Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [96]
“I’m not. They tried to promote it as a plum assignment, sure to earn me another commendation. But all they really want to do is assuage the politicians and hope the furor dies down.”
“You know that for a fact?” Kerney asked.
“Come on, Kerney, you were an army officer. There are two kinds of orders: the ones that are written down and those that aren’t. In a private conversation, the scope of my assignment has been clearly limited.” Sara’s voice was clipped, filled with frustration.
“Does this mean you’ve hit the glass ceiling?” he asked hopefully.
“I’m not resigning my commission, Cowboy, if that’s what you’re asking. I want to pin eagles on my collar at the very least before I retire to civilian life.”
“And after that, you’ll want your first star.”
“Probably. But let’s not wind our way down that road again. How are you?”
“Ready to see my family,” Kerney said. “Will you have time for me?”
“I’ve got a handpicked team assigned to assist me. I’ll make the time. Don’t worry about that. Have our horses arrived from California?”
“Not yet. They’ll be here next week while I’m with you and Patrick. Riley Burke will look after them until I’m back.”
“I’m ready for a long horseback ride with you under a big sky or a full moon.”
“A night ride sounds romantic,” Kerney said.
“I get to ride Comeuppance.”
“Why do fast women always seem to like fast horses?”
Sara laughed. “You ponder that, Kerney. I’ll see you Friday night.”
“See you then.”
Kerney hung up, went to the kitchen, and fixed a light meal. Although he’d wanted to, he hadn’t asked about the George Spalding investigation. It could wait. Worried about Sara’s predicament, knowing he could do nothing about it, he sat and ate his dinner without enthusiasm.
Chapter 13
Ramona Pino often chuckled at television cop shows that were riddled with cliches and misconceptions about police work, dreamed up by writers who, for the most part, obviously didn’t know jack shit about the job. She especially got a kick out of a show that featured a shrink who hung around a police station giving instant psychological insights into suspects and a bombshell babe prosecutor who ran around tidying up flawed police investigations.
She didn’t know any shrinks or prosecutors who did things like that. In the real world, cops did most of the theorizing about suspects and virtually all of the hard grunt work necessary to bring a case to trial.
But this Friday morning, Ramona’s job was bringing her an unexpected bonus that had a bit of California glamor to it. She was being sent to work with the San Luis Obispo County Sheriff’s Department to wrap up the Spalding homicide case. Her airplane ticket and a per diem check were in her purse. She sat in Chief Kerney’s office with all of her case materials crammed into a soft canvas flight bag at her feet.
“When do you leave?” Kerney asked.
“This afternoon,” Ramona said. “Sergeant Lowrey has offered to put me up.”
“I think the two of you will hit it off.”
“We already have, Chief. She’s meeting me at the Santa Barbara airport.”
Kerney scribbled phone numbers of where he could be reached in Virginia on the back of a business card and gave it to Ramona. “I’ll be at Quantico for the next two weeks, and I want you to do something for me while you’re in California.”
Ramona put the card in her purse. “I’ll be glad to keep you informed, Chief.”
“It’s not just that,” Kerney said with a smile. “Although I’d appreciate updates. I want you to take a very close look at Spalding’s will and his corporate and personal financial records.”
“According to the San Luis Obispo Sheriff’s Department, they found nothing in Spalding’s will that strengthens our case,” Ramona said.
“This is for a completely different matter,” Kerney said. “Clifford Spalding had a son by his first wife, a boy named George, who ostensibly died while serving in Vietnam. I believe he faked his death, is still alive, and that his father knew the truth and covered it up for over thirty years.”
“Why?” Ramona asked.
“I don’t know,” Kerney said as he slid a manila folder