Not from a museum, but from the executive suite of the governor of New Mexico, who by tradition could select any pieces he desired from the state museums to decorate his offices. She had been bubbling over with the scheme, high on coke and champagne in this very bedroom, fantasizing about a great art theft. She'd miss all the headlines, too, unfortunately for her.
Amanda had offered De Leon good sex and a great opportunity to steal from the wrteamericanos. Enrique took full advantage of both. He turned on the lamp next to the bed. Amanda wore only a pair of panties. In her late twenties, her body was exactly the type that appealed most to Enrique; slender legs with just a hint of roundness to the stomach, full breasts that were not out of proportion to her frame, a face with a somewhat haughty, aristocratic cast to it. And this lovely blond hair. There was no need for her to suffer.
'Thank you, my dear,' De Leon whispered to the unconscious woman.
He found Carlos waiting for him in the dark living room.
'Kill her quickly and cleanly,' he ordered.
'Yes, patron. And the body?'
'Have the men take it to Mexico. Dispose of it at the ranch. No trace of her is to be found.'
'As you wish.' de leon waited until the van left and Carlos was occupied with removing all traces of Amanda's presence from the house before he went to the wine cellar. The room, which was next to the garage, contained a wet bar, built-in wine racks, recessed lighting, and a table and chairs for wine tasting. Stacked neatly against the walls were almost three dozen framed paintings and prints, but what attracted De Leon immediate attention were the objects on the table.
De Leon knew what the glass display cases in the governor's office contained, yet seeing the bounty firsthand was still impressive. Among the items were two large pottery storytellers by the renowned Pueblo Indian artist Helen Cordero, a small bronze by Alien Houser, the famous Apache sculptor, a Western Apache storage basket, a Tesuque Pueblo buffalo-head shield from the mid-eighteenth century, an old retablo of Saint Rita, and an exquisite hand-carved wooden bulto of the Virgin of Guadalupe.
Immediately De Leon knew which piece would remain in his possession; the Guadalupe bulto would go in the private chapel at his hacienda outside ofjuarez.
He turned to the paintings. As the museum curator assigned to select the art for the governor's office, Amanda had chosen well: three Georgia O'Keeffe oils, a Joseph Henry Sharp Indian portrait, a Maynard Dixon cowboy scene, a Henriette Wyeth still life, a Peter Hurd landscape, a Gerald Cassidy portrait of a cowgirl sitting on a fence post, and twenty-five Gustave Baumann color woodcut prints, taken from the gallery space behind the reception area to the governor's offices.
The O'Keeffes were seven-figure treasures, and the rest would fetch in the six-figure range, with the exception of the woodcuts, which were significantly less valuable but expensive nonetheless.
De Leon did some quick mental calculations; it was an eight-million-dollar haul at the very least, and since it would eventually be sold to foreign buyers on the black market, De Leon would add a 30 percent commission.
Everything but the bulto of the Virgin of Guadalupe would remain in the wine cellar for six months. When the investigation into the theft cooled, De Leon would move the collection to Mexico.
He studied the O'Keeffe paintings carefully, thinking that he might keep one, perhaps to replace the U.S.
Army cavalry saber and scabbard that hung over the fireplace in the billiard room of his hacienda.
He wanted to move the sword to his library. It was the only item De Leon possessed from a trove of priceless American military and historical artifacts he had arranged to buy and resell on the Asian market. The cache, taken by Apaches during the Indian Wars, had been discovered in a secret cave on White Sands Missile Range and smuggled off the base. But the shipment had been intercepted by a gringo cop named Kevin Kerney before it could be delivered to De Leon De Leon had bartered with the U.S. Army for the sword, two hundred thousand dollars in diamonds, and the release of Carlos from custody in exchange for a quantity of letters written by members of the pth US.
Cavalry during the Indian Wars. The smugglers had given the letters to De Leon as proof that the cache was authentic before he agreed to broker the deal.
Putting the sword in the library, where he spent the majority of his time at the hacienda, would serve as a reminder that not every venture succeeded as planned.
He adjusted the climate and humidity controls, turned out the light, and entered the security code to the door. Carlos and the team had done well. andy baca, chief of the state police for two months and counting, stood in the governor's private office on the fourth floor of the Roundhouse, the colloquial name for the state capitol. A circular structure modeled on Pueblo Indian kivas, the building had been nicknamed by political pundits while it was still under construction, and the label had stuck.
The governor's cherry-wood desk, matching sideboard, and executive chair sat in front of the only windows in me office, which were flanked by two empty, expensive brass-and-glass display cases. On me side walls were two private entrances: one connected to the chief of staff's office and me other to a large conference room.
In one corner was a leather couch, coffee table, and several oversize learner chairs. The rest of the space was taken over by two straight-backed chairs in front of the governor's desk, a small conference table with chairs, and a credenza that stood against the wall to the private bathroom.
Unhappily, Andy stared at the empty walls, fully aware the theft would draw intense public scrutiny and criticism. Failure to solve the case could damage the department and probably cost Andy his job.
Andy wasn't about to let that happen. He had retired from the state police some time ago when he realized his chances of becoming chief were nil, and moved to Las Cruces with his wife. Bored with retirement, he ran for county sheriff, won the election, served one term in on ice and was asked to return to the state police as chief. It was a dream come true, the capstone to his career that he had always wanted. But not for the prestige the appointment brought. Under his calm demeanor, Andy was a reformer, and he wanted to modernize and improve the department.
In uniform, Andy wore a light gray shirt with his rank on the collars and badge over the left pocket, a black tie, black pants with a gray stripe, and highly polished black shoes. On his belt was a high-rise holster containing a.357 revolver with a four-inch barrel. It was the one personal touch he had allowed himself since taking over the job.
Every other officer under his command carried the required standard-issue nine millimeter semiautomatic.
Captain Vance Howell, the officer in charge of security for the governor, stood silently next to Andy, waiting to get his butt chewed.
He had come up through the ranks junior to Andy and served under him briefly just prior to Andy's retirement as a captain. Now Baca was back as chief.
Howell knew exactly why Baca had been tapped for the job-it was politics, pure and simple. The governor, a Republican, wanted more money from the legislature to build new prisons, and the Democrats, who controlled the legislature, wanted their man sitting in the chief's chair.
Howell had hoped to get the appointment himself, but now he would have to wait until Baca stepped down. He had the governor's promise on it, which was good enough for him. And if Baca failed on this case, Vance might get a crack at the chief's job sooner than he had anticipated.
Andy scanned the paper in his hand and turned to Howell.
'Is this the complete inventory of the stolen property?' he asked.
'Yes, sir,' Howell replied.
'The cultural affairs office verified it.'
Technically, Howell's sole responsibility was the safety of the governor and his immediate family, but that didn't mean Baca wouldn't try to lay the blame for the theft at Vance's feet, if the need arose.
Vance decided to test Baca's intentions.
'I guess you could say it was my henhouse that got robbed.'
Andy shook his head and looked up. At six foot four, Howell towered over Andy's five-ten frame.
'That's not the way I see it. Captain. But I think we need to get you out of the henhouse for a while. I'm placing you and your staff on administrative leave.'
Stunned, Howell reacted quickly.
'Is that necessary, Chief?'
'This job required inside knowledge. Until we get a handle on the case, everybody who works in this building
