'That doesn't tie the crimes together,' Springer said, still smiling warmly.
'I'm hoping that the vehicle and the corpse will provide that link, once we find them. According to our analysis, the van could have been used in the heist. It fits the profile exactly.'
'Aren't you dismissing the possibility that Officer Rogoff's murder occurred because he stumbled upon a completely separate crime?'
'You're right. Governor, except for one additional fact. Rogoff's killer is a man named Nick Palazzi. He's got a long rap sheet that includes arrests for contract killings, armed robbery, and drug smuggling. Palazzi is a hired hand and a career criminal. He's not stupid, but on the other hand, he's not a master crook either. Our thinking is that Palazzi, along with the two men who were with him, were operating under orders.'
'That sounds like pure speculation.'
'Our profile analysis of Palazzi should be fairly accurate.
We have a good deal of background information on him.'
'We need an arrest here. Chief, not an analysis.'
'Every available officer is working the case, Governor. We'll chase down any leads that surface.'
'That's what I want to hear. I understand you've asked Captain Howell to find out who left female pubic hairs on my office carpet.'
Springer's friendly smile turned icy.
'Captain Howell may have misunderstood my request.'
Howell shook his head in disagreement.
'I don't think I did, Chief. When the governor asked me what you wanted me to do, I told him exactly what the assignment was.'
'That's good to know,' Kerney repUed, turning back to Springer.
'But just to keep the issue dearly understood, I asked Captain Howell to identify any blond females who had access to your office last week while you were out of town.'
Springer shook his head in disagreement.
'I don't see the sense to it.'
'We have physical evidence that may or may not lead us to a suspect or a witness. Governor.'
'I don't want anybody playing up some nonsense of sexual indiscretion among my staff.'
'I'm confident Captain Howell has been discreet in his interviews,'
Kerney replied.
'I asked Vance to hold up until I had a chance to talk with you,'
Springer said, studying Kerney's face. Kerney didn't react 'I don't want this investigation sidetracked into an imbroglio that could damage my administration.'
'That is not the intent.'
'That's what I want to make sure of. I expect the matter to be handled sensitively.'
'May Captain Howell proceed?' Kerney asked.
Springer nodded.
'But if Vance does find that somebody on my staff has been getting their meat where they get their potatoes, I don't want to read about it in the newspapers.'
'I'm sure Captain Howell will share that information strictly on a need-to-know basis, so that you can deal with the matter confidentially, as you see fit,' Kerney answered.
Harper Springer eyed Kerney for any hint of sarcasm, but all he got was a strong feeling that the man didn't intimidate easily. He didn't like too much of that trait in the people who worked for him.
'I want daily progress reports sent to my chief of staff. Tell Andy Baca if he needs money to pay for any overtime to let me know.'
'I'll pass your message along.' Kerney stood.
Harper Springer got to his feet. His friendly smile came back as he looked up at Kerney.
'Keep up me good work, Chief.'
'It was a pleasure to meet you. Governor. When can I expect your report. Captain Howell?'
'I'll get right on it. Chief.' for his role as a detective, Fletcher Hartley had dressed carefully. He wore a blue oxford shirt over a white turtleneck, a black wool sport coat, and gray slacks. As a concession to the unpredictable November weather, he carried an umbrella.
In the window of the two-hundred-year-old building on Canyon Road that housed the Prank Bailey Gallery, Fletcher inspected his reflection. All in all, it was an ensemble that would have made Noel Coward proud.
To complete the picture he needed a cigarette to hold carelessly in his hand. For a moment, Fletcher regretted that he'd stopped smoking.
He made his entrance, breezed past the gallery manager and the nicely hung, perfectly lit art, and walked to the office at the rear of the building.
Bailey's office had a wall of windows that looked out on a remnant of vacant land that two hundred years ago had been part of a sheep pasture.
Frank Bailey stood behind a tall antique clerk's desk that had been salvaged from the basement of a nineteenth-century New England textile factory Stacked against the walls were shipping crates, framed paintings, and piles of art books.
Bailey nodded at Fletcher and kept talking on the telephone as he scribbled notes to himself on the slanted desktop. Bailey sold high-end Western artists, specializing in Charles Russell, Frederic Remington, Joseph Henry Sharp, and Maynard Dixon. Most of his business came from wealthy out-of-state collectors.
There simply wasn't any other way to run a successful gallery in Santa Pc.
Content to wait for Bailey, Pletcher settled into one of the two overstufied chairs positioned to give the most pleasing view of the pasture. He unbuttoned his jacket and adjusted his cufis. So far, Fletcher's efforts had yielded nothing, but gossiping with old friends had been entertaining nonetheless.
Bailey hung up the receiver and joined Fletcher. He had long, prematurely gray hair that he wore in a ponytail, green eyes, high cheekbones, and an angular face. In his early forties, he was considered very attractive by the ladies from Dallas and Houston who shopped Santa Pc. His appeal had cost him two marriages.
'It's been a wasted day, Pletcher,' he said.
'The rich just don't seem to be practicing trickle-down economics right now. What brings you out to see me?'
'I'm assisting the police with their inquiries,' Fletcher replied.
'Really?'
'Yes. The art rip-off at the governor's suite.' Quite pleased with his use of the correct slang word, Hetcher decided he had to learn more cop jargon from Kerney.
'Wasn't that something?' Prank said, shaking his head in disbelief.
'Have you had any recent inquiries to buy or sell a Sharp or a Dixon?'
'Unfortunately, no.'
'Has anybody asked for a market appraisal of either artist's work?'
'Not recently' 'Have you had any walk-in browsers who seemed a little peculiar or out of place?'
'This is Santa Fe, Hetcher. Everybody's peculiar.'
'Have you heard any gossip?'
'I've heard a rumor that you have a cop living with you. Have you snagged a hunk to comfort you in your old age?'
'If only that were true.' Fletcher sighed.
'He's a friend, not a lover, and he's staying with me, not living with me. He's very straight and not at all homophobic.
'Now,' Pletcher continued, 'no matter how interesting I might be, I am not the subject of this conversation.
Have you heard any chitchat about the robbery?'
'No.'
'It's not the response I was hoping for,' Fletcher said as he started to rise from the chair.
'But I can't wait to tell Amanda Talley that she was right,' Bailey added.
Fletcher settled back.
