Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [19]
“They will be as soon as we hang up and I give my people the go-ahead to make the call.”
“I’m staying over an extra day,” Kerney said.
“Why? If something is fishy, the focus of attention should be on this guy Dean, not you.”
“You’re probably right,” Kerney said. “But just to satisfy my curiosity, I’ll give it another day. I don’t want this situation biting at my heels back in Santa Fe.”
“Okay. Try to stay out of any more trouble while you’re there,” Andy added with a chuckle.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Kerney said.
“See you when you get home.”
Kerney disconnected, walked into the motel office, and paid for a room. As he left with the key, he had half a thought to call Sara and tell her what was going on, and decided against it. Better to wait until things got sorted out.
He dumped his overnight bag on the double bed, and looked around the plain room. Cheap salmon-colored drapes adorned with seashells and sea urchins covered the window, and a faded print of a sailboat in a plastic frame was screwed into the wall over the bed. On a small desk was a pile of brochures for the major local tourist attractions.
He hadn’t eaten all day, which was more than enough of an excuse to leave the dreary room, get a meal, and come back only when it was time to sleep.
Chapter 3
Kerney ate a light meal on the patio of a State Street restaurant where a blues band entertained appreciative patrons, and then went looking for the Spalding estate in Montecito. All the houses in the neighborhood hid deep within their grounds behind privacy walls, mature trees, and hedges. Only here and there could Kerney glimpse the partial outline of a roof or facade through the treetops or a gateway.
He found the estate on the road to a private college in the hills, protected by a ten-foot-high stone wall with three gated entrances, one for the owners and their guests, one for staff, and another for service and deliveries.
He stood in front of the ornate wrought iron gate at the delivery entrance and pushed the intercom button. Beyond the gate, all he could see was a tree-lined driveway that wound through a forestlike setting. After waiting a few minutes with no reply, he pushed the button again. Finally a young man in a golf cart drove down to meet him. He wore damp swimming trunks and a cotton T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms. Wet black hair drooped over his forehead.
Kerney showed the man his shield and asked if he might speak to someone about Mr. Spalding’s recent travel itinerary.
“Why do you want to know about it?” the man asked.
“Has Mr. Spalding been in Santa Fe during the last few days visiting his wife?” Kerney asked.
The man shook his head. “I can’t answer that. Everyone who works here has to abide by a confidentiality agreement not to discuss anything about Mr. and Mrs. Spalding.”
The man stepped closer to the closed gate and eyed Kerney’s rental car. “That’s not a cop car. Let me see that badge you showed me again.”
Kerney held his badge case up so the man could look closely at his official ID.
“You’re from New Mexico,” the man said, studying the ID carefully, “and a police chief to boot. What are you doing here asking these questions?”
“Do you know a man named Kim Dean?” Kerney asked. “Perhaps he’s a friend of the family from Santa Fe who has visited here.”
“Never heard of him. What’s this about?”
“Mr. Spalding is dead,” Kerney said.
The man blinked and looked shocked. “What happened?”
“We’re not sure what caused his death,” Kerney said. “Has he been to Santa Fe recently?”
“No, not in the last two months.”
“You know that for certain?”
“Yeah, he left his prescription medication behind, or lost it, or something. Sheila, his personal assistant, had to get a pharmacy in Santa Fe to fill it.”
“He had a medical problem?” Kerney asked.
“Graves’ disease,” the man said. “It’s a thyroid condition.”
“Other than that, was his health generally good?” Kerney asked.
“Well, he’s been complaining about blurred vision and not sleeping well recently. Does Mrs. Spalding know about