Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [130]
Kerney thanked everyone for their good work and went upstairs to his office, where he reviewed the shift commanders’ reports from the last twenty-four hours that summarized all policing activities. A DWI arrest had been made on Cerrillos Road by a third-watch officer, and a male subject named John Douglas Jordan had been taken into custody.
Kerney powered up his desktop computer, logged on, and found the officer’s incident report. Three hours after Kerney had left him at the hotel, Johnny had been arrested on Cerrillos Road two blocks from the city’s only adult entertainment club. He’d been stopped for making an illegal U-turn and had failed a field sobriety test. At the jail, he’d registered a 0.20 on the alcohol breath test, more than twice the legal limit.
Kerney called the jail and learned that Johnny had been released on bail. His phone rang just as he was about to dial the hotel.
“Hey, Kerney,” Johnny said cheerfully when Kerney answered. “You should have had that nightcap with me at the bar. Then I wouldn’t have gotten into a little trouble with one of your officers.”
“I just read about your ‘little trouble,’ Johnny,” Kerney said.
“Didn’t the officer call you at home? I asked him to.”
“He had no reason to do that.”
“I figured there were no special privileges for old friends,” Johnny said.
There was static on the receiver. “Where are you calling from?” Kerney asked.
“I’m on the road, heading home. Can you help me get out of this pickle?”
“Get a lawyer to handle it, Johnny.”
“Is it that cut and dried?”
“In my department it is.”
“I thought as much. No sweat. I’ll get that shooting script off to you. It will be on your desk tomorrow morning. Don’t let my little brush with the law put you off, Kerney. I don’t make a habit of it.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“I still want you in on the movie.”
“I’ll give it some serious thought, Johnny.”
“That’s all I ask, amigo. My reception is breaking up. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Johnny disconnected, and Kerney spent time running a quick background check on Johnny, using the personal data contained in the officer ’s arrest report. In Colorado, Johnny had been cited for speeding twice but had no DWI arrests on his driving record. The National Crime Information Center showed no outstanding wants or warrants, and there was nothing on him in the New Mexico law enforcement computer system.
Johnny had told him the truth about basically steering clear of the law, although a DWI bust wasn’t something to take lightly. But since experience had taught Kerney that Johnny could be untrustworthy, he decided to pay a visit to the New Mexico Film Office to see what he could learn about the movie project. Was it the real deal or a pie-in-the-sky fantasy?
Housed in offices on St. Francis Drive, the film office had undergone a resurgence with the election of a new governor who’d made trips to Hollywood to court production companies to make pictures in New Mexico by offering tax incentives and loan subsidies. Kerney introduced himself to the receptionist, a young woman with light brown hair and plucked eyebrows, and asked if there was someone around who could tell him about a movie to be filmed in the Bootheel later in the year.
Somewhat taken aback by Kerney’s uniform, the young woman cautiously asked why he was interested. She smiled with relief when Kerney told her he’d been approached to serve as a technical advisor on the project, and she passed him on to a middle-aged woman named Vikki Morrison, director of the agency.
Trim and energetic, Morrison had short blond fluffy hair and high cheekbones. Her office walls were filled with framed, autographed photos of movie stars and posters of films shot in the state. A director’s chair at the side of her desk carried the name of one of Santa Fe’s best-known resident film celebrities. A bookshelf held a display of various shooting scripts that had been signed by cast members,