'Looks like one very dead murder suspect,' the SWAT commander replied.
Clayton left Staggs in the company of Deputy Dillingham and joined up with Paul Hewitt outside cabin three. Together with Sergeant Quinones they inspected the crime scene. Naked to the waist and bare-foot, Ulibarri was on the floor in a sitting position propped against one of two unmade double beds. The new belt with the sterling silver rodeo-style buckle was undone at his waist, his jeans were unzipped, and his feet were bare. His fancy new boots were next to his body with a pair of socks draped over the toes. There were visible bruise marks at his throat suggesting death by strangulation.
'Dammit,' Clayton said.
Hewitt stopped scanning the room, glanced at Clayton, and noted the disappointed look on his face. 'Let's see what evidence the crime scene techs turn up before you start grousing.'
'I wanted an arrest and conviction out of this,' Clayton said.
'Like the sheriff said, maybe we can still clear the Humphrey murder,' Quinones replied.
'That's not the same thing,' Clayton said.
'We can worry about that later,' Hewitt said, with a nod at the corpse. 'Right now we've got another fresh homicide to work.'
'You're not turning it over to the city cops?' Quinones asked.
'Nope,' Hewitt said. 'The police chief won't like it, but screw him. I'm the chief law enforcement officer in this county and this is in my jurisdiction.'
'How do you want the team to operate?' Quinones asked.
Given his mistakes and Quinones's rank, Clayton fully expected Hewitt to bounce him and put the sergeant in charge.
'Let's leave things as they are,' Hewitt answered. 'Deputy Istee will continue as lead investigator.'
'Makes sense to me,' Quinones said.
Clayton hid his relief by staring at the corpse and avoiding eye contact with the sheriff. 'We need to talk to Harry Staggs,' he said. 'Maybe he knows what got Ulibarri killed.'
'Let's do that,' Hewitt said to Clayton as he turned to leave the crime scene. 'By the way, the stain on Ulibarri's boot is the same type found in Humphrey's car. If the DNA confirms a match to Humphrey, as far as I'm concerned you've cleared a homicide.'
Before leaving Los Alamos, Kerney made phone calls from his unit. Several years ago Professor Perrett had transferred from his teaching position to administer a chemical and alcohol dependency research project affiliated with the university. Kerney made an appointment with Perrett's secretary and then dialed the orthopedic surgeon in Albuquerque who had reconstructed his shattered right knee after it had been blown apart in a shootout with a drug dealer. He persuaded the office receptionist to slot him in for a ten-minute doctor's visit late in the afternoon.
In spite of weight work to keep his legs muscles strong and his daily routine of slow jogging, the knee had been hurting like hell over the past month, and Kerney's limp was getting more pronounced with each passing day. It was time to see what could be done, if anything, to fix it.
The recently constructed bypass around Santa Fe, built to avoid trucking nuclear waste from Los Alamos through the city, shortened his driving time to Albuquerque. The new Indian casino just outside of Albuquerque, a massive, glitzy pueblo-style complex, loomed up as the traffic slowed to a mere ten miles above the reduced speed limit. Across from the casino the tribe's buffalo herd grazed behind a fence anchored by railroad-tie posts that covered acres of ground. It made for a startling contrast of old Indian traditions and new Native American enterprise.
The administrative offices for the chemical treatment research program were located in an area of the city known as Martineztown, a predominantly low-income, Hispanic neighborhood. The nondescript building, sandwiched between the train tracks and the interstate, reflected the university's politically correct decision to place community services in the barrio to avoid criticism of an ivory-tower mentality.
A few minutes early, Kerney spent his time waiting for Perrett reading a brochure that detailed the scope and mission of the center. It received major funding from a variety of government agencies and private foundations and had half a dozen ongoing projects to develop and test new treatment approaches to hard-core addiction with an emphasis on minority populations. Kerney was halfway through a second brochure when the secretary buzzed him in to Dr. Perrett's office.
Jeremiah Perrett was a man of late middle age who obviously put time and energy into remaining fit. His biceps filled the sleeves of his collarless shirt, and he had a well-developed upper torso. He kept what hair he had cut short, and his blue eyes, partially hidden behind a pair of fashionable glasses, signaled a no-nonsense outlook on life.
If he was gay, as Osterman said, it didn't show in either his mannerisms or appearance. But living in Santa Fe, Kerney was used to meeting gay men of all ages who proved that homosexuals were by no means all swishy queens.
Perrett stood up, reached across the desk, gave Kerney a hearty handshake, and sat back down. 'My secretary said this is about Anna Marie Montoya.'
The office furnishings were far too nice to have been bought with grant or public money. No bean counter would have allowed such indulgences. Kerney eased into a comfortable wicker lounge chair with leather cushions. The expensive walnut desk was twice normal size, and Perrett's desk chair was a high-end model that likely sold for eight or nine hundred dollars. The wall art consisted of tasteful, nicely framed posters of old Broadway musicals. Clearly, Perrett had furnished the office with his own funds.
'Are you aware that Anna Marie disappeared some years ago and her remains have just recently been discovered?' Kerney asked.
Perrett nodded. 'Yes, of course. Very tragic.'
'How well did you know her?'
'Fairly well. I became her advisor when she transferred from university studies to major in psychology. She was a good student with an intuitive talent for working with people. She held promise as a researcher, but she enjoyed direct client involvement more than pure science.'
'Yet she worked for you on a research project in northern New Mexico.'
Perrett nodded. 'She took my senior research seminar and I recruited her to be a field worker the summer after she graduated. She was bilingual. Native Spanish speaking, in fact. A very desirable asset, since we were working to develop a culturally unbiased intake assessment tool for Spanish-speaking alcohol and substance abusers.'
'That must have been difficult to accomplish,' Kerney said, hoping that focusing on Perrett's professional interests would loosen him up a bit.
Perrett's eyebrows arched slightly in surprise. 'Yes, very frustrating. Do you have some knowledge of research methodology?'
Kerney smiled. 'Not really. What I know consists only of dim memories from an undergraduate psych course I took years ago. Did you get the results you hoped for?'
Perrett smiled, showing his pearly whites and a hint of smug satisfaction. 'Indeed, we did. The assessment instrument we developed is now used in Hispanic alcohol and chemical dependency treatment programs throughout the country.'
His reaction, and a framed photograph on the credenza behind the desk of a former first lady presenting him with an award, confirmed to Kerney that Perrett was a man who took great satisfaction in his accomplishments.
Kerney stroked him. 'That must be very gratifying.'
Perrett gave a modest shrug and said nothing.
Kerney turned the conversation back to Anna Marie and asked if she'd ever come to him with any personal problems.
'None of a serious nature, as I recall.'
'What do you remember?'
Perrett reflected for a moment. 'Best not to trust to my memory,' he said, rising from his chair. He opened an antique oak filing cabinet and sorted through a drawer. 'Anna Marie used me as a reference when she applied to graduate school, so it's quite likely I still have my advisor notes attached to my copy of the letter of recommendation.'
