'Did she tell you about the trade mission?'
'No.'
Perry stepped into Stewart's view.
'Did you ever have any political or philosophical discussions with her?'
'That wasn't the focus of our relationship.'
'She didn't seem to care if people knew about her other lovers. Why the secrecy when it came to you?'
'Because we were neighbors, and I didn't want my wife to find out about it. Nor did she.'
'And Terjo? Why was he asked to keep the secret?'
'Because he'd worked for my wife upon occasion, and he knew both of us.
And my wife was friendly with Phyllis.'
'Did you pay him for his silence?'
'I didn't, no. Phyllis may have, but I doubt it. Terjo seemed willing to treat it as none of his business.'
'Did Phyllis ever ask you to do any favors for her?'
'Like what?' Stewart asked.
'You tell me,' Perry replied.
The agent had clamped the handcuffs painfully tight around Stewart's wrists.
'You can't keep me handcuffed like this,' he said.
Perry smiled devilishly and leaned close to Stewart.
'Does it hurt, Randall?'
'Its a violation of my rights.'
'You've got no rights,' Perry said.
'I could blow your fucking brains out and probably get a personal commendation from the White House. You were in Phyllis Terrell's pants the night she was murdered. That makes you murder suspect number one.
As far as I'm concerned you're a stone-cold killer.'
'I didn't kill her. Listen, it was just sex, like I told you. There was nothing else to it.'
Perry guffawed.
'Or maybe she was gonna cut you off, and you didn't like the idea of losing out on some great pussy.'
'That's not true.'
Perry circled behind Stewart again and patted him on the shoulder.
'You know,' he said gently, 'I want to believe you, Randall. Now, let's try again: Did Phyllis give you anything to hold for her?
Documents? Papers? Anything like that?'
'No, nothing. She asked me to mail a letter at the post office the next morning on my way to work, which I did.'
'What kind of letter?'
'A manila envelope.'
'Who was it addressed to?'
'She didn't say.'
'You didn't look at the address?'
'I checked it to make sure I dropped it in the right drive-up box outside the post office. It had a local address.'
'What was the address?'
'I don't remember exactly. Somebody at the College of Santa Fe, but I don't remember who.'
Perry remained behind Stewart to hide the look of annoyance on his face.
He kept his tone even.
'Did Phyllis mention the contents of the envelope?'
'No, she just said she wanted to make sure it didn't sit in her mailbox, because she was going out of town and she'd put a hold on her mail delivery until she got back.'
Perry patted Stewart's shoulder one more time and uncuffed him.
Randall pulled his arms through the slats, rubbed his wrists, and glared angrily at the agent when he stepped into view.
'You can't treat people this way,' he said.
'Is that a threat, Randall?' Stewart looked away and said nothing.
Perry clamped a hand around Stewart's neck.
'If you talk to the media, go to the police, see an attorney, or divulge this conversation to anyone, it will be denied and you'll be arrested and charged with conspiracy to commit treason,' Agent Perry said.
'This isn't a police state,' Stewart sputtered, 'and I'm not a traitor or a criminal.'
Perry sneered.
'I know that. But believe me, I'll use all available resources to make everybody, including your mother, your wife, and your children think you are. And when I'm finished, you won't have a job, a family, or a life that's worth squat. Do I make myself clear?'
'I can't believe this is happening to me,' Stewart said.
'It could've been a lot worse,' Charlie replied, lifting Randall Stewart to his feet.
'I need the bathroom,' Stewart said, feeling a wetness in his underwear.
'First make and sign a voluntary statement,' Perry said, gesturing at a gray army-issue table against the wall. He looked down at the spreading stain at Stewart's crotch.
'Then you can tidy up before you go back to the office.'
Two solid hours of discussion passed before Larry Otero left to spend the rest of the morning moving into his new office. Kerney turned his attention to the updated field notes on the murder investigations. Sal Molina had worked his people hard, but not much had been accomplished.
In spite of the dozens of field interviews no suspects had emerged in either killing. Terjo was still missing, Father Mitchell's briefcase hadn't been found, and the FBI had refused Molina's request to interview Ambassador Terrell, Proctor Straley, and his daughter Susan.
The corporate information about APT Performa that Helen had promised to get yesterday afternoon had finally arrived this morning He paged through the company's annual report and learned that the firm produced civilian computer security programs using technology originally developed at Sandia and Los Alamos National Laboratories for nuclear-disarmament monitoring. That could mean the company created firewall protection systems, cyber91 snooping programs, or some other rarefied software designed to safeguard network data.
How APT Performa figured into Ambassador Terrell's trade mission-if it did at all-remained an unanswered question. Maybe Trade Source Venture International, APT Performa's parent company, had flown Terrell back from South America on its corporate jet purely out of compassion for the ambassador's loss. Or because it was just good business sense to do a favor for a high-ranking government official. A reasonable person would figure it was some combination of the two and let it go at that. But how would that explain the two CIA types who got off the jet with Terrell at the airport and immediately cleaned out the crime scene?
Kerney set the material aside and paged through the graveyard shift commander's report. Before dawn, patrol officers had noticed unmarked FBI vehicles assigned to the task force stopping at various motels along the Cerrillos Road corridor.
The officers had queried their commander asking if a wanted-person sweep was under way. After checking with Lieutenant Molina the commander had ordered his officers not to provide any assistance.
Kerney called Sal Molina's extension, got him on the line, and asked for a briefing.
'I talked to Special Agent Perry about it, Chief,' Molina said.
'He had his agents out looking for Terjo.'
'Did you suggest to Perry that this is a joint operation?'
'Yeah, I did.
I asked him to team up the agents with the gang unit detectives who were working the south-side barrios. Perry didn't want to do it.'
'Why didn't you call me?'
'There didn't seem any point, Chief. I read him out about it, and he told me he was shutting the search down. I asked to be alerted if any officers spotted his agents again, but apparently he meant what he said.'
