Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [13]
According to Jeffery Jardin, Spalding had never stayed at the ranch before, and had arrived surreptitiously to buy a horse as a surprise anniversary present for his wife. Did Claudia Spalding know Clifford’s whereabouts? Wives often have a way of keeping track of husbands.
And what about Kerney? Who better to orchestrate a crime than an experienced cop? Who better to stage a death that looked natural, leave no evidence behind, and have plausible explanations at hand?
Motive, opportunity, and means made up the three major components of any criminal investigation. So far, all she had for sure was opportunity, and a lurking suspicion that perhaps Kerney and Claudia Spalding were lovers who’d plotted and carried out a murder. But why?
She’d watched Kerney carefully, and he hadn’t shown any nonverbal signs of lying. But cops, the good ones anyway, were masters at lying. A lot of dirtbags were in the slam because of well-formulated, totally believable lies told to them by police officers.
Ellie tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Was she completely off base? She hoped the autopsy would answer the question one way or the other.
She reached the mortuary in Los Osos, and the thought struck her that calling such places funeral homes was totally incongruous. If you were there to get buried, you were about as far away from home as you were ever going to get.
Inside, she found Price moving the body from the autopsy table to a gurney. “Where’s Doc?” Ellie asked.
“He left,” Price answered.
“And?”
Price shook his head as he covered the body. “It looks like straightforward heart failure. But Doc said he’d have the lab run exhaustive blood and chem tests, just as you asked. He’s particularly interested in learning what the levels were for the hormone replacement medication.”
“Did he say why?” Ellie asked.
Price laughed as he pushed the gurney into an open locker and closed it up. “For two reasons: to keep you happy, and to see if the drug may have contributed to the death. Spalding’s heart blew a valve and the muscles showed signs of fairly rapid and recent deterioration.”
“Getting the lab results could take several days.”
Price hosed down the autopsy table, stripped off the bloody gown and gloves, and dumped them in a hamper. “Not much we can do about it,” he said.
In his late fifties, Price had a fatherly air about him that always calmed Ellie down. Maybe she’d pushed the investigation as far as she could for the time being.
She gave Price a resigned smile and nodded. “Do you think I’m wrong about this one?”
Price responded with a shrug of a shoulder and a grin. “I’ve learned never to bet against you, Sarge.”
Ellie’s smile turned mischievous.
“What are you thinking?” Price asked.
“Did you do a plain-view search of the cottage?” she asked.
“No, just the bedroom.”
“I took a quick tour around the other rooms,” Ellie said, “and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Maybe we should go back there and look again, this time more carefully. Perhaps Chief Kerney will let us search his personal property.”
“He could challenge you on that,” Price said.
“I hope he does.” Ellie dialed Jardin’s number on her cell phone, and when he answered she asked for permission to search the cottage to look for any evidence that might help determine the cause of Clifford Spalding’s death.
“Is this absolutely necessary?” Jardin replied.
“It would be a great help to the investigation,” Ellie said.
“Do your search, Sergeant,” Jardin said.
“Thank you, sir.” Ellie disconnected and winked at Price. “Let’s go see what we can stir up.”
“Don’t you mean stir Chief Kerney up?”
“Exactly.”
Kerney found doing business with Ken Wheeler enjoyable. The man had given him lots of space and made no attempt