He returned to his chair with a folder in hand and thumbed through it. 'Yes, here it is. She had met a young man, early in her senior year, who she was attracted to but not sure about.'
'Another student?' Kerney asked.
'She didn't identify him as such,' Perrett said, scanning his notes.
'Did she give you a name?' Kerney asked.
'If she did, I didn't write it down.'
'What were her concerns about him?'
'A fear that he was just interested in sex.'
'Nothing more than that?'
'For a young, heterosexual Hispanic woman raised as a Catholic that would not be a minor issue.'
'Was she sleeping with him?' Kerney asked.
'Considering it,' Perrett said, setting the folder aside.
'Did she ever tell you what decision she made?'
Perrett shook his head.
'What can you tell me about the young man?' Kerney asked.
'He had money and lived off campus. Other than that, nothing. Perhaps one her former roommates could tell you more.'
Kerney left, thinking the fresh information about a hitherto-unknown boyfriend at least gave him another new thread to follow. He didn't know how far it would take him, but it felt like a potential bright spot in an otherwise stalled-out cold case.
He shook off the brief snippet of optimism, called information for Cassie Bedlow's number, got an address, and headed toward the northeast heights.
Chapter 5
The attorney Harry Staggs had called was Warren Tredwell, a former prosecutor who advertised his services on a billboard along the busiest highway into Ruidoso. The sign promised to secure justice for all who called his toll-free number. A tall man with the frame of a long-distance runner, Tredwell had a bushy mustache and dark, intense eyes. His suspicious glare and pursed lips didn't match up at all with the affable smile that greeted motorists passing by the billboard.
Clayton uncuffed Staggs and waited outside with Paul Hewitt while Tredwell consulted privately with his client. The Ruidoso SWAT team was long gone, and Artie Gundersen's crime scene techs were gathering evidence in Ulibarri's cabin. After a heated exchange between Hewitt and the Ruidoso police chief, the city detectives who'd arrived on the scene had been sent packing. Quinones and Dillingham were busy interviewing the two remaining Cozy Cabins guests, who'd returned to find a full-bore homicide investigation underway.
After a long wait Tredwell stepped outside shaking his head, looking somewhat amused. 'Listen,' he said, giving Hewitt a hearty pat on the back, 'forget about this bullshit arrest and my client will talk to you.'
'I can't do that,' Clayton said, before Hewitt could respond. 'The law clearly states that a suspect can't be unarrested.'
'It's your call, Sheriff,' Tredwell said, ignoring Clayton and smiling at Hewitt. 'But no judge will let it stand. Mr. Staggs was in his own home and your deputy had no exigent circumstances to make the arrest.'
'There's plain-view evidence that Staggs was running an illegal gambling operation,' Clayton replied.
Tredwell shook his head. 'My client explained to you that he often has friends over for a companionable game of poker. There's nothing illegal in that. Having playing cards and poker chips for recreational purposes is hardly probable cause to make an arrest.'
'What's the bottom line here, Tredwell?' Paul Hewitt asked.
'Mr. Staggs feels his reputation has been damaged and his civil rights have been violated,' Tredwell said, spreading his arms out in supplication to an invisible jury. 'Look at what happened: Mr. Staggs, a good citizen, agrees to cooperate with the police and gets arrested for his trouble. All because Deputy Istee jumped to an erroneous conclusion.'
'Hardly,' Clayton said.
'Will he tell us what he knows, if we agree to drop the matter?' Hewitt asked.
'Yes, with the proviso that you don't pursue any illegal gambling charges against him.'
'What else is he willing to do?'
'Mr. Staggs feels it is time for him to move on. You've damaged his reputation among his friends. He no longer feels comfortable living here.'
'When?' Clayton asked.
'As soon as possible,' Tredwell replied.
'With no more friendly card games until he goes?' Hewitt asked.
Tredwell nodded.
'So how do we unarrest him?'
'At the time Deputy Istee detained my client, he had what appeared to be a potentially dangerous situation involving a murder suspect. Mr. Staggs is quite willing to think that your deputy restrained him solely to keep him from harm's way.'
'Yeah, that's why I cuffed him and read him his rights,' Clayton snapped.
Tredwell shook his head sadly. 'You made a false arrest, Deputy. I've advised my client that he has a strong civil rights case, should he choose to pursue it. We can either meet at some later date in court, or act today in a cooperative spirit.'
Tredwell gave Hewitt his best billboard smile. 'Lincoln County would have to pony up out of the public coffers if we won the suit, which I believe we would. I doubt voters would like seeing their taxes going to pay Mr. Staggs for Deputy Istee's mistake.'
'Deputy Istee was only protecting Mr. Staggs from a dangerous situation,' Paul Hewitt said without hesitation.
'Very good,' Tredwell said, turning away. 'I'll let my client know we've reached an understanding.'
Clayton stared silently at Tredwell's back until he disappeared inside. Never in his years as a cop had he been accused of making a false arrest. 'I screwed up, big time,' he said, unwilling to look Hewitt in the eye.
Tredwell appeared in the doorway and beckoned them to come in.
'You aren't the first cop to make a bad arrest,' Hewitt said as he started toward the porch. 'Don't let it eat at you.'
'Do you think Tredwell could win a civil rights suit?' Clayton asked as he caught up with Hewitt.
'Oh, yeah.'
Cassie Bedlow lived in a fashionable foothills neighborhood near a popular national forest picnic grounds at the bottom of the west slope of the Sandia Mountains. The large house was sited to give views of the West Mesa, where Albuquerque's sprawl petered out and five extinct volcanos rose up from the high desert plateau.
There was no answer at the front door, so Kerney talked to some neighbors and learned that Cassie Bedlow lived alone, kept to herself, had no children, and owned the Bedlow Modeling and Talent Agency. He called the business and got a telephone answering service. The operator gave him the agency's street address and noted that Ms. Bedlow was not expected back in her office until morning.
The agency, located on a side street near the university, was closed when Kerney got there. A sign on the glass door announced that a new modeling class would be starting in two weeks. At the contemporary art gallery next door, a one-man show was in progress. The artist specialized in paintings reminiscent of Marc Chagall. But unlike Chagall, who often portrayed men, women, and angels floating above villages and landscapes, the artist on display went in for flying automobiles, dishwashers, and other major appliances, all with gossamer wings.
Kerney spoke to the owner, a thirty-something male with dyed blond hair. The man told him Cassie had taken her current crop of budding fashion models out of town to do a show and a location fashion shoot, but he didn't know where.
'How many models went with her?' Kerney asked.
