooned with delight to see his tramp daughter finally so well wed. The great sex she gave Terrell until the marriage soured had been an enjoyable bonus.
Phyllis would be alive today, if she hadn't been so damn nosey. He paused and looked at his list. A letter of condolence to Proctor Straley from the President was in order. He made a note to call the White House in the morning.
Chapter 5
Kerney sat in an office chair and watched the smile on William Demora's face fade as he settled behind his large executive desk and tidied an already neatly stacked set or documents. Last night, without giving a reason, the city manager had called Kerney at home and asked for an early morning meeting. And it was very early indeed; workers at city hall weren't due to show up for another hour.
The city offices were housed in an old school building a block from the plaza.
In spite of extensive renovations the wide hallways, far wider than a modern office building would allow for, made it feel like a place for junior high students, not city bureaucrats. Kerney could remember the days when noisy, boisterous kids spilled out of the school to spend lunch hour on the plaza.
"Aside from carrying out the mayor's goals," Demora said, weighing his words carefully, "my job, as I see it, is to act as a buffer between my department heads and members of the city council. In other words, to keep politics from interfering with our daily operations. But I can't always shield my people from controversy. Especially if I find myself caught unaware."
"What's come up?" Kerney asked, maintaining a neutral tone.
Demora ran a hand over his closely cropped salt-and-pepper beard.
"The issue of your appointment of Captain Otero as deputy chief has raised some concern among several council members."
It wasn't the issue Kerney expected, but he held back his surprise and stayed silent.
"I thought we had an understanding that you'd run key appointments through my office first," Demora said.
"No," Kerney said evenly, "The understanding was that I would have full authority on all personnel matters and would keep you advised in a timely fashion."
"So why am I placed in the position of learning about Otero's promotion secondhand through the grapevine?"
Kerney checked his watch.
"Otero's promotion orders were cut less than twelve hours ago, after city hall closed for the day. You would have gotten a call from me in about an hour. But to answer your question more specifically, the reason you heard about it through the grapevine is because I have inherited a department filled with people who are accustomed to undercutting the chain of command whenever it suits their purpose to do so. Who are the unhappy council members?"
"You needn't concern yourself with them," Demora replied.
"I'll deal with that problem. But surely you understand that the police officers' union is a political action group. You can't expect them not to use their influence to raise issues, especially with several strong union supporters on the council."
"Was the issue raised by the union?"
"Yes. They feel that Otero's appointment is a step backward."
Kerney chose his words carefully.
"Although the contract gives the union no voice in management issues, I'd be happy to meet with them here in your office to address their concerns."
"I don't think we should open that door to the union," Demora said quickly.
"But I… The mayor does expect you to concentrate on building employee morale. Your decision to promote Otero seems to be having the opposite effect."
"It's my highest priority," Kerney said.
"Every police department needs good morale to do its job of protecting the public and upholding the law."
"How you get to that goal is important, Chief," Demora said smoothly.
"Developing constructive and informed input from employees makes them feel empowered."
"Exactly how does the union view Otero?" Kerney asked, trying to move Demora away from his favorite team-building theory of management.
"He's seen as abrasive, argumentative, and authoritarian."
"Is that your reading of the man?"
"I've found him to be confrontational upon occasion. Unnecessarily so."
Kerney thought back to the purged documents about Officer Herrera that Helen Muiz had saved from destruction. None of Otero's memos had showed evidence of distribution outside the department. Had Demora been behind the cleansing of Herrera's personnel jacket and the decision to destroy Otero's career? Captains not slated for promotions were frequently buried in technical-duty slots, far away from the operational-command assignments that were crucial for advancement.
Perhaps Demora had assumed Kerney would overlook Otero because of his career-ending posting.
Kerney decided to push the issue.
"Can you give me more details?"
Demora ran a hand over a horseshoe-shaped bald spot.
"I'd rather not get into specifics, but it was a situation requiring subtle handling, and Otero failed to realize that."
"I see."
"It's not too late to withdraw Otero's appointment. Doing so could win you some allies on the city council."
"Allies would be nice to have," Kerney said.
"But caving in to that could be perceived as union pressure might not be wise. When the union contract comes up for renegotiation, they'll be clamoring for a voice in management."
Demora nodded vigorously.
"Yes, of course, you're exactly right. Do you have an alternative suggestion?"
"Otero is eligible for retirement in sixty days. If he fails to do a competent job or conduct himself professionally, I'll ask him to put in his papers and retire."
Demora smiled with pursed lips.
"Very well. Sixty days, then, and you'll keep me advised of his performance."
"Of course," Kerney said. And you'll advise me if any additional concerns are lodged about his promotion?"
"Absolutely," Demora replied. His smile widened as he showed some teeth.
"It's essential that the two of us maintain a free-flowing communication. There's no need to hold anything back. With that in mind I do want Otero carefully supervised."
"That won't be a problem."
Demora nodded.
"I hope not. Now, fill me in on the murder investigations so I can brief the mayor. This isn't the kind of national exposure Santa Fe needs."
"It certainly isn't," Kerney said, holding back on the somewhat snide thought that criminals really should be more sensitive to the chamber-of-commerce vision of a picture-perfect retirement and playground community for the well-to-do and outright rich. The murder of a prominent citizen was unseemly, only served to tarnish the city's image, and caused hand wringing for both the boosters and the local politicians.
He forced down his anger at having his first major decision as chief challenged for the sake of petty politics, and began to explain the status of the investigations.
Growing up poor in Mexico, Ignacio Terjo had learned the hard way the importance of money. His first border crossing into America had driven the point home even more thoroughly. After arriving in Santa Fe he'd gone hungry and had slept under a bridge, covered only by newspapers and cardboard, until he found his way to a homeless shelter. Vowing never to be so needy again, Terjo now kept two hundred dollars sewn in the inside lining of his winter coat or tucked into the watch pocket of his jeans during warm weather.
Wary about his false identity, Ignacio had avoided becoming too friendly with the Mexican nationals who lived on the south side of the city, fearing he might be recognized. Instead, he'd gotten to know some of the locals, found his way to a good job with Mrs. Terrell, and met Rebecca.
Life had been good for a while, and now it wasn't anymore.
Released from the county jail, he'd walked to the outlet mall near the Interstate and rented a room for the night at a nearby motel, figuring the police wouldn't look for him there. After a quick trip to the food court at the mall, he'd locked himself inside the room, passed the time watching a Spanish television station, and plotted his escape from Santa Fe. He would go to Tucson where he could blend in easily, find work, and then call Rebecca to tell her that he was all right.
To do it he needed to get to his truck, which was parked at the stables.
A city bus stopped at the mall soon after it opened. He would ride the bus downtown, walk from there to the stables, and, if the police weren't there watching, drive away.
He checked the clock on the bedside table. The bus wasn't due to arrive for another thirty minutes.
Outside his room he heard the sound of a car. It started briefly, sputtered, and then died. Again and again the engine failed to catch.
He went to the window, pulled back the curtain, peeked out, and saw a woman bent over the car's engine compartment. Before he could release the curtain she turned, saw him, and gestured for him to come outside.
Terjo shook his head.
The woman stepped to the window and knocked on the glass. Terjo studied her. She looked frustrated and distressed. He slid the window open.
"Do you know anything about cars?" the woman asked.
"Yes, a little," Terjo replied.
"Could you please see if you can get it started for me? Please?"
Terjo looked around at the parking lot before replying. He didn't see any police.
"Okay."
He unlocked the door and it slammed into his face, knocking him backward. The woman and a man with a pistol forced him facedown on the carpet, handcuffed him, and searched him before yanking him to a sitting position.
BOOK: Under the Color of Law
11.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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