'Thank you.' in the hallway, near a pool of blood on the floor under the shattered frames of the Peter Hurd lithographs hanging on the wall that had been damaged by Rasmussen's shotgun blast, Kerney corralled an officer.
He asked the uniform to keep Pletcher sequestered and get him quietly out of the house without fanfare.
'Wait until the reporters are gone,' he added.
Crime scene tape blocked Kerney's passage into the dining room. A technician working near the bodies by the kitchen archway bagged and tagged spent shell casings and empty ammunition dips. Blood stained the carpet and walls near the bodies. A photographer took pictures of the corpses.
Kerney could see into the kitchen. Bullet holes riddled the pantry next to the passageway, and the garage door had taken sustained heavy fire. Outgunned and outnumbered, Gilbert had put up one hell of a fight.
Outside, the driveway had been cordoned off and the garage door was open. Portable gas-operated klieg lights washed away the night.
Officers and technicians swept the grounds, searching for additional evidence.
Inside the garage, Pletcher's car looked as though it had been attacked by a heavy-weapons squad. The windows were shattered and dozens of bullet holes pierced the vehicle. A storage shelf had been strafed, and paint and solvent from demolished cans dripped onto the bloodstain on the concrete pad- Gilbert's body had been moved to an ambulance.
Kerney looked inside the open doors. The body bag was zipped shut.
Without thinking, Kerney reached in and gently touched Gilbert's leg.
He pushed away the thought that he was the one who needed some consolation, not Gilbert.
At the entrance to the lane, television crews stood in a semicircle around Andy, their camera-mounted lights raw beacons in the night.
Kerney checked by radio with the hospital on Officer Rasmussen's condition while he waited for Andy to finish with the media. An ER nurse reported that Rasmussen required surgery, but a full recovery was expected. It was the only bright spot in an otherwise terrible night The camera lights went dark and Kerney spotted Andy coming down the lane toward the house. He met him halfway.
'Thank God, that's over,' Andy said.
'Do you want me to notify Gilbert's wife?' Kerney asked.
Andy paused momentarily.
'I'll do it. Do you know what pisses me off, Kerney?'
'What's mat?'
'I don't even know her name. What does that tell you?'
'I don't know her name, either.'
'That makes us both shitheads. Will you be able to tie the hit men to De Leon 'I don't think De Leon is that sloppy. But I'll find a way to get to him.'
'Squeeze Bucky Watson,' Andy said.
'I plan to, just as soon as I get all my ducks lined up.' agent Joe Valdez sat in the conference room and watched Kerney read through the file on Matador Properties. Kerney had called Joe at home and pulled him back to the office without explanation. He had heard about Gilbert's murder from the radio traffic on his drive to headquarters, and the news had stunned him into an angry silence.
His silence didn't matter; Chief Kerney wasn't asking any questions or talking. He had his elbows on the table, fingers at his temples, head lowered, and his eyes focused on Joe's paperwork- His mouth was a hard, thin line. He finished reading, closed the file, and looked up.
'What else have you got?' he asked tersely.
Valdez consulted his notebook.
'Matador Properties owns some thirty commercial buildings in the city.
Mostly high-end or historic buildings on the plaza, Canyon Road, and in the Guadalupe District. The company leases space to galleries, restaurants, retail shops, and various professionals. It owns two major apartment complexes on St. Prands Drive.'
'What's Watson's ballpark net worth?'
'I'm still digging to get those numbers. But it appears Matador has had sufficient cash assets to lend big bucks to Rancho Caballo. If Matador controls any subsidiary companies, Watson's total net worth could jump considerably.'
'Is Watson carrying a heavy debt on his businesses?'
'If he is, I haven't found it yet.'
'Is that unusual?'
'I'd say so. I've talked to all the commercial lenders in the area who offer jumbo mortgages. None of them are doing business with Matador.
But he may be using out-of-state financing.'
'What do you think?' Kerney asked.
'Money laundering would be a good guess.'
'How can you get a handle on it?'
'If Matador is a holding company, it might have one master casualty-and-loss policy with an insurance underwriter for all its properties, including subsidiaries.'
Joe reached for the file, tapped the papers into a neat pile, and stood up.
'Once I know exactly what the corporate structure is, I'll start looking at how the money gets moved around.'
'Keep me informed.'
'I'll start calling insurance agents right away.'
'Do we have a list of local security companies?'
Kerney asked.
'I've got one in my office.'
'Get it for me, would you?'
'Sure thing. Chief.' Joe hesitated.
'I'd like to start a collection for Gilbert's family. They're going to have a lot of expenses.'
Kerney dug for his wallet, extracted all the currency, and put the bills in Joe's hand. retired city police officer Toby Apodaca watched the unmarked police cruiser stop in front of his Cemllos Road office. He unlocked the door and held it open as Kerney got out of the car and approached.
'There aren't too many people who can get me out of a warm bed in the middle of the night,' Toby said after Kerney stepped inside the Guardsafe Security office.
'How are you, Kerney?'
'Pine, Toby,' Kerney answered.
'And yourself?' Tm doing okay,' Toby said, brushing an errant eyebrow hair back into place. His bushy eyebrows flared wildly in every direction. He scratched the thick stubble on his chin and ushered Kerney around a counter, past a bullpen for security guards that was shielded by portable partitions, and into a back office.
'I heard you were back in harness,' Toby said.
'Do you like it?'
'I can't seem to avoid it,' Kerney answered as he studied Apodaca. Toby had spent his last ten years as a cop on the Santa Pc Plaza, chasing purse snatchers and giving directions to disoriented tourists. He'd retired a few years before Kerney's shoot-out with a drug dealer.
'And carrying a deputy chief's shield,' Toby noted.
'That's pretty impressive.'
'We'll see how long it lasts.'
Toby had aged well, Kerney decided. In his late fifties, he carried about 150 pounds on a five-six frame.
He had a full head of hair, and light brown eyes accentuated by wire-run glasses.
Toby chuckled.
'I hear you. The thing I hated most about the job was the chickenshit politics. I don't miss being a cop at all.
