'That will have to wait for another time,' Jeff replied. 'While you were with Bedlow, I had one of my detectives search several escort-rating Web sites.'
'An escort what?' Ramona asked.
Vialpando smiled. 'Your education about vice and the Internet has just begun. Many hookers are rated by their clients on the World Wide Web. Some women even post the testimonials they've received from satisfied customers on their personal Web sites. Sultry Sally has gotten her first grade, and it's a good one.'
He handed Ramona a computer printout. It read: Although new to her profession, Sultry Sally from Albuquerque is a charming, lovely young woman eager to please. She could be a bit more inventive, but takes direction well. Sally is well worth your time and money. I look forward to our next date. Four stars, which is excellent for a girl just starting out.
'This is mind-boggling,' Ramona said.
Jeff waited for the busboy to pour water and go away. 'It could be fake. Many of the Internet ads and testimonials are. You don't always get what you call up and ask for.'
'So that's why some of the sites guarantee that it's an actual picture of the girl.'
'Exactly. Truth in advertising, so to speak.'
'Now what do we do?' Ramona asked.
'Order lunch,' Jeff said as a waiter approached with a basket of freshly baked breads and rolls. 'I recommend the cup of soup and the house salad.'
Ramona grabbed one of the menus that had been left on the table and scanned it. Nothing jumped out at her. 'You're not a meat and potatoes kind of guy?'
'Not at this time of day.'
'Soup and salad sounds good,' Ramona said, handing the menu off to the waiter.
Vialpando ordered the same. The waiter nodded and left.
'You didn't answer my question,' Ramona said. 'What's the next move?'
'You still don't have anything solid on Bedlow,' Jeff replied.
'Yeah, I know it. But I got this feeling about her. She didn't even raise an eyebrow or give me a motherly lecture about smoking dope and popping sleeping pills when I copped to being a user. It was almost like she was pleased that I wasn't a straight, Goody Two-shoes. Then she laid this job possibility on me. Don't you think that was a little strange?'
'Not if she's reeling you in for something other than a career in fashion modeling,' Jeff answered.
'I wonder if that's what happened to Sally Greer,' Ramona said.
'Where's the job she turned you on to?'
Ramona gave him the note and his eyes widened. 'Jesus, we've been trying to get someone in this place undercover for the past six months. So has narcotics.'
'Well, here's your chance,' Ramona said as she buttered a roll.
'This could be dangerous,' Jeff said, searching Ramona's face. She had remarkably pretty eyes.
'I think I can handle it.' Ramona took a bite of the roll. She'd skipped breakfast and her stomach was grumbling for food. 'I did two years undercover narcotics. Fill me in.'
Chapter 9
Since Kerney's arrival in Santa Fe years ago as a rookie officer, the city had changed dramatically. Where there used to be open pastureland and dirt roads, there were now trailer parks, residential subdivisions, strip malls, and paved streets. Several working cattle ranches that once bordered the city were either gated communities for the very rich, burgeoning middle-class enclaves for those who sought country living on an acre and a half, or clustered housing tracts on postage-stamp lots for families willing to pay a quarter of a million dollars or more for the convenience of living in town.
Untouched hills that rose up to the national forest in the mountains behind the city had sprouted multimillion-dollar-view homes. Along Cerrillos Road, the ugliest and busiest gateway into the city, a commercial building frenzy was underway with national chain stores, discount stores, motels, supermarkets, and specialty retail outlets rising up from the leveled, graded, paved earth with alarming frequency.
Most of the population growth came from newcomers to the city, a motley assortment of the new rich, old rich, New Age spiritualists and healers, wanna-be artists, movie stars, celebrities of every stripe, trustfunders, ski bums, restless youths of various ages, baby boomers who'd taken early retirement, and true believers of every possible persuasion who were drawn to the magic of Santa Fe. While they all laid claim to the trendy aesthetic life of the city, politics, a favorite local pastime, remained firmly in the hands of Hispanic and Anglo old-timers.
Kerney's sources of information about Tyler Norvell consisted of a retired state legislator, a former chief of staff for an ex-governor, a lobbyist, and a syndicated political columnist. He made the rounds, picking up a bit more information about Norvell from each informant.
After three stops, he knew that Norvell owned an expensive Santa Fe home, which he frequently made available to key legislative leaders when they traveled to Santa Fe on official business. He'd also learned that Norvell was the only senate minority member who consistently got his pork-barrel appropriations passed and signed into law. His success was attributed to a close personal friendship with the senate majority leader and backroom deal making with his colleagues.
Additionally Norvell, who was divorced, frequently threw parties at his Santa Fe house during legislative sessions, using his sister's modeling students as hostesses. Some probing questions about possible indiscretions involving the young women failed to yield any embarrassed pauses or gossip. Norvell's sister, Cassie Bedlow, was always in attendance at the parties and kept a careful eye on the girls.
That didn't mean the informants weren't equivocating. Sex was always the subject people lied about first and foremost.
Interestingly, Kerney's first three contacts had slightly different takes on the source of Norvell's wealth. The lobbyist thought that Norvell had made his money in Colorado as a lawyer, where he'd lived for some years before returning to Lincoln County and getting into real estate. The ex-chief of staff believed Norvell had been a partner in a commercial construction firm that had cashed in on the Denver building boom. The retired legislator thought Norvell had gotten rich through the stock market.
Kerney met with his last contact, Ellsworth Miller, in the press and media room that overlooked the dark senate chambers at the state capital. By law the New Mexico legislature convened only once a year in either thirty- or sixty-day sessions, so the chambers were generally empty. While some critics considered a part-time legislature unprogressive, Kerney liked the idea that the house and senate incumbents couldn't turn public service into a well- paying, full-time sinecure.
Ellsworth Miller touted himself as the dean of New Mexico journalists, which wasn't an exaggeration. In his seventies with fifty years of experience as a reporter, Miller had become a fixture at the capital. He sported a full head of curly, disheveled gray hair that rolled over his shirt collar, and a scruffy beard always in need of a trim. In the twenty years Kerney had known him, the look hadn't changed. But he had aged dramatically. Ellsworth's face was permanently flushed red by drink, and the skin around his neck was loose and flabby.
'Why the interest in Tyler Norvell?' Ellsworth asked in his gravelly voice, after Kerney had explained the focus for the meeting.
'It's supplemental to an investigation,' Kerney replied.
'That tells me exactly nothing,' Ellsworth said.
'Maybe we can exchange information,' Kerney said. 'You go first.'
'Only if I get an exclusive on the story.'
'If there is a story, you'll get it first,' Kerney replied.
'Is this part of a criminal investigation?' Ellsworth asked, peering over the rim of his reading glasses.
'It's possibly tied to one,' Kerney answered.
Ellsworth put his glasses in his shirt pocket. 'Okay, I'll play along. I assume you know the basics: He's divorced, no children, his ex-wife lives out of state, he's rich, votes conservative, and he's well regarded on both sides of the aisle.'
