Under the Color of Law (3 page)

"Do you know how I can find Ambassador Terrell?" Kerney asked after introducing Cisneros to Lawton.

"No," Lawton replied.

"He's a delegate on a trade mission to South America. He's out of the country a great deal of the time."

"Does he still have ambassador rank?"

Kerney asked.

"I don't know what his official status is."

"It may take some time for Detective Cisneros to interview you."

"That's fine," Lawton said, smiling weakly.

"Please excuse my tears. I really cared for Phyllis. She's been a good friend."

"I understand."

On his way back to the Terrell residence Kerney framed the most diplomatic way he could ask Lieutenant Molina about the lack of resources at the crime scene.

He caught Molina's eye. The lieutenant stepped away from the medical examiner and joined him at the edge of the patio.

"Who did your people arrest?" Kerney asked.

"Terjo," Molina replied.

"We'll take his preliminary statement here and then interrogate him at headquarters. Thanks for the heads-up, Chief."

"You seem a little short on manpower, Lieutenant," Kerney said.

"Can I call in more people?"

"You don't need my permission, Lieutenant."

Molina paused.

"Yes, I do. There's a standing order in effect:

Only the chief can authorize additional personnel for major felony investigations."

"That makes no sense."

"It's what your predecessor wanted."

"Why?" Kerney asked.

Molina shrugged and ran a hand through his thinning hair.

"Cost containment. My unit goes over budget every year. Nothing I said would change his mind. It didn't seem to matter that I don't have a crystal ball that lets me predict violent crimes on an annual basis."

"The order is rescinded," Kerney said.

"Get the help you need up here pronto.

And in the future, get in my face if there's something that keeps you from doing your job. Are you clear on that?"

Molina smiled broadly.

"You bet I am, Chief."

"Let me know when you plan to interrogate Terjo," Kerney said.

"I'd like to watch."

"Ten-four."

"Has Terrell's sister or husband been informed of her death?" Kerney asked.

"Not yet. We haven't gotten an answer from the State Department on the ambassador's exact whereabouts."

"Inform the sister, but keep the local media in the dark for as long as possible. If any newspaper reporters show up, refer them to me. I'll be at headquarters."

Looking relieved, Molina hurried away to make his calls. Kerney walked down the driveway, kicking himself mentally. Since coming on board weeks ago, he'd met with each commander and supervisor personally, had spent a good deal of time observing operations, and was still digging through reams of department documents.

To avoid the possibility of reacting to personal agendas carried over from the last administration, Kerney had wanted to be completely up to speed before asking senior staff to recommend any organizational reforms. Now that would have to change. He couldn't let past stupidities stand in the way of good police work.

At the driveway gate Officer Herrera thrust the crime-scene log into Kerney's hands. Kerney studied the officer as he scrawled his name.

Herrera was short and skinny through the chest. Not even the Kevlar vest worn under his uniform shirt bulked him up enough to hide his lack of muscle. He had a potbelly and gray humorless eyes.

"How's the leg?" Kerney asked, glancing down at Herrera's torn uniform trousers.

"It's nothing, Chief."

"Glad to hear it. Tell me something, Officer Herrera: Why didn't you accompany the animal-control officer when he went looking for the dog?"

Herrera ran his tongue under his upper lip and clamped his jaw shut.

"Say what's on your mind, Officer."

"I'm not a dogcatcher, Chief."

"No, you're not," Kerney said, thinking Herrera might not be much of a police officer either.

As Kerney walked past the animal-control truck, the young man inside the cab rolled down the window.

"How long do I have to wait here, Chief?" Matt Garcia asked.

"Cloudy said I have to give a statement."

"Who's Cloudy?" Kerney asked.

"Officer Herrera."

"Give your statement to Officer Herrera."

Matt shook his head.

"He says it's up to the detectives to take it. I'm backed up on five calls and my supervisor wants to know when I'll be released."

Kerney motioned to Herrera. He approached slowly with his chin up and a sour look.

"Take this man's statement," Kerney ordered, "so he can go back to work."

"Right away, Chief."

Kerney turned on his heel to hide his frustration, went to his unit, and drove through the valley, glancing at the expensive homes-some new, some old adobes that had been restored and enlarged-that peppered the hillsides and the river bottomland. Interspersed among the symbols of new wealth were a few remaining modest houses. They were sure to be gobbled up or demolished pretty soon by newcomers seeking a prestigious Santa Fe address.

With the money he'd realized from the sale of the land Erma Fergurson had left him, he could easily build a trophy home and move into the neighborhood.

The thought was totally unappealing. Instead, Kerney had a realtor looking for a section of land in the Galisteo Basin twenty minutes outside of Santa Fe, where he could build a ranch house and keep some animals.

A ranch house with a nursery, he reminded himself, thinking of his wife, Lieutenant Colonel Sara Brannon, pregnant and on active duty while attending the U. S. Army Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.

In January they'd spent a weekend together at Fort Leaven worth. Sara had toured him around the post on a cold, clear Kansas morning, walking him across the parade grounds, pointing out the Victorian houses where George Armstrong Custer and Douglas Macarthur had lived. She showed him the building where F. Scott Fitzgerald had written his first novel.

He got to see the old French cannons that looked out over the Missouri River and the monumental Buffalo Soldier statue that honored Africanamericans who'd served in segregated units during the Indian campaigns.

After the tour they'd snuggled up in a lovely bed-and-breakfast and tuned out the world. It had been a wonderful weekend, and Kerney had returned to Santa Fe knowing that Sara's commitment to her career as an army officer was as strong as her commitment to their marriage. He wondered if that would ever change.

Sara was due in Santa Fe on the weekend. Kerney hoped that the Terrell murder investigation wouldn't get in the way of her visit. As it was, they had little enough time together.

Radio traffic told Kerney that detectives were responding quickly to Molina's call for more manpower. The street narrowed and curved on the approach to the plaza, past rows of tightly packed houses, creating the feeling of a village lane in a Spanish town.

Kerney pulled to the curb and waited. Five unmarked units running a silent code three passed by in a matter of minutes. That should give Molina the resources he needed. Hopefully, the lieutenant would put the personnel to good use.

Kerney made a mental note to learn more about Officer Herrera and drove on.

Although the city hadn't been hit with a lot of snow, a foot of new powder crowned the ski basin, and traffic along Cerril los Road was heavy with day trippers from Albuquerque on their way to and from the slopes. At the Airport Road intersection Kerney turned off and headed for the nearby police headquarters, remembering the time when the old Blue Mountain Ranch and a vast stretch of rangeland along Cerrillos Road had defined the southern limits of the city. Now that open space was gone, filled up by a large shopping mall, an auto park with four dealerships, and commercial clutter that stretched along the roadway almost to the Interstate.

Since starting the job, Kerney had tacked extra time onto his twelve-hour days to explore the city by car and get familiar with his jurisdiction. The growing south-side sprawl continued along Airport Road, where a mixture of strip malls, new residential subdivisions with houses on tiny lots, and boxy apartment buildings had sprung up at an astonishing rate. Santa Fe was fast losing its unique identity and Kerney doubted anything could stop it.

He entered police headquarters, where the receptionist, a young woman with a lackluster complexion and a bit too much blush on her cheeks, sat up straight in her chair and smiled a polite greeting that showed no warmth.

Kerney had grown used to the wariness most of the staff displayed when he came around. But he didn't like it, and he wondered how long it would take for it to ease.

He climbed the stairs to the administrative wing. The vacant deputy chief's office reminded him that he needed to act soon on filling the number-two slot.

Helen Muiz, Kerney's personal secretary and office manager, greeted him with a sheaf of telephone messages.

"Anything urgent?" he asked.

Helen shook her head and took off her reading glasses.

"Not yet. But I think you'd better tell the city manager about the Terrell murder before he hears about it from an outside source."

Kerney smiled. A thirty-five-year veteran of the department, Helen had been Kerney's secretary during his tenure as chief of detectives, and had served as the office manager for the past three chiefs. Now a grandmother in her late fifties, Helen didn't look the part. Full bodied, taller than average, with large round eyes that radiated a sharp sense of humor, Helen was the best-dressed civilian employee in the department. Today, she wore a pearl-gray wool gabardine suit and a silk plum-colored blouse.

She could retire at any time on a full pension, but chose not to do so.

Kerney was delighted to have her running the office.

"You always give me such good advice," he said.

"Which, if I recall correctly, you usually need," Helen replied.

"Probably. Find the order requiring the chief's approval to assign additional detectives to a major crime investigation and type up a memo rescinding it for my signature."

"That will make Sal Molina happy. Have you decided to stop rubbernecking and start driving?"

"You have an insubordinate personality, Mrs. Muiz."

"Isn't that why you're glad I'm here?"

"No comment," Kerney said lightheartedly.

"Don't bother to get the city manager on the line. I'll call him myself."

"How egalitarian of you," Helen said with a laugh.

"Shall I prepare another memo directing senior staff to answer their own phones and place their own calls whenever possible?"

"Why not?"

Helen's smile broadened.

"I knew having you as the chief would be fun."

"I'm glad I've made at least one employee happy," Kerney replied.

Through the one-way observation window Kerney watched Santiago Terjo as he sat alone in the interrogation room. Neatly dressed in jeans, work boots, and a heavy cotton shirt, Terjo was clean shaven and had dark curly hair that drooped over his forehead.

"According to Customs he's legal," Sal Molina said, referring to the notes from his preliminary interview with Terjo.

"Born in Hildalgo del Parral-wherever that is. Age thirty-eight. No wants, warrants, or priors. He's got a wife and three kids in Mexico, and a girlfriend and one baby here in Santa Fe."

"What kind of story did he give you?" Kerney asked.

"He says he moved the RV from the stables to the house yesterday after work before going to his girlfriend's house, where he spent the night.

He last saw Terrell alive at about six o'clock in the evening when they talked for a few minutes about what she wanted done while she was gone.

According to Terjo, Terrell was alone at the time."

"Does the girlfriend confirm he was with her?"

"All night. Her name is Rebecca Shapiro, originally from New York.

Someplace on Long Island. She's a jewelry maker who works out of her house. Shapiro said Terjo didn't leave until seven-thirty this morning."

"Is she lying?" Kerney asked.

"Not likely," Molina replied.

"She independently confirmed the events of their night together. Terjo came over, helped Shapiro make dinner, and then they ate. He played with his daughter, Aspen, age one, until her bedtime.

After that Terjo gave Shapiro a Spanish lesson-she's trying to learn the language. Then they watched a little television and went to bed."

"Does she know about Terjo's wife and children in Mexico?"

"Yeah. She says she's perfectly comfortable with her relationship with Terjo.

Isn't into the marriage thing."

"What happened in the morning?" Kerney asked.

"Terjo leaves his dog, Zippy, at the stables when he stays with Shapiro because she's allergic to animals. In the morning he stopped by to feed him and let him out. He left his truck behind and walked up through the arroyo to the house, so Zippy could do his business. Then he put the dog in the RV and went to work."

"Doing what?"

"Taking out some trees in front of a rock outcropping on an upper slope behind the house. Terrell wanted the area cleared because she was planning to have Terjo build a pergola and an outdoor fireplace on the site, and the trees blocked the view."

"Did anybody see Terjo working?"

"One neighbor heard the sound of a chain saw, and another neighbor coming down from his hilltop house saw Terjo at the site. The detective who examined the area said the trees were freshly cut."

"Why did Terjo run?"

"He came down to the house to get something to eat and let the dog out of the RV. Supposedly, Mrs. Terrell gave him standing permission to raid the refrigerator whenever she was away. He went into the house through the main entrance. That's when he saw Terrell's body. He got scared, panicked, and went back to the RV just about the time Matt Garcia was chasing Zippy up the hill. He saw Garcia and took off. He said he thought Garcia was the murderer."