'What in the hell was going on in there with you and Agent Perry?'
'It's old business,' Kerney said.
'Make sure you put Applewhite and her partner under constant observation during the house search. I don't want anything else disappearing from the residence. Take photographs while you're there.
If Applewhite questions it, say it's department policy. Get me a few good shots of her.'
Applewhite came out the door with another agent before Molina could ask what in the hell was going on.
'We're ready to roll, Chief,' she said, with a nod and a smile in Molina's direction.
'Lieutenant Molina will guide you to the house,' Kerney said as he stepped away to his unit.
After World War Two the College of Santa Fe, an independent institution founded by four Christian Brothers in 1859, had relocated from a site near the plaza to the surplus Fort Burns Army Hospital at the edge of town. Now besieged by urban sprawl and bordered by major roads, the campus was more or less tucked away from view except for the main entrance off St. Michael's Drive.
Over the past twenty years the college had built a reputation for its liberal arts, performance, and fine arts programs.
Kerney drove past the flashy new garnet-red Visual Arts Center, an ultramodern building of exceedingly sharp angles, rows of geometrically square and rectangular windows, stiff jutting cornices, and pyramid domes, to the old army barracks, where two squad cars, an unmarked unit, a crime-tech vehicle, and an ambulance were parked.
Officer Herrera once again stood guard, positioned at the gate to the courtyard entrance with clipboard in hand next to a sign that read,
'Christian Brothers Residence.'
Kerney wondered if Herrera was good at anything other than checking people in and out of crime scenes. He had his doubts.
He sat in his car for a long minute looking at the barracks, which sported new roofs and siding, but clearly proclaimed a wartime heritage.
Although brown and dormant, the courtyard was a showcase of ardent gardening and careful landscaping, with curving walkways, carefully pruned shrubs, a grass lawn, mulched flower-beds, and ornamental trees.
Around the perimeter of the buildings mature pine and cedar trees over arched the roofs and provided screening.
Kerney wondered how long it would be before the college tore the barracks down, and hoped it never happened. Not every structure worth saving had to be an architectural marvel, and there was something to be said for preserving a few reminders of a time when the country had been defended by millions of citizen soldiers.
'Did you see the body?' Kerney asked as he signed in with Herrera.
'Just for a minute,' Cloudy answered.
'Then Sergeant Catanach arrived and stationed me out here.'
'Did you detain any witnesses?'
'Like I said, Chief, the sergeant took over.'
Kerney looked into Herrera's dull gray eyes and decided to trust the hunch that popped up.
'Did anyone from outside the department come by the Terrell crime scene yesterday?'
'Yeah, an FBI agent stopped by just before I was relieved. Some woman.
I don't remember her name. Applegate, or something like that.'
'What did she want?'
'Just to know what was happening with the case.'
'And?' Kerney prodded, trying to keep a scolding tone out of his voice.
'I filled her in.'
'What did you tell her?'
'That we had a suspect, the Mexican guy.'
'Did she ask permission to inspect the crime scene?'
'No.'
'Did you document the conversation?' Kerney asked.
'What for?' Herrera said with a shrug.
Kerney forced a smile.
'Contact Lieutenant Molina, tell him what you told me, and write up a supplemental report. Have it ready for me before I leave.'
Herrera shrugged again.
'Okay.'
Sergeant Tony Catanach was in the dining room where he had assembled the brothers, who sat clustered together silently at two tables. Kerney scanned the group: all the men were middle aged or older; but some were dressed in casual civilian attire, while others wore clerical garb.
Several had their heads bowed in prayer.
Catanach gave an approving glance at Kerney's uniform and stepped into the hallway. A young man in his early thirties and a five-year veteran of the force, he was a newly minted sergeant who took his job seriously.
'I was just about to start taking statements, Chief,' he said.
'Bring me up to speed.'
'The victim is Father Joseph Mitchell, a Maryknoll priest. His throat was slashed. Entry may have been gained either through an unlocked window or a door.'
Along the corridor of the nicely remodeled barracks a series of doors gave access to the dining room, a library, a large lounge, an entertainment room, and a chapel.
'Where's the body?' Kerney asked.
Catanach inclined his head toward the row of hallway windows that looked out on the courtyard and an adjacent two-story barracks, connected to the common area by a passageway.
'The brothers' bedrooms are across the way. Father Mitchell had a first-floor room right inside a door that leads directly to the courtyard. The screen was off his unlatched window, but all the others are still in place. Nobody can remember if the entrance closest to Mitchell's room was locked or not. The brothers aren't real concerned about security. There isn't any sign of forced entry, and if you walk around you'll see four more doors that also could have been used by the killer to gain entry.'
'Have you got everyone here?'
'No,' Catanach said.
'There are twelve residents, if you count Father Mitchell.
Seven are in the dining room and four of the brothers are in their offices canceling their classes. They'll be back in twenty minutes.
I've asked them not to discuss Father Mitchell's death.'
Catanach consulted a pocket notebook.
'Robbery may have been the motive, Chief.
A laptop and desktop computer were taken, along with a tape recorder, a camera, and a VCR. Detective Sloan is in the room waiting for the body to be removed.'
'What do you know about the victim?'
'Not much, yet. He was a visiting scholar-in-residence working on a research project. Brother Jerome Brodsky, chair of the social science department, supposedly knows the most about Father Mitchell. He'll be back in twenty.'
'What else?' Kerney asked.
'Check out the knife wound, Chief. One deep cut at the jugular. No hesitation marks, nothing sloppy, and no cuts on the victim's hands to indicate any struggle with his attacker. I'd say the priest was probably asleep at the time.'
'I'll take a look and be back to help take statements,' Kerney said.
Bobby Sloan, a thirty-year veteran of the department, pulled back the sheet covering Father Mitchell's body.
'A clean kill,' he said to Kerney.
