The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [113]
Determined not to cry or throw her coffee cup against the wall, Sara decided to draw a warm bath and take a long soak in the tub.
Kerney arrived at the crime scene to find Potter’s body covered with a tarp. A large number of onlookers were clustered in the courthouse parking lot watching television reporters broadcast live feeds about the murder to network affiliates in Albuquerque. One reporter started shouting questions at Kerney from across the street.
He ignored the woman and took a quick tour of the evidence markers which, except for the bloody footprints, looked like nothing more than street litter. But if they found a suspect, DNA testing of the cigarette butts that had been marked as evidence might prove valuable.
He bent down and uncovered Potter’s body. Jack’s wide-eyed, handsome features were frozen in shock, and his bloody hands were pressed against a dark stain on the tank top just below the entry wound in his chest. Potter had died hard.
Jack had started his law career with the district attorney’s office a few years before Kerney first joined the police department, and Kerney knew him well, professionally and socially.
After a fairly long stint as an ADA, Potter had opened a private practice specializing in criminal law, quickly becoming one of the most sought-after defense lawyers in the city. When he came out of the closet as an advocate for same-sex marriages some years later, it didn’t hurt his reputation in Santa Fe one bit.
Of all the prosecutors Kerney had worked with in the district attorney’s office, Jack had been the best of the lot. Outside of the job, he was charming, witty, and fun to be around.
Kerney flipped the tarp over Jack’s face and stood. Entering Potter’s office he found Sal Molina talking with Larry Otero, his deputy chief and second-in-command. Kerney nodded a curt greeting to both men and turned his attention to Molina. “Fill me in, Sal, if you don’t mind repeating yourself.”
“Not a problem, Chief,” Molina said. “Potter was shot once in the chest at close range. I’m assuming you saw the blood trail on your way in.”
“I did,” Kerney replied.
“He crawled down the sidewalk and died in front of his building. The ME estimates Potter was shot about fifteen minutes before his body was discovered. We’re canvassing the area, but so far we haven’t turned up anyone who either witnessed the event or heard the shot.”
Kerney glanced around the front office, once the living room of a modest residence. It was nicely appointed with matching Southwestern-style furniture consisting of a large desk, several chairs, a couch, and a coffee table. Two large museum-quality Navajo rugs hung on the walls, and a built-in bookcase held neatly organized state- and federal-statute books. The door to Potter’s inner office was closed.
“Have you ruled out robbery?” Kerney asked.
“Pretty much,” Molina replied, “as well as burglary. We’ve only done a plain-view search so far, but the office and his car appear undisturbed. There are no signs of breaking and entering, and the vehicle hasn’t been tampered with. Both were locked, and Potter had his keys in his possession when he was shot.”
“Also, his wallet containing three hundred dollars and his credit cards is in the bathroom along with an expensive Swiss wristwatch,” Otero said.
“Where’s his secretary?” Kerney asked.
“She showed up a few minutes ago,” Molina said. “Detective Piño has her over at the courthouse, conducting an interview.”
“Is Piño the primary?” Kerney asked.
“No, I am,” Molina replied.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Kerney said. “Get the secretary over here soon. Have her double-check to see if anything is missing.”
“That’s the plan,” Molina said.
“What have you learned from her so far?” Kerney asked.
“She says that unless Potter had a court appearance or trial scheduled, he worked abbreviated hours during the summer months,” Molina replied. “He’d come in early, go running for a half hour or so, and then shower and change