Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [32]
“I did not have anything to do with my husband’s death.”
“I never said that you did.”
“I am not a brainless trophy wife, Sergeant,” Claudia Spalding said. “I hold an MBA and a PhD in organizational psychology, and clearly understood the implications of your questions. You’d better be very careful with your investigation, or you may find yourself swimming in deep legal waters.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Ellie said. “One last question: Do you know a man named Kevin Kerney?”
Claudia knitted her brows. “I’ve heard that name before. Who is he?”
“I thought you could tell me.”
She left the mansion convinced that notions of normal behavior—if there was such a thing—simply didn’t apply to the very rich.
Captain Chase was out of the office attending an all-day meeting, but at the front counter a detective who was helping a young Hispanic woman amend a stolen property report from a recent burglary took a moment to buzz Kerney through the door to the restricted area. From there a uniformed officer took him to the cold case office, a windowless room with two desks and a big chart on the wall that tracked the status of the cases under review. George Spalding’s name wasn’t on it.
At one of the desks, a young man sat in front of a computer screen scrolling through a file. A name-plate on the shelf above the desk read DET. JUDE FORESTER.
Forester had an eager, intelligent look about him, which was offset by dark circles under his eyes and a skin condition that turned his forehead bright pink.
Kerney explained he’d like to take a look at the George Spalding case file, and Forester gave him a quizzical look.
“Why bother with that piece of garbage?” he asked, gesturing at an empty chair.
“Professional curiosity,” Kerney said as he sat. “There are some New Mexico connections that interest me.”
“Well, actually, we don’t really work it as an active case.”
“So I understand,” Kerney said. “How is it handled?”
“You know about the situation?”
“Your captain filled me in,” Kerney replied.
“Then he probably told you we do nothing more than take down the information Alice Spalding gives us and forward it to him. He takes it from there.”
“Where does he take it?” Kerney asked.
“He talks to Alice and then gives the ex-husband a heads-up on the situation.”
“Talks to Alice about what?”
“Just to reassure her that we’ve looked at whatever she told us and there is nothing to report. Of course, we really don’t do squat.”
“Do you have the case record?”
“Do I ever,” Forester said with a laugh. He opened a desk drawer, removed a thick file folder, and put it in Kerney’s hands. “Have at it, Chief,” he said, grinning. “You can use the other desk.”
Kerney spent an hour paging through the file. Most of what Chase had talked about was documented in the record. A U.S. Army report described the helicopter accident in Vietnam that had caused George Spalding’s death. The chopper had gone down for unknown reasons, probably due to mechanical defects. There was nothing in it that spoke about a secret mission or hush-hush duty, as Penelope Parker had mentioned.
Kerney had been in-country during the same time as George Spalding. He wondered if he’d ever met the man.
According to the rescue and inspection team sent to the crash site, only two passengers, who’d been thrown free upon impact, had survived. Everyone else—four people—had been fried to a crisp when the bird exploded.
He scanned the missing person reports that Alice Spalding had called in to the department over the years. In the material he found an old memorandum from a former police chief assigning Detective Chase to the investigation.
Kerney thought that a bit unusual, but not completely out of the realm of possibility. Perhaps Clifford Spalding had taken his initial request for special handling straight to the top.
It was also curious that Chase had remained involved with the case over the years. Why did he find it necessary to be the primary contact with Alice and Clifford Spalding? Why hadn’t Chase passed the job on to somebody else as he rose through the ranks? After all, it