show up, refer them to me. I'll be at headquarters.'
Looking relieved, Molina hurried away to make his calls. Kerney walked down the driveway, kicking himself mentally. Since coming on board weeks ago, he'd met with each commander and supervisor personally, had spent a good deal of time observing operations, and was still digging through reams of department documents.
To avoid the possibility of reacting to personal agendas carried over from the last administration, Kerney had wanted to be completely up to speed before asking senior staff to recommend any organizational reforms. Now that would have to change. He couldn't let past stupidities stand in the way of good police work.
At the driveway gate Officer Herrera thrust the crime-scene log into Kerney's hands. Kerney studied the officer as he scrawled his name.
Herrera was short and skinny through the chest. Not even the Kevlar vest worn under his uniform shirt bulked him up enough to hide his lack of muscle. He had a potbelly and gray humorless eyes.
'How's the leg?' Kerney asked, glancing down at Herrera's torn uniform trousers.
'It's nothing, Chief.'
'Glad to hear it. Tell me something, Officer Herrera: Why didn't you accompany the animal-control officer when he went looking for the dog?'
Herrera ran his tongue under his upper lip and clamped his jaw shut.
'Say what's on your mind, Officer.'
'I'm not a dogcatcher, Chief.'
'No, you're not,' Kerney said, thinking Herrera might not be much of a police officer either.
As Kerney walked past the animal-control truck, the young man inside the cab rolled down the window.
'How long do I have to wait here, Chief?' Matt Garcia asked.
'Cloudy said I have to give a statement.'
'Who's Cloudy?' Kerney asked.
'Officer Herrera.'
'Give your statement to Officer Herrera.'
Matt shook his head.
'He says it's up to the detectives to take it. I'm backed up on five calls and my supervisor wants to know when I'll be released.'
Kerney motioned to Herrera. He approached slowly with his chin up and a sour look.
'Take this man's statement,' Kerney ordered, 'so he can go back to work.'
'Right away, Chief.'
Kerney turned on his heel to hide his frustration, went to his unit, and drove through the valley, glancing at the expensive homes-some new, some old adobes that had been restored and enlarged-that peppered the hillsides and the river bottomland. Interspersed among the symbols of new wealth were a few remaining modest houses. They were sure to be gobbled up or demolished pretty soon by newcomers seeking a prestigious Santa Fe address.
With the money he'd realized from the sale of the land Erma Fergurson had left him, he could easily build a trophy home and move into the neighborhood.
The thought was totally unappealing. Instead, Kerney had a realtor looking for a section of land in the Galisteo Basin twenty minutes outside of Santa Fe, where he could build a ranch house and keep some animals.
A ranch house with a nursery, he reminded himself, thinking of his wife, Lieutenant Colonel Sara Brannon, pregnant and on active duty while attending the U. S. Army Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.
In January they'd spent a weekend together at Fort Leaven worth. Sara had toured him around the post on a cold, clear Kansas morning, walking him across the parade grounds, pointing out the Victorian houses where George Armstrong Custer and Douglas Macarthur had lived. She showed him the building where F. Scott Fitzgerald had written his first novel.
He got to see the old French cannons that looked out over the Missouri River and the monumental Buffalo Soldier statue that honored Africanamericans who'd served in segregated units during the Indian campaigns.
After the tour they'd snuggled up in a lovely bed-and-breakfast and tuned out the world. It had been a wonderful weekend, and Kerney had returned to Santa Fe knowing that Sara's commitment to her career as an army officer was as strong as her commitment to their marriage. He wondered if that would ever change.
Sara was due in Santa Fe on the weekend. Kerney hoped that the Terrell murder investigation wouldn't get in the way of her visit. As it was, they had little enough time together.
Radio traffic told Kerney that detectives were responding quickly to Molina's call for more manpower. The street narrowed and curved on the approach to the plaza, past rows of tightly packed houses, creating the feeling of a village lane in a Spanish town.
Kerney pulled to the curb and waited. Five unmarked units running a silent code three passed by in a matter of minutes. That should give Molina the resources he needed. Hopefully, the lieutenant would put the personnel to good use.
Kerney made a mental note to learn more about Officer Herrera and drove on.
Chapter 2
Although the city hadn't been hit with a lot of snow, a foot of new powder crowned the ski basin, and traffic along Cerril los Road was heavy with day trippers from Albuquerque on their way to and from the slopes. At the Airport Road intersection Kerney turned off and headed for the nearby police headquarters, remembering the time when the old Blue Mountain Ranch and a vast stretch of rangeland along Cerrillos Road had defined the southern limits of the city. Now that open space was gone, filled up by a large shopping mall, an auto park with four dealerships, and commercial clutter that stretched along the roadway almost to the Interstate.
Since starting the job, Kerney had tacked extra time onto his twelve-hour days to explore the city by car and get familiar with his jurisdiction. The growing south-side sprawl continued along Airport Road, where a mixture of strip malls, new residential subdivisions with houses on tiny lots, and boxy apartment buildings had sprung up at an astonishing rate. Santa Fe was fast losing its unique identity and Kerney doubted anything could stop it.
He entered police headquarters, where the receptionist, a young woman with a lackluster complexion and a bit too much blush on her cheeks, sat up straight in her chair and smiled a polite greeting that showed no warmth.
Kerney had grown used to the wariness most of the staff displayed when he came around. But he didn't like it, and he wondered how long it would take for it to ease.
He climbed the stairs to the administrative wing. The vacant deputy chief's office reminded him that he needed to act soon on filling the number-two slot.
Helen Muiz, Kerney's personal secretary and office manager, greeted him with a sheaf of telephone messages.
'Anything urgent?' he asked.
Helen shook her head and took off her reading glasses.
'Not yet. But I think you'd better tell the city manager about the Terrell murder before he hears about it from an outside source.'
Kerney smiled. A thirty-five-year veteran of the department, Helen had been Kerney's secretary during his tenure as chief of detectives, and had served as the office manager for the past three chiefs. Now a grandmother in her late fifties, Helen didn't look the part. Full bodied, taller than average, with large round eyes that radiated a sharp sense of humor, Helen was the best-dressed civilian employee in the department. Today, she wore a pearl- gray wool gabardine suit and a silk plum-colored blouse.
She could retire at any time on a full pension, but chose not to do so.
Kerney was delighted to have her running the office.
'You always give me such good advice,' he said.
'Which, if I recall correctly, you usually need,' Helen replied.
