where they won't be recognized,' Staggs said with a furtive glance at the door, as if he were expecting thugs to bust in and break his legs.
'Do you know any of these rich guys?' Hewitt asked.
Staggs snorted in reply, puffed, and blew smoke through his nose. 'Those kind of people don't socialize with me.'
Hewitt stopped the recorder and pushed himself out of the chair. 'Okay, we'll take a short break.' He looked down at Staggs speculatively. 'Why are you scared of Jackson?'
Staggs bit his lip. 'Who says I'm scared?'
Outside, Sergeant Quinones showed Hewitt and Clayton a bagged-and-tagged plastic bottle of prescription pain killers with Humphrey's name typed on the pharmacy label. The prescription had been filled two days before Humphrey's murder.
'This was in Ulibarri's shirt pocket,' Quinones said.
Clayton almost smiled. The bottle was the best possible kind of evidence: it linked killer to victim. Instead, he nodded. 'Did you and Dillingham get anything from your interviews?'
'Yeah,' Quinones answered. 'Now we're going to check the stories out.'
Kerney's ten-minute appointment with his orthopedic surgeon lasted half an hour. After examining his knee, asking a lot of questions about his exercise regime, and making Kerney hop, squat, and duck-walk, the doctor announced that the plastic that served as cartilage in the artificial joint had most likely failed, causing increased muscle pain and Kerney's pronounced limp. He gave Kerney a script to make an appointment for a Magnetic Resonance Imaging test, known as an MRI, to confirm the diagnosis, and then showed him the model of a new, FDA-approved, longer-lasting artificial knee that would give him greater flexibility.
It would mean another surgery to implant the artificial joint, and another round of postoperative physical therapy and rehabilitation. But it would mean no more pain, no more limp, and greater mobility.
The only question in Kerney's mind was when to do it, before or after the baby arrived? Before might be better, if he had any reasonable expectation of ever playing on the floor with his child.
The doctor strongly suggested that Kerney take up swimming in lieu of jogging, which would lessen damage to the plastic that served to cushion movement of the steel implant. He wasn't much of a water person. His swimming experiences consisted of hot-weather dips in stock tanks when he was a kid growing up on a ranch, and occasional teenage forays in swimming pools where he could splash around safely without publicly embarrassing himself.
On a weekend outing, Sara had coaxed him into a hotel pool and then laughed and teased him after he'd awkwardly plowed his way through two short laps. She swam fluidly, dove gracefully, floated effortlessly, and loved the water. Perhaps he should call the architect and tell him to add plans for a swimming pool in the courtyard area behind the house.
He resisted the idea. In the high deserts of New Mexico, which included Santa Fe, water was a precious commodity. As a boy growing up in the arid Tularosa Basin, he'd watched his father constantly worry about drought, and had worked by his side replacing buried pipelines, rebuilding catchment basins, and mending windmills to insure the stock stayed watered. The idea of using thousands of gallons of water a year for a swimming pool went against the grain.
Kerney switched mental gears. The doctor had told him a new knee could wear out just as quickly if he kept jogging on it, and that water exercise was a far better way to keep the leg in shape. If he could lose the limp, which he hated, then he wouldn't look and feel like one of the walking wounded.
Maybe the pool was a medical necessity, not a wasteful, unnecessary luxury. He thought it over and decided that even if it was a rationalization, it was a damn good one.
He dawdled over a light meal at one of the restaurants along a four-lane city street that led to the foothills before driving to Cassie Bedlow's house. Lights were on inside and his knock at the door was answered by a somewhat frumpy, motherly looking woman.
'Ms. Norvell?' he asked, displaying his shield.
'I'm Cassie Bedlow,' she answered, looking a bit nonplused. 'Is there a problem in the neighborhood?'
'No, I'd like to ask you about Anna Marie Montoya.'
Bedlow's expression turned grave. 'Please come in. I read that her body had been found, and that the police were calling it a murder. After all these years, how sad.'
The word elegant came to mind as Kerney crossed the threshold into a small entrance hall that led to the step-down living room. Two matching easy chairs covered in ivory-colored fabric sat at opposite ends of a large copper-top coffee table. The oak floor was stained a rich brown that contrasted nicely with a neutral gray area rug. The sofa was a soft peach, positioned to give a view of a carved stone fireplace with casement windows on either side. Two expensive traveling bags were on the floor in an archway that most likely led to a bedroom suite. From all appearances, Bedlow made a very good living operating her modeling and talent agency.
She sat with Kerney and answered his questions without hesitation. She'd known Anna Marie in college, but not well, and had no idea who Montoya had dated during her senior year. She knew no one who fit the rich playboy profile Jeremiah Perrett had described as Anna Marie's love interest. Kent Osterman had been Bedlow's college boyfriend for a while, back when she was anorexic, forty pounds lighter, and didn't have to highlight her hair to cover the gray.
'Was Kent interested in Anna Marie?' Kerney asked.
Bedlow shook her head. 'Kent liked his girlfriends blond, skinny, and fun-loving.'
'How did Osterman locate you?' Kerney asked.
Bedlow didn't understand the question. 'Excuse me?'
'He knew you before you were married, when you were still Cassie Norvell.'
'Oh, that. He gets the alumni magazine. I was featured in an issue last year. A piece about women graduates who became entrepreneurs.'
'I've heard your agency is very successful.'
Bedlow smiled prettily. 'I've been blessed in that regard, but it's been a lot of hard work.'
'Are you still married?' Kerney asked.
Bedlow laughed. 'Not for a very long time.'
Kerney said good night, left Cassie Bedlow to her unpacking, and drove to Santa Fe thinking he'd been wise not to get optimistic about his new lead, which seemed to be fizzling out quickly. Tomorrow, he'd contact the remaining names on Osterman's list by phone and see where that took him.
The light on the answering machine blinked at him when he got home. He played back a message from Sara asking him to call and not to worry about the time, because she'd be up late studying.
He dialed her number and she answered immediately. 'What's up?' he asked.
'I just wanted to hear your sexy voice,' Sara replied.
'You sound sleepy.'
'I am. My eyes are crossed and I can't read another page.'
'What are you reading?'
'A monograph by an archaeologist who researched the battle site at the Little Bighorn. He suggests that contrary to popular belief, Custer didn't blindly go up against overwhelming odds. He made all the correct orthodox, tactical field maneuvers and still got his butt kicked. So much for thinking inside the box. Why are you home so late?'
'Just working. I saw my orthopedic surgeon today.'
'And?'
He told her about the newly developed artificial knee, how it would perform, and the idea of building a swimming pool at the new house to use for exercise.
'But I'm thinking maybe a lap pool would be better,' Kerney said. 'It would use less water.'
'No way, Kerney,' Sara replied.
'Why not?'
'Because I can't teach both you and our child to swim in a lap pool, and I want something all of us can enjoy. Get that knee fixed and I'll have you ready to compete in a Senior Olympics swimming event within a year.'
'You say the sweetest things.'
Sara giggled. 'I know it. Make sure the pool is heated, so we can use it year-round.'
