The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [91]
“It will take about an hour to arrange it,” Vialpando said. “I’ll have to call in an off-duty detective. She’s almost a perfect physical match to Greer. Did you catch who her lawyer is?”
“I did.”
“I’m going back in there for round two,” Jeff said.
“You did real good,” Ramona said.
“You’re just saying that because we’re dating.”
The vice cop who’d been videotaping the conversation looked up and grinned at both of them.
Vialpando grinned at the cop and said, “Get Westgard for me. Tell her I need her here ASAP.”
“Ten-four,” the cop said, reaching for the phone.
“Go back to work,” Ramona said. “I need to call my chief.”
Sal Molina called before heading out to Kerney’s house. The chief, who’d recently moved, gave him his new address, and Molina drove the quiet narrow road that wound up the canyon, past million-dollar properties. He knew the chief was rich, but because Kerney never made a big deal about it, Sal hadn’t paid it much mind. That all changed as he swung into the driveway of a beautifully restored enormous adobe hacienda and parked in front of an equally charming guest house. From the size of it and the location, he guessed Kerney had to be putting out at least four grand a month in rent, which was quite a bit more than Molina’s monthly take-home pay—a whole lot more.
Although it was past midnight, Kerney greeted him wide-eyed and awake, looking somewhat strained. He took Molina into a dimly lit, nicely furnished living room, where an almost full whiskey bottle and an empty glass sat on an end table next to an easy chair.
The whiskey bottle surprised Sal. He knew for a fact that Kerney wasn’t much of a drinker, that the bullet wound to his gut had chewed up some of his intestines, destroyed part of his stomach, and made him cautious when it came to booze, so he wondered what was up.
“What have you got, Lieutenant?” Kerney asked.
“Information on Silva, Barrett, and Rojas,” Molina said. “Plus some recent photographs of them.”
Kerney nodded. “Run it down for me.”
Molina spent ten minutes briefing Kerney, who looked at the photographs and listened silently, chin resting in his hand.
“You got questions, Chief?” Molina asked, as he closed his notebook.
“Not right now,” Kerney replied. “A lot has happened and things are moving fast. I want a midday meeting tomorrow with you, Piño, that APD sergeant, Vialpando, plus two of your best detectives. Officers who can write flawless arrest and search-warrant affidavits. We’ll put all the pieces we have together then and hammer out a plan of action. Set it up for me, will you?”
Molina nodded. “Want to tell me what’s been happening?”
“Let’s save it for the meeting.”
Sal eyed the chief. Although his instructions were clear, there was something different about Kerney’s tone. What was it? A blandness? A remoteness? Had the whiskey blunted Kerney’s usual upbeat disposition?
Molina decided to risk asking. “Are you all right, Chief?”
“Yeah, I’m good, Sal,” Kerney replied, pushing himself out of the chair. “Leave those photos behind, will you? I can use them in the morning.”
Molina dropped the photos on the coffee table, said good night, and left, convinced that something was troubling the boss.
Chapter 12
Fitful dreams and a dull headache woke Kerney earlier than usual. In the predawn darkness, he reviewed the material the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Department had sent up to Santa Fe: the autopsy report, forensic lab findings, and Clayton’s field notes on the excavation of Anna Marie’s body. Nothing had been uncovered that could tie Tyler Norvell, or any other unknown suspect, to the killing.
Kerney wasn’t surprised; the victim had been murdered elsewhere and moved, and too much time had passed between the murder and the discovery of the body, which made the chances of finding any trace evidence almost nil.
Without physical