“Go ahead.”
“Diane Plumley.”
“No.”
“Debra Stokes.”
“No.”
“Dorothy Travis.”
“No.”
“Anyone who might have used Dot as a nickname.”
“No.”
“How about a Mrs. John Coleman?”
“I don’t know anyone named Coleman.”
“Jann and Jeffery McCafferty?”
“Jeff and Jann are friends, although I don’t see them very often now that they live in Sydney. Jeff’s a senior vice president of a bank.”
“How did you make their acquaintance?” Clayton asked.
“At church. I’ve know them for twenty-five years or more. In fact, Jeff got me started collecting coins as an investment. He’s a serious numismatist.”
Clayton zeroed in on Edgerton’s interactions with the McCaffertys around the time of the robbery. Edgerton had lost his wife to a stroke six months before the theft. To bolster his spirits, the McCaffertys had made him a frequent guest at their dinner parties. Mostly the guest list consisted of bankers and their spouses, but sometimes Jeff threw a beer and pizza party for his serious coin collector friends.
“Think back, Mr. Edgerton,” Kerney prodded. “A few weeks before the robbery, do you remember meeting an American woman at one of the McCaffertys’ dinner parties? She would have been Hispanic looking, attractive, in her early thirties, slender and petite, with dark hair.”
“I can’t recall meeting an American woman like that,” Edgerton replied. “But there was a very interesting couple from Belize Jeff had met at a Brisbane coin show. Belize used to be British Honduras, you know. Part of the Commonwealth. He was a Brit and she was half-English and half-Hispanic. However, I don’t recall their names.”
“Can you describe the man?”
“No, it was years ago and I only met him and his lady friend that once.”
“Thank you,” Kerney said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
A smiling Matt Chacon stood in the open doorway. Kerney waved and pointed to an empty chair. Matt entered and sat.
“I hope you catch the bugger who stuck that gun in my face and stole my property,” Edgerton said.
Kerney promised to do his best, said good-bye, disconnected, and turned his attention to Chacon. “Why the smile?”
“Because the thumbprint on the plastic coin sleeve belongs to one Archie Pattison, a citizen of the United Kingdom. He is also known as John Culley, Denise Riley’s employer.”
“By chance does Mr. Pattison have any ties to what was once known as British Honduras?” Clayton asked.
Matt looked surprised. “Yes, he does. He was born there. When British Honduras became the independent country of Belize, he retained his British citizenship and emigrated to London. He served in the Royal Marines and disappeared from sight after his discharge.”
“What else do you know about Mr. Pattison, aka John Culley?” Kerney asked.
“Other than he’s in this country as a permanent resident under a false identity with a forged passport, that’s it for now,” Matt replied. “What do you know about him, Chief?”
Kerney stood. “Culley and Denise Riley, posing as a married couple, probably pulled off that coin heist in Australia. Let’s go pay Culley a visit. Where’s Sergeant Pino? She needs to be in on this.”
“She’s on her way here,” Matt replied.
Kerney headed for the door with Clayton and Matt at his heels. “Tell her to meet us at Culley’s house.”
“Roger that, Chief,” Matt replied.
Chapter Twelve
John Culley lived on a hill off a dirt lane near Acequia Madre. The area hadn’t yet become completely gentrified, but the upscale Santa Fe–style estates already outnumbered the tiny, dilapidated casitas with peeling paint, rickety doors, and tumbledown concrete block walls owned by the
The deep snow and heavy drifts on the unplowed side streets made the trip to Culley’s road a thirty-minute adventure. The three officers arrived at the bottom of the hill to find Ramona Pino parked and waiting in her unmarked unit. They stood with her in front of her vehicle and gazed at the steep, impassable lane.
“Did anyone remember to bring snowshoes?” Ramona asked.
Kerney looked down at his petite sergeant and smiled. “I don’t think it’s quite over your head. We’ll pull you to safety if it is. How far up the hill does Culley live?”
“I don’t know,” Matt replied. “I only met with him at his place of business.”
“I’ll break trail,” Clayton said.
“Lead on,” Kerney agreed.
They started out in single file behind Clayton, with Ramona and Matt bringing up the rear.
“Do we even know if Culley is at home?” Ramona asked Matt.
“Nope. On a day like this with everything shut down, the chief thought it best to make an unannounced visit so as not to raise any suspicions.”
“So what’s the plan when we get there?”
“We surround the house, while Chief Kerney and Sergeant Istee knock at the front door and introduce themselves.”
“That should work.”
Up ahead, Clayton and Kerney paused to look at street numbers on some mailboxes that were poking up above the snow level at curbside.
Ramona was happy to take a break. Trying to keep up with her long-legged companions had turned into quite a chore. “Do you think Culley was the father of Denise Riley’s unborn child?” she asked.
Matt gulped down some cold air that freeze-dried his throat. “I had the distinct impression that he was gay. But maybe he’s bi.”
“There was no mention in your notes that you talked to Culley’s alleged lover.”
“Never did,” Matt said. His legs were aching from pulling each foot free from the deep snow and plunging on. “At the time of my interview, Culley was a source of information, not a suspect.”
Ramona’s breath iced up in the air. “Maybe Culley’s housemate, lover, or whatever you want to call him, is a beard.”
“Could be. Do you think Culley killed her because she was pregnant or because she had appropriated some of their ill-gotten gains without his knowledge?”
Ramona’s nose was runny. She wiped it with a tissue. “Rage is one possible motive. Greed, jealousy are others.”
“Maybe Culley, his lover, and Denise Riley were a menage a trois.”
“That’s an interesting notion.” She stuffed the tissue in a coat pocket.
Twenty feet ahead, Kerney and Clayton stood at the front of a driveway where two vehicles sat under a carport. Neither the walkway to the house nor the driveway showed any sign of foot or vehicle traffic. There were lights on inside the residence.
Using hand signals, Kerney motioned for Ramona to cover the front of the house and Matt to take the back.
“I doubt Culley is going to try make a getaway under these conditions,” Matt said as he checked his semiautomatic and returned it to its holster.
“You’re such a spoilsport, Chacon,” Ramona said as he moved off.
