Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [97]
Ramona opened the folder, which contained a copy of Kerney’s case notes. “I’m not an accountant, Chief. Wouldn’t it be better to use auditors for this kind of assignment?”
Kerney nodded. “It would, if I wanted a full-scale financial investigation. All I’d like you to do is find out if Spalding or his company had any financial dealings with four people: Debbie Calderwood, who was George Spalding’s teenage girlfriend; Dick Chase, a Santa Barbara police captain; Ed Ramsey, the former police chief; and Jude Forester, a young detective in the department.”
“Cops on the pad?” Ramona asked.
“Possibly. I think you’ll understand my reasoning after you’ve read the file.”
“So much for sneaking in a day at the beach in sunny California,” Ramona said with a smile.
Kerney laughed. “Is your bathing suit packed?”
Ramona grinned, nodded, and got to her feet. “That was wishful thinking on my part, I guess.”
“Go swimming, Sergeant,” Kerney said. “That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.” Ramona turned on her heel and left the office.
Kerney lowered his gaze to the desktop, where there were letters to be signed, memos to be read, agendas of meetings to attend, and messages to be returned before he could leave for Virginia.
Kerney put his book aside as the plane taxied for takeoff at the Albuquerque airport. The afternoon summer sky was an unusually low gray blanket of formless clouds that dissolved at the base of the foothills, allowing sunlight to pour down on the mountains east of the city.
Once the plane was airborne, he tried to return to his book, a biography of Benjamin Franklin, but his thoughts were already in Arlington with Sara and Patrick. He had a vivid memory of the Cape Cod-style house where his wife and son would be waiting, and the events that put them there.
He remembered the long cross-country drive in Sara’s SUV with Patrick tucked safely in his infant seat, their arrival in Arlington, and the scramble to find housing within a reasonable distance of the Pentagon.
Sara had thought an apartment would be best, so they toured an area of Arlington known as Crystal City, with high-rise apartments, condominiums, hotels, and malls with trendy stores strung out along a busy thoroughfare.
Many of the apartment and condo rentals had magnificent views that looked across the river and took in the Washington Monument, the long grassy mall, and the Capitol in the distance. Kerney had liked none of them; they were boxy and the rents were totally preposterous.
One evening they left their hotel room with Patrick snug and happy in his carriage and took a walk through a nearby residential neighborhood.
“I don’t know why you’re so dead-set against an apartment,” Sara said as they walked the quiet, hilly streets of older homes with green grass lawns and big trees that towered over them. “Besides, you won’t be spending much time there.”
“Marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, plush carpeting, cedar closets, and city views aside,” Kerney said, “I just wouldn’t be happy back in Santa Fe thinking of you and Patrick living in some high-rise box.”
“Oh, I see,” she said teasingly, “this is all about you. Unfortunately, my basic housing allowance won’t cover anything but a rental.”
“How many real houses have you lived in since you graduated from West Point?” Kerney asked.
“Except for the brief times I’m in Santa Fe, not one,” Sara said as she bent down to give Patrick a quick look, who gurgled in response at the sight of her.
They sauntered around a corner and climbed a small rise where the homes and lots were larger, except for one vacant house at the bottom of the far side of the hill. It was a small brick house with a shingled pitched roof containing a row of second-story gabled windows. The front door, accented with pilasters, was reached by three steps. First-floor casement windows were lined up neatly on either side of the entrance. A FOR SALE sign in the front yard advertised “Immediate Possession.”
“That looks nice,” Kerney said.
Sara gave it a wistful