thought I might be hearing from you," he said.
"Nita told me you took a statement from Addie."
Kerney held out the transcript.
"I did. Here's your copy" "It's not often an arresting officer in a murder case is so helpful to the defense."
"You're not the only lawyer who's made that observation recently,"
Kerney said.
"But Wesley Marshall didn't put it quite so nicely."
Dalquist chuckled.
"I'm sure he didn't. I have a message for you. Robert is being discharged from the hospital today. He'll be staying with Nita for a while.
She wanted to make sure that you knew where he would be."
"Is he well enough to be discharged?"
Dalquist shrugged.
"He's a welfare case. Hospitals push indigent people out the door as quickly as possible."
"I hope Ms. Lassiter knows what she's doing. Robert isn't easy to manage."
"I said about the same thing to her, but she wouldn't be swayed. It may work out; Robert is back on his medications and seems fairly stable."
"He's acting okay?"
"He seems to be, according to Nita."
"When will you go to trial?" Kerney asked.
"Not soon, that's for sure," Dalquist replied.
"But when we do, I plan to mount a defense that won't leave a dry eye in the courtroom." Dalquist tapped the papers in his hand.
"Thanks for dropping Addie's statement by."
"You're welcome."
Outside, Kerney watched two deputies march shackled prisoners out the back door of the courthouse and into a waiting sheriff's van. The new officer uniforms, off-blue and gray in color, had been selected by the county sheriff in an attempt to professionalize the appearance of his deputies. To Kerney's eye, it made the cops look like valet parking attendants with sidearms.
He called Andy from his unit and said he was on his way back to the office.
"I'll meet you in the parking lot," Andy replied.
"What's up?"
"We're going to take a tour of De Leon Rancho Caballo house."
"Okay, I'll bite: How did you arrange it?"
"By using the prestige of my high office."
"Will De Leon be there to give us a tour?"
"Unfortunately, no. He left last night."
"How do you know that?"
"He informed Rancho Caballo security that he was leaving." andy had the key to De Leon house and the access code to the security gate that barred the road.
"Amazing," Kerney said in mock wonderment as Andy punched in the numbers on the keypad and the gate swung open.
"How did you get the code?"
"Rancho Caballo keeps all the access codes on file, so they can shut off systems when there's a false alarm and the owners are away."
"Park off the road so we can approach the house on foot," Kerney suggested.
"I don't need a lesson in tactics," Andy said as he coasted to a stop.
They scrambled up the hill, Kerney taking the front while Andy looped around the back. He finished his sweep just as Andy joined him on me veranda.
"Looks quiet," Kerney said.
"Same in the back," Andy said, positioning himself at the side of the front door with his.357 in his hand.
"Some place," he added.
"Do you like it?" Kerney asked as he took his station on the side of the door, the nine-millimeter in the ready position.
Andy put the key in the lock" Not really." He turned the key slowly.
"Don't get me shot. Connie wouldn't like it."
"Should I call for backup?"
"You arc my backup," Andy said as he pushed the door open.
The burglar alarm went off and they waited a few beats before entering.
They cleared die house room by room with the alarm bleating in their ears. They finished up in the garage and went back to a locked door in the lower hallway. It was protected by a keypad system.
"Well," Kerney said, "aren't you going to open it?"
Andy hit some numbers on the keypad and the alarm shut off. He punched in more numbers and smiled at Kerney.
"Try it."
The doorknob turned freely. Kerney swung the door open and turned on the lights. The stolen paintings were stacked neatly along the walls away from the wine racks, and the antique and pottery pieces were on a tasting table in the center of the room.
"Sweet Jesus," Andy said, his face cracking into a grin.
"I didn't know you were a religious man."
"I am now," Andy replied as he patted Kerney's shoulder and stepped into the room.
"Let's get some techs and people from the museum over here pronto." buck? watson broke off his conversation with his lawyer when the door to the interrogation room opened and Kerney walked in. He leaned back in his chair and sneered at the cop.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen," Kerney said.
"Are you the arresting officer?" Earl Buffett asked.
"I am." Kerney smiled in Watson's direction and dragged a chair across the floor to the table. Bucky's sneer remained intact.
"I want this interrogation ended," Buffett said.
"It has gone on much too long."
"Mr. Watson is under arrest," Kerney noted.
"We can keep him here for quite a while," He sat down and carefully stretched out his right leg.
"How are you holding up, Bucky?"
"Better than you," Bucky answered sarcastically, studying Kerney's drawn, exhausted face.
Kerney switched his gaze to Buffett. The man had very little space between the tip of his nose and his upper lip, and a pinched jaw that pulled his lower lip down at the edges.
"Aside from the drugs found in the basement, what other evidence do you have against Mr. Watson?"
Buffett asked.
"Have patience, Mr. Buffett," Kerney counseled.
"Gathering evidence takes time."
"You've had most of the day to search the shop," Bufiett replied.
"Surely it doesn't take that long."
"Bucky's shop is only one of the places we've searched today."
"I assume you had search warrants?"
"Certainly."
"Where else have you been?"
"So far? His house, gallery, and the design studio," Kerney answered.
"Are you ready to do some hard time, Bucky?"
"That's not going to happen," Bucky said.
Buffett shot Bucky a glance to shut him up.
"You have presented us with no proof that my client had knowledge of the drugs stored in the basement."
"Weren't you told?" Kerney asked, feigning surprise.
"Told what?"
"Bucky's fingerprints are all over the kilos of smack and cocaine."
Watson snickered.
"Does that amuse you?" Kerney asked.
"You can plant as much evidence against me as you want," Bucky replied.
"It doesn't mean anything."
Buffett held up a hand to cut Watson off.
"Please, Bucky.
We can deal with the evidence issue later. What else?"
"Skip and Kiko have agreed to testify against your client. Prom what they've told us so far, both have made a number of drug deliveries.
We'll be adding additional charges against you, Bucky."
"Is that the extent of your investigation?" Buffett demanded.
"No. I'm sorry if you haven't been given all the facts," Kerney replied apologetically.
"What facts?" Bucky snapped.
"We were able to access your computer files. That's quite a nice little distribution network you've got going.
We have your shipment records with all the details. It's the next best thing to a confession. Have you told your lawyer about Enrique De Leon Bucky flinched.
"Who?" Buffett said.
"You need to be more forthcoming, Bucky," Kerney chided.
"Mr. Buffett can't help you if you withhold information from him."
"Back up," Buffett said.
"Forget it," Bucky growled, cutting Buffett off.
De Leon is a Mexican drug lord," Kerney explained.
"Probably the biggest smuggler on the border. A very nasty man. Are you sure you don't want to talk to your lawyer about him, Bucky?"
Watson glared and damped his mouth shut.
"Then on to other matters," Kerney said, switching his attention to Buffett.
"We're asking the United States Attorney to prosecute your client under the federal drug trafficking statute."
"That carries an automatic death penalty upon conviction," Buffett said.
"That's why we thought it would be a good idea.
How does that sit with you, Bucky? Will a death penalty be enough of an object lesson for you?"
"Puck you."
Td be angry, too," Kerney said with a shrug.
"You're between a rock and a hard place. If De Leon doesn't kill you, eventually the government will. It's not a pretty picture."
Buffett leaned over and whispered in Bucky's ear.
Bucky gulped, nodded, and whispered something back.
"Can we deal?" Buffett asked, when he broke away.
"Nothing happens without a full confession," Kerney said.
"That's hardly accommodating to my client. What, exactly, do you want?"
"Pull disclosure on De Leon money laundering scheme and his drug distribution network."
"Forget it," Bucky said. He would rather make a seven-figure cash bond and disappear with his considerable nest egg as soon as the judge released him.
De Leon knows you've been skimming money from him," Kerney said.
"Get real," Bucky said.
"I faxed the information to him myself." Kerney had taken no such action, and had no proof that his accusaon was true, but the thought of De Leon retaliation might make Watson reconsider his position.
Bucky reacted by rubbing his nose, putting both elbows on the table, and crossing his legs-sure signs of stress and guilt.
"I know De Leon Bucky. And I guarantee that he'll have you killed before you can leave town. Tell me I'm wrong."
"If you know De Leon so well, how did you contact him?" Bucky asked.
"The information went to his hacienda and to the Little Turtle Casino in Juarez. You're going to need to be someplace safe for a while. De Leon has a long reach."
The smug look on Bucky's face vanished and he swallowed hard.
"Just where the fuck is that?"
"I can get you into a special federal prison under a new identity. I understand it's quite a nice place, as prisons go. We can hold you there until your trial."
"Would you be willing to have my client tried in state court?" Buffett asked. A state court trial would keep Bucky off death row, if he was convicted.
"That might be arranged."
"I want more than that," Bucky said.
"If I talk, some important people in this state are going to fall hard."
"First you talk and then we deal," Kerney countered.
"But the DA might be willing to reduce the charges. It would mean less hard time. A lot less, perhaps."
Bucky thought about his options, and decided he had none. Everything he'd built up was crashing down around his ears.
"Okay," he said weakly.
"I'll send the team back in," Kerney said.
"Give them your statement." He looked at the lawyer.
"Don't let your client change his mind, Mr. Buffett. This is a onetime offer."
Buffett made no response.
"By the way, Bucky, did you know that De Leon masterminded the art theft and killed Amanda Talley?"
"That's absurd," Bucky said.
"Did Amanda leave with De Leon after the O'Keeffe benefit?"
Bucky's eyes widened.
"They both left about the same time." kbrney caught a night's sleep at a Cerrillos Road budget motel. In the morning, he found the construction crew working on Fletcher's house. A laborer scrubbed away at the bloodstains in the garage. The ruined dining room carpet had been pulled up and dumped on the porch, where a workman was hanging a temporary front door.
The man nodded and stepped aside to let Kerney pass. He found Fletcher on his knees cleaning out the kitchen pantry. Many of the cans, bottles, and containers had been raked by gunfire, resulting in a gummy mess.
Pletcher dumped a gooey container in a wastebasket, wiped his sticky hands on his trousers, and got to his feet.
"You came back," Kerney said.
"Better to face what happened than hide from it," Pletcher said.
"I'm glad you feel that way."
"I didn't expect to find my home already under repair. Thank you for arranging it."
"It was the least I could do."
"You gave the contractor a sizable deposit. I want to reimburse you."
"We can talk about that later."
"Let me show you something," Fletcher said. He went to the kitchen counter, where the Peter Hurd lithographs, removed from their shattered frames, were laid out.
Kerney stepped over and looked. The lithographs were heavily damaged, peppered with holes from Rasmussen's shotgun blast. They appeared un salvageable "Can they be repaired?" Kerney asked.
"I don't think so, but that's not the point," Fletcher said.
"Once, I valued these inordinately. Art can enlarge life, but it can't replace it. I'm just happy to be alive. The loss of the lithographs pales in comparison. I must find a way to thank that young officer for saving my life."
"I'm sure you'll think of something unique."
"Have you gone to visit her?"
"Not yet, but she's going to be fine."
He scrutinized Kerney carefully.
"You have a dangerous look about you, Kevin."
"I'm not in a very good mood."
"There's more to it than that," Fletcher said.
Kerney nodded his head in the direction of the pantry.
"I guess we each have our messes to clean up."
"Let me write you a check and pay you back for the deposit. My insurance is going to cover everything."
"No, Fletcher, I don't want the money. Use it, if you like, to replace one of the Hurd lithographs."
"As you wish," Pletcher said.
"The door to the guest quarters has been replaced. I'll expect you back after work. We'll have a nice dinner together."
"I'd like that."
"I need the company," Fletcher added.
"I still can't stop thinking about Gilbert."
"I can't either," Kerney said. the governor's receptionist announced Andy's arrival, and Vance Howell came out of the inner sanctum to escort him to Springer's office. Other than a greeting, Howell had nothing more to say. In the hallway, workers on ladders strung wires for a new closed circuit television security system.
Another example of locking the barn door after the horses got out, Andy thought glumly.
Howell left, and Andy knocked and entered to find Harper Springer at his desk conferring with his chief of staff. The man glanced at Andy, gave him a tight smile, whispered something to Springer, and retired through the side door to his office.
New paintings had been hung on the walls, and the glass display cases on either side of Springer's desk held Indian pots and some small cowboy sculptures. Fewer pieces of lesser value had been used to redecorate the office.
The governor rose and gestured at the couch as he came around his desk.
"Have a seat. Chief Baca."
Andy's antenna went up; Springer was usually much less formal with his senior staff.
"We haven't talked in a while," Harper said as he sank into a chair and crossed his legs.
"I know you've been busy."
"That's true. Governor."
"Finding the stolen art was good work. Real good work. But the museum people aren't happy that the Lady of Guadalupe bulto wasn't recovered."
"I know that."
"Any chances of getting it back?"
"We'll do our best," Andy answered.
Springer nodded.
"I visited with your officer at the hospital. That's one brave young lady. I think she deserves a citation, don't you?"
"It's in the works. Governor. Would you be available to present it?"
"Set it up with my press secretary. And I want to attend Sergeant Martinez's funeral service."
"I've given that information to your administrative assistant."
"Good. I'm still waiting for arrests. Chief Baca. We can't let these cop killers get away."
"I agree."
"I want closure. Chief."
"We'll push a little harder. Governor."
"I know you will. Get something out to the media on it. Let them know the manhunt is continuing. Now, tell me about these charges against Bucky Watson. How solid are they?"
"They're very substantial."
"Do your people have their facts straight?"
"Yes, they do."
"He was a heavy contributor to my reelection campaign."
Andy chose not to respond.
"Will Watson's arrest affect anyone else?"
"Watson has implicated your nephew and Sherman Cobb in a money laundering scheme."
No surprise registered on Springer's face. It was clear that Vance Howell had kept the governor well informed.
"I find that hard to believe, Chief Baca."
"It does create an uncomfortable situation," Andy noted.
"How are we going to handle it?" Springer asked.
"I plan to keep working the case, Governor."
"Let's think this through. I don't want any political fallout to occur because a member of my family may be accused of a crime."
"The situation will get the public's attention," Andy said.
"That's why we need a flexible strategy here. I think the investigation has to be completely separated from my administration.
What if I asked the attorney general to step in?"
"I'm not sure such an abrupt change in the investigation would be wise," Andy said.
"I understand that. But the attorney general is a Democrat who holds an elective office completely removed from my administration. If he agreed to appoint a special independent prosecutor for the case, that would erase any doubts of political interference on my part."
"I'd rather not see the investigation slowed down."
"I'm sure the attorney general can act quickly," Springer said.
Andy gave up arguing and got to his feet. Springer was telling him what was going to happen, not asking.
"I'll give the attorney general my full cooperation."
Springer flashed a winning smile.
"That's the kind of talk I like to hear, Andy."
"This must be hard on you. Governor."
"It cuts deep, Andy. But we'll get through it. I've been talking to the legislative leadership about that budget expansion request you want for new equipment.
If you can cut costs a little bit more, I'm sure we can get you that appropriation."
"I'll work up some new figures."
"Good." Springer stood, pumped Andy's hand, and showed him to the door.
"Hold up any further action on this Watson mess until we've got the attorney general in the loop."
On his way back to the office, Andy stewed over his meeting with Governor Springer. It made no sense, except as political face-saving bullshit. Springer wanted him to catch cop killers, yet he had just pulled the plug on the only investigation that could possibly lead to an arrest and conviction of the murderers. And when Springer pledged his support for new money for the department, it made Andy feel like a co-conspirator in a cover-up. He didn't like the taste of it at all.
Two officers had given their lives and a third had been wounded.
Turning over the case to the attorney general would be a slap in the department's face. The case belonged to the department and nowhere else.
He swung the car out of traffic, parked at a small diner, and went in for a cup of coffee. He had some heavy thinking to do. neil ordway had left no forwarding address with the Mountainair town clerk, and there was nothing in his police officer certification file that yielded information on his current whereabouts. Kerney phoned the agency that administered the police pension fund and got lucky; Ordway had made a request to withdraw his retirement contributions. He had asked that the check be mailed to a street address in the town of Bemalillo, just north of Albuquerque.
Kerney stopped by Andy's office and found it empty.
He decided not to wait for Andy to return from the governor's office before taking off. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two to round up Ordway.
He paid a quick visit to Joe Valdez, who had his head buried in a stack of papers. Kerney cleared his throat and Valdez looked up. He had a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face.
"I was going to call you in a few minutes. Chief."
"To tell me what?"
"Do you want the technical or the bonehead explanation?"
"Keep it simple, Joe. I have trouble balancing my checkbook."
"It's a round-robin scam. Bucky's companies are nothing but conduits for De Leon money. He pumps it through Tortuga, which lends cash to Matador, Magia, or some other front, and then it's funneled into projects like Rancho Caballo. Everything comes back to Tortuga nice and clean."
"Does it all come back as cash?"
"No way," Joe said.
"Shopping malls, raw land, apartments, subdivisions, commercial and industrial developments-take your pick. De Leon has too much cash; his quandary is finding ways to convert the money that keeps pouring in."
"How did you get to it so quickly?"
"It's a high-tech world. Chief. Even drug lords use computers nowadays. Bucky's computer was linked to the one at Tortuga International. When our computer specialist found the link, I asked him to search the data fields in the Tortuga computer system. It's been a damn gold mine."
"Have you seized the Tortuga computers and any hard-copy corporate records?"
Joe looked at his watch.
"Agents from the Las Cruces office should be at Tortuga right now. It took a while to do the paperwork and get a court order signed."
"Have you been here all night?"
"Yeah. Again."
"Have you got any steam left?"
"I'm good for a few more hours."
"Where do we stand with Sherman Cobb and Roger Springer?"
"Both Bucky and De Leon kept track of their payments to Rancho Caballo by computer. Plus, I've got Springer and Cobb signing off on loan applications, countersigning checks, authorizing payments, approving contracts, and accelerating repayments. Put the hard-copy evidence together with Watson's confession and we've got more than enough probable cause."
"Arrest Cobb and Springer," Kerney said.
"Take a couple of agents with you."
"Now, won't that be fun," Joe said with a grin. *** andy pulled into his parking space just as Joe Valdez and two other agents hurried out the door. Valdez spotted Andy's car and walked to it. Andy opened the window and waited.
"Chief, I left a note on your desk."
"What does it say?"
"Chief Kerney went down to Bernalillo. You can reach him by radio if needed."
"Where arc you off to?"
"To arrest Springer and Cobb."
"Tell me what you've got," Andy said.
Valdez ran down the facts while the two agents waited inside their units.
After hearing Joe out, and asking a few questions, Andy smiled. Over coffee at the diner, he'd decided to have Cobb and Springer picked up.
Kerney had beaten him to it.
"Chief?" Valdez said.
Andy laughed and shook his head.
"Do it."
He watched Valdez and the agents drive off, and the tight feeling in his gut started to evaporate.
In his office, he started making calls to the State Department, FBI, the Department of Justice, Customs, and the CIA. He talked to people he knew, several of whom owed him favors. He wanted to blow a bigger hole in De Leon operation, if possible. He hung up with promises from the feds to move quickly. De Leon was known throughout the criminal justice and intelligence systems, and every agency was eager to cooperate.
He had his secretary fax key documents to federal officials in Washington, Virginia, Albuquerque, and El Paso, and told his public affairs officer to set up a press conference.
To stay on the job in the face of his insubordination, Andy would have to play politics. Once word of his disloyalty reached the Roundhouse, Springer's people would come after him, and he wasn't about to make it easy for the governor to fire him. oncb a farming settlement along the banks of the Rio Grande, the town of Bemalillo was somewhat protected from the suburban sprawl of Albuquerque by an Indian pueblo that buffered the two cities. But the cushion of open land that cut a swath east from the river to the mountains couldn't hold back the development that filled the west mesa.
A gently rising plateau with eroded cones of extinct volcanoes, sandy arroyos, black lava rock, and bunch grass the mesa had been transformed into a series of bedroom communities that filled the skyline.
It vanished from sight when Kerney got off the interstate and dipped into the shallow river valley that sheltered the town. He drove the four-lane main street to city hall, where he stopped and asked for directions.
Ordway lived one block off the main drag in an old two-story adobe farmhouse that had been carved into small apartments. Under the porch were two entry doors, and on either side of the building staircases led to second-story living units. There were lace curtains in the front window of a first-floor apartment, along with a picture of the Virgin Mary that had been taped to a glass pane. The name Abeyta was stenciled on the mailbox next to the door.
Kerney knocked on the door and a heavyset, elderly Hispanic woman wearing a drab gray dress opened it partway.
"Seftora Abeyta," Kerney said, speaking in Spanish.
"I hope I am not disturbing you." In the background he heard the loud chatter of a television talk show.
"Not at all, but I have no vacancies," Mrs. Abeyta replied in English.
"All my apartments are rented."
"I'm looking for a friend of mine," he explained.
"NeilOrdway."
"Oh yes, he just moved in, but he is not here now."
"Do you know how I can reach him?"
"He said that he had a job working for a carpet installer."
"Do you know which one?"
Mrs. Abeyta shook her head.
"No, but I think he might be working in Rio Rancho, putting carpets in all those new houses they are building up there."
"He told you that?"
"Yes, when he rented the apartment."
"Gratias, selfora."
"You're welcome, senor."
Kerney stopped at a cafe on the main street, and used a pay phone and directory to whittle down an interminable number of carpet installers until he located Ordway's new employer. Mrs. Abeyta had heard Ordway correctly, the company was doing subcontract installations for a builder in the Rio Rancho area. Kerney got the address where Ordway was working.
He left Bemalillo and drove up the mesa. The view east toward the mountains showed a sweep of pale hills that climbed from the bosque.
The Rio Grande ran brown and languid around fingerlike sandbars Kerney glimpsed through the breaks in the thick cottonwood stands. But the drive into Rio Rancho took him into a different world altogether. High privacy walls bordered the wide thoroughfare, masking all but the second story of houses squeezed together on tiny lots. At major intersections, strip malls, convenience stores, and gas stations abounded. The stark, beautiful New Mexico landscape had been transformed into a place no different from the oozing Los Angeles megalopolis.
West of the main road, behind an established residential tract, was a checkerboard development of empty lots and high-density housing units under construction.
Along the newly paved streets, stick houses and apartment buildings were going up in assembly-line fashion. While cement crews poured footings and pads at freshly prepped building sites, down the line carpenters framed walls and hung roof joists. The pattern repeated itself until Kerney rolled to a stop in front of three model homes in the final stages of completion.
Little flagpoles with triangular pennants stood in front of the houses, and large signs planted in the yards blazoned the name of each model. A panel truck with rolls of carpet sticking out of the open rear doors was parked in a driveway.
Kerney called for backup before walking through the garage, past a laundry alcove, and into the kitchen. In the adjacent dining nook two men were unrolling a carpet pad. Both froze when they saw Kerney with his semiautomatic in one hand and his shield in the other.
"Ordway?" Kerney asked softly.
"Back bedroom, on the left," one of the men replied.
Kerney stepped into the room.
"Wait outside," he ordered in a whisper.
The men scurried past him into the garage.
He found Ordway in the bedroom on his hands and knees with his back to the door, trimming carpet.
Ordway heard him coming, rose to a kneeling position, and turned. He had a knife in his hand.
Kerney moved quickly before Ordway could react; he slammed the barrel of his gun against Ordway's cheek and kicked at Ordway's knife hand with his good leg. The blade went flying.
Neil came off the floor in a rush, diving for Kerney's midsection.
Kerney sidestepped and used Ordway's momentum to drive him, face first, into a wall.
"Hands to the small of your back," Kerney ordered as he leaned hard against the man to keep him secure, and kicked his feet apart.
Ordway grunted and complied.
After cuffing Ordway, Kerney patted him down and spun him around.
"Hello, Neil," he said affably.
Ordway's nose looked broken.
Ordway seemed dazed. Blood flowed from his nose, dripping on the tan carpet. He swallowed hard and spat at Kerney.
"Puck you, Kerney."
Kerney wiped the spit off his face.
"You're under arrest for aggravated battery. Beating up Robert was a stupid idea."
"I'll be out on bail in twenty-four hours," Ordway said.
"But unemployed once again, I would imagine," Kerney replied.
"Let me read you your rights."
A state police officer arrived as Kerney brought Ordway out of the house. He explained the charges to the officer, who agreed to drive Ordway to Torrance County, book him into jail, and deliver Kerney's criminal complaint to the district attorney.
Kerney watched the patrol car drive away. Busting Ordway felt good, but it didn't relieve the anger that gnawed at him about Gilbert Mamnez's murder. He wondered if he would get a chance to even things up with Enrique De Leon and Carlos Ruiz.
Antonio Vallaverde turned off the main highway south ofjuarez onto a blacktop road that cut through the saddle of two hills along the Rio Grande. He stopped at the security gate and announced himself. A high-ranking official in the Mexican Ministry of Justice, Vallaverde coordinated all cooperative borderland investigations with North American law enforcement agendes, including the New Mexico State Police.
Two miles in from the highway, a sprawling hacienda sat at the base of a hill with a lovely view of the bosque and the low-lying west Texas mountains across the river. The old rancho had been restored to its original splendor. The main hacienda, a private chapel, rock stables, a stone granary, and several other out buildings had been rebuilt from the ground up. Old stone fences divided the grazing and farm land that bordered the basque, and some of the melting adobe walls of the original peasant quarters still remained visible in the distance.
During the Mexican Revolution, the site had served as a government jail and execution grounds before being sacked and burned by Pancho Villa's troops.
A houseboy in white linen stood outside the arched hacienda doorway.
Antonio parked in the circular cobblestone driveway and followed the servant into the courtyard, with its charming brick lattice balustrade and central fountain. They passed through the vast living room and into the billiard parlor. De Leon had a guest: A young woman bent over the billiard table with a cue stick in her hands. She had strawberry blond hair that fell against creamy white shoulders, long legs, and a small waist. The woman made her shot as Enrique looked on.
Antonio had spent a number of pleasant evenings in the parlor with Enrique and various industrialists, senior military officers, and prominent politicians who were De Leon friends. It was a long room with a high ceiling and an arrangement of comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace at one end, where a well-stocked liquor cabinet stood close at hand. Above the fireplace hung an antique cavalry officer's sword in a scabbard.
In the center of the room, chairs for spectators and players lined the walls facing the billiard table. A door along the back wall provided passage to Enrique's richly appointed library, where key arrangements in the last national election had been brokered.
Antonio coughed and De Leon looked in his direction.
"Go now," De Leon said to the woman, taking the cue stick from her hand.
The woman left without saying a word, passing by Antonio with a look and a smile. She had a soft, sensual step, a long, elegant neck, and lustrous green eyes.
Antonio could smell her scent in the air.
"I hope I find you well, Enrique," Vallaverde said.
"Indeed, I am," Enrique replied. Antonio was one of the few paid informants he truly liked.
"You have something to tell me, Antonio?"
"Not good news, I'm afraid. The New Mexico State Police have seized a large quantity of drugs in Santa Fe and arrested a man named Watson, who has confessed to being one of your distributors."
"Where is Watson now?" Enrique asked.
"In jail."
"How much merchandise was confiscated?"
"The street value is reported to be over a million dollars."
De Leon knew immediately that Bucky had held back some product from the Chicago shipment. He would deal with him harshly.
"Such things happen occasionally," he said.
"It is the cost of doing business."
"There is more, Enrique. Records of Tortuga International were seized in Las Cruces by the New Mexico State Police this morning. A United States judge has been asked to freeze all your North American corporate assets."
"What else do you know?"
"Stolen art worth many millions has been recovered from your Santa Fe house. The authorities believe you are behind the theft. They are seeking your whereabouts in Mexico. Of course, I have suggested that they look for you in all the wrong places."
"You give the Americans such wise counsel," De Leon said with a smile.
"I can do no less in light of your past generosities," Antonio replied.
"May I offer some advice, Enrique?"
"By all means."
"A request has been made to the State Department to declare you persona non grata, which would bar you from any future visits to the United States. It will be favorably acted upon. Additionally, the Americans are prepared to ask our government to strip you of your diplomatic status and extradite you for prosecution.
I have been told on highest authority that we will be sensitive to their demands. It is a difficult time for trying to sweep such issues with the Americans under the rug."
"These political manipulations can be dealt with."
"In time," Antonio said.
"But if the Americans fail to get what they want, they may come after you on their own. The new drug laws passed by their Congress give their federal agents that prerogative."
"What do you suggest?"
"Perhaps a trip abroad is in order, until matters settle.
I would not wait long to decide, Enrique. The American ambassador plans to discuss your diplomatic status at the highest level of our government before day's end."
"Thank you, Antonio. You have been most kind to bring these matters to my attention. Do one small favor for me. Find out the identities of the persons overseeing the state police investigation. Perhaps they would not be unresponsive to an offer to become rich men, if an arrangement can be made."
"I'll get back to you," Antonio said.
Vallaverde departed and De Leon went to the library.
Antonio's report was troubling. The loss of the Tortuga assets would sting, but hardly ruin him. He doubted the complexities of the company could be easily unraveled by the police in a short period of time. If he moved quickly, millions of dollars could be saved.
He rang for Carlos, who answered promptly.
"I want arrangements made to have Bucky Watson killed immediately,"
Enrique said.
"He is in the Santa Fe County jail. I do not want him to live to see another day.
Report to me when your plans are complete."
"Si, patron."
De Leon disconnected and dialed a different number.
Several hours passed before he put the telephone in the cradle. The time had been well spent; Tortuga's remaining cash assets had been transferred out of the United States through a series of complex banking transactions.
The phone rang almost immediately. He punched the speaker button.
"What is it?"
"It is Antonio, Enrique. The man responsible for the police investigation in Santa Fe is Kevin Kerney, the deputy state police chief. Several related arrests have been made by his investigators; a nephew of the governor and a prominent attorney have been charged with money laundering."
"Continue."
"One of his detectives was killed in a shoot-out at a Santa Fe residence. I do not think Kerney can be bought."
"Do you have a dossier on Kerney and his investigations?"
"A slim one, yes."
"Please send it by courier to the hadenda."
"I will do so immediately," Antonio replied.
"Thank you, Antonio."
"Bur, patron, he could not have survived so many bullets."
De Leon patted the file folder on the top of his desk.
"You killed a state police sergeant named Martinez."
"But it was Kerney's car." Carlos caught himself.
There was no point making excuses. He lowered his head submissively.
"I am sorry, Don Enrique. What are your orders?"
"Delfino and Felix will meet you at the airport in an hour. You will assist them in locating Kerney. Both he and Watson must be killed.
What progress have you made on Watson?"
"He is in a seclusion cell at the jail. A court hearing has been scheduled for late this afternoon."
"Will he be heavily guarded during the court hearing?"
"Only one officer has been assigned to transport him."
"Excellent."
"What other orders do you have for me, patron?" De Leon held out the file.
"None. Felix and Delfino will instruct you in all matters. Do not keep them waiting."
Carlos took the file, risked a glance at the icy stare in De Leon eyes, lowered his gaze, and quickly left the room, wondering if there was any way the patron would let him live. officer Yvonne Rasmussen gave Kerney a pleased smile when he came into her hospital room.
"I'm sorry it took so long for me to come and see you," Kerney said as he shook the young woman's hand.
"I hear you're healing up nicely."
"I get to go home tomorrow," Rasmussen replied.
"The doctor said I start light duty in a week."
"That's good news. You kept an old friend of mine from getting killed.
I want to thank you for that."
Rasmussen's gray eyes clouded over.
"I didn't do enough. Chief. If I had responded sooner, Sergeant Martinez might still be alive."
"Don't beat up on yourself. You did all that you could."
"That's not the way I feel," Rasmussen said.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
Rasmussen hesitated and shook her head slowly.
"Not yet."
"I need to ask you a few questions. When you were patrolling Fletcher's house, before the gunfight, did you notice anything unusual?"
"Nothing."
"Did you run license plate checks on the vehicles parked in the immediate area?"
"Yes. All but one of the cars were registered to neighborhood residents. The one that wasn't belonged to an elderly Hispanic-surnamed male with a south-side address. I ran him through NCIC and there were no wants or warrants. It didn't seem suspicious."
"Where did you see the car?"
"On the street behind the lane to Fletcher's house."
"When?"
"Around dusk."
"Was anyone in it or nearby?"
"No."
"Did you see the vehicle again?"
"No. When I got the 911 call, I came in from a different direction."
"Did you log the information on the car?"
"Dispatch has the record. Do you think the car was used by the killers?"
"It's possible. I'll check it out. Take care of yourself."
"Chief Kerney."
Kerney stopped at the door.
"What is it?"
Rasmussen flashed him a small smile.
"Thanks for not treating me like a kid sister. Everybody else has. I really appreciate it."
"You don't strike me as an officer who needs to be coddled," Kerney replied.
"I'm not." with particulars in hand on the car Rasmussen had spotted near Fletcher's house, Kerney drove down Airport Road. Ruben Contreras, age sixty-eight, owned an older-model full-size Buick, and lived in a trailer park behind a strip mall and a car wash. Most of the trailers were shabby-looking. Gravel lanes bisected the rows of trailers, and in the center of the park stood a cement block building that housed a coin-operated laundry. A loose dog sniffed around an overflowing trash can at the front of the laundry.
Kerney found Contreras's trailer. Contreras answered the knock at the door and squinted at Kerney through thick glasses. A tube ran from his nose to a portable oxygen tank on wheels. The smell of beans cooking filled the air.
"Mr. Contreras?" Kerney asked with his badge case open.
"Yes?" Contreras wheezed as he spoke.
"Do you own a Buick?" Kerney described the car.
"I sold it. The doctors say I can't drive anymore. My granddaughter gives me rides. I don't like not having my car."
Kerney held up Carlos Ruiz's mug shot.
"Did this man buy it from you?"
Contreras nodded.
"He paid me cash. He said he would change the registration." A worried look spread across the old man's face.
"If he had an accident, it's not my fault. I cancelled my insurance."
"There's been no accident, Mr. Contreras," Kerney said.
"I just needed to identify the buyer."
"That's him."
"You're sure?"
Contreras nodded once more. Kerney left while the old man stood waiting for another question. jbsus wanted Robert to leave Nita's house. With his cracked rib and broken arm in a cast, Robert couldn't get both thumbs in his ears to fight off the voice inside his head.
He'd been awake all night in the guest bedroom with the door locked and the window open, smoking cigarettes.
Robert had tried to obey Nita's ban on smoking in the house, but he couldn't do it. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and an ash fell on the new shirt Nita had given him. She had bought him a whole new set of clothes, including a winter coat. The smell of something burning made Robert look down at his chest; he spit on his finger and rubbed it on the burn hole in the shirt to make sure it was out.
Robert's legs felt nervous and itchy. Walking back and forth all night in the bedroom didn't make the feeling go away. He had stopped pacing when Nita came to the door and asked if he was awake. He didn't answer and soon heard the sound of her truck leaving the driveway.
He stayed in the bedroom for a long time. When he finally went out, the living room with the long row of windows that looked out on the road and the rangeland beyond made him nervous. Somebody could be out there watching, spying on him.
He went into Nita's bedroom, where the curtains were drawn, and searched through a chest of drawers until he found her panties and underwear. He took each piece out of the drawer, smelled it, and dropped it on the floor. Nita's panties had no scent, but Robert liked the feel of them in his hands.
The telephone rang and he ignored it until it stopped. He went into the bathroom with a pair of panties, sat on the toilet, and masturbated. He wiped himself with the panties and dropped them in the toilet.
He felt better: Jesus had stopped talking to him. But his legs were still jittery and itchy. He needed to walk.
Robert dressed to go out. He took the laces out of the shoes-they were some kind of insulated boots-and slipped his bare feet into them.
He draped the coat over his shoulders because the sleeve was too small for the cast on his arm.
At the front door, he stopped, unsure of where he should go. Maybe if he talked to Kerney, he could go back to jail. He liked jails with bare walls, small cells, and no windows. Jails helped him relax.
Robert dug through all his pockets until he found his wallet with Kerney's phone number in it. He called, but Kerney wasn't there. A woman asked him to leave a message.
"Tell him I'm going away," Robert said.
"May I have your name, sir?" the woman asked.
"Satan," Robert said.
Outside, heavy clouds hid the sun and a cold wind blew in his face. He put the hood of the coat up, lowered his head against the wind, and started walking. the two men traveling with Carlos said nothing to him or each other.
Carlos knew he was way out of his league; both men were former Mexican intelligence agents who had been trained by the U.S. Army Special Forces, the CIA, and the FBI. Each had carried out a number of high-profile political assassinations under contract with the Mafiosios.
Relegated to the role of driver, Carlos cruised past the county jail on Airport Road and then up to the courthouse, near the downtown plaza.
Felix, the older of the two men, sat in the front seat, while Delfmo rode in the back.
Carlos circled the courthouse. At the rear of the building warning signs restricted parking to police vehicles only, and a single security door was the only access to the inside. Parked against the curb was a television transmission truck with a satellite dish mounted on the roof.
"Go around again," Felix said.
"Slowly."
Carlos drove past the church on the corner before turning down a narrow street of old brick houses used as offices. An elementary school stood at the end of the block, catty-corner to the courthouse. A row of small casitas and an apartment building faced the rear of the courthouse. A rental sign was posted on the porch to one of the casitas.
"Drive past the school and let me out at the traffic light," Felix ordered.
"Park in front of the post office, and wait for me there."
Ten minutes later Felix returned.
"A cottage across from the courthouse is vacant," he said to Delfino.