Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [8]
“Just a few more questions,” she said, “and then we’ll be done.”
Kerney waited on the porch outside the office with the ranch manager, Ken Wheeler, and watched the coroner come and go. No longer a jockey, Wheeler had still managed to keep weight off his wiry frame. He sported a wide mouth that seemed ready-made to break into easy smiles, and had tiny ears that lay flat against his head. At six-one, Kerney towered over the man.
Wheeler told Kerney that he had two twelve-year-old halterbroken mares, four three-year-old geldings that didn’t seem to have the heart to race, and a young stud named Comeuppance available for sale.
Wheeler thought the mares, once saddlebroken, would serve well for pleasure riding, the geldings were sure-footed and quick enough to be good cutting horses, and the stallion would do just fine at stud, if the new owner didn’t expect fast runners from his lineage.
Kerney knew, if he decided to buy it, the stud horse would be his most expensive purchase. “Is that his only flaw?” he asked.
“I believe so,” Wheeler replied, his deep baritone voice quite a contrast to his diminutive size. “But you’ll get to see for yourself. He’s got good bloodlines, but none of his yearlings or two-year-olds look promising for the track. The boss says we sure aren’t going to make any money keeping him, and I agree.”
Before Kerney could reply, Sergeant Lowrey stepped onto the porch.
“Mr. Wheeler,” she said, “could you get me Mrs. Spalding’s Santa Fe address?”
“Sure thing,” Wheeler said as he slipped past Lowrey into the office.
Kerney raised an eyebrow. “Santa Fe, New Mexico?”
“She has a house there,” Lowrey said, “and according to Mr. Jardin that’s where she is. Do you know her?”
Kerney shook his head. “Do you want my department to make contact with her?”
“That would be helpful, Chief.” Lowrey handed him a business card. “Ask your officer to call me first.”
“Will do.” Kerney reached for his cell phone. “What did the coroner have to say?”
“So far, Spalding’s death appears to be from natural causes.” Lowrey paused and gave him a once-over. “Quite a coincidence, isn’t it, Spalding’s wife having a place in Santa Fe?”
“In this particular instance, I would say that it is,” Kerney replied.
“Are you sure you’ve never met her while you’ve been out riding the range?”
“That’s very funny, Sergeant,” Kerney said, slightly piqued at Lowrey’s sarcasm. “Actually there are times when we still ride the range. But now that the streets of Santa Fe are paved, my officers mostly drive squad cars.”
“Maybe you met her at a horse show or a rodeo,” Lowrey countered.
“Not that I recall,” Kerney said. He turned away from Lowrey and dialed Larry Otero’s home number.
After talking to Larry, he waited for Lowrey to reappear. Instead, Wheeler came out of the office and told him Lowrey had a few more questions to ask and would be with him shortly. He agreed to meet Wheeler at the track when he was finished, and cooled his heels waiting on the porch.
It didn’t surprise him that Lowrey wanted another go-round. The “coincidence” that both Kerney and the dead man’s wife lived in the same city would spark any competent officer ’s interest.
Finally, Lowrey called him back into the office. Kerney sat in a straight-back chair, while Lowrey perched against the office desk and studied the coral and turquoise wedding band on his left hand.
“You’re married,” she finally said.
“Yes,” Kerney replied.
Lowrey’s eyes searched his face. “And your wife didn’t come here with you.”
“She’s a career military officer serving at the Pentagon. Her schedule didn’t allow it.”
“You must not be able to spend a great deal of time together,” Lowrey said.
“We manage to see each other frequently,” Kerney said, watching Lowrey, who was busy scanning him for any behavioral signals that might signal deception.
“Have you been married long?”
“A couple of years.”
“Children?”
“One son, ten months old.”
Lowrey smiled. “Your first?”
“Yes,” Kerney said.