She needs to know what happened."
"Please don't bother. When did you last see Mrs. Terrell?"
"She came for coffee here yesterday afternoon."
"How was her mood?"
"Excellent. She was looking forward to her trip. She always flies back to celebrate her sister's birthday. They're very close."
"Does she have any current houseguests?"
"Not since the holidays."
"I'd like to use your phone so I can have a detective come over and take a statement."
"Aren't you a detective?"
"I'm the police chief."
Lawton paled.
"You wouldn't be here to investigate a simple burglary."
"No, I wouldn't. Mrs. Terrell has been murdered."
"Oh, my God," Lawton said, sinking into a rattan chair.
Kerney called Lieutenant Molina on his cell phone, filled him in, and asked for one detective to come to Lawton's house. He ordered an immediate search for Terjo at the stables, and told Molina to stand by at the Terrell residence for his return.
Lawton cried quietly while Kerney kept the binoculars trained on the stables.
Soon two detectives and a uniformed officer moved in on foot. They crossed the road, used trees and shrubs for concealment, and split up at the small open meadow in front of the stables. Keeping low, the detectives sprinted to their positions, one at the front and one at the back of the stables, while the uniformed officer found cover behind Terjo's truck, his sidearm drawn and ready.
Kerney focused the binoculars on the detective standing to one side of the stable's front doors, but the distance was too great for him to see any mouthed orders. A few minutes passed before a figure emerged from the darkness of the stable, hands held high. The detective quickly put the man facedown in the snow and cuffed him as the uniform moved in, his weapon aimed at the back of the man's head.
The doorbell rang and Kerney turned to find that Lawton hadn't moved.
Although her tears had stopped, the expression of disbelief remained.
Cassidy was at Lawton's feet, his chin resting on her knee. She absentmindedly stroked the dog's head.
"I'll get it," Kerney said, and Lawton nodded dully in agreement.
Kerney let the detective in. Molina had sent over Amos Cis neros. He gave Cisneros the gist of his conversation with Lawton, and took the overweight, still wheezing man to the sunroom, thinking he'd have to tighten up the physical-fitness requirements for commissioned personnel.
"Do you know how I can find Ambassador Terrell?" Kerney asked after introducing Cisneros to Lawton.
"No," Lawton replied.
"He's a delegate on a trade mission to South America. He's out of the country a great deal of the time."
"Does he still have ambassador rank?"
Kerney asked.
"I don't know what his official status is."
"It may take some time for Detective Cisneros to interview you."
"That's fine," Lawton said, smiling weakly.
"Please excuse my tears. I really cared for Phyllis. She's been a good friend."
"I understand."
On his way back to the Terrell residence Kerney framed the most diplomatic way he could ask Lieutenant Molina about the lack of resources at the crime scene.
He caught Molina's eye. The lieutenant stepped away from the medical examiner and joined him at the edge of the patio.
"Who did your people arrest?" Kerney asked.
"Terjo," Molina replied.
"We'll take his preliminary statement here and then interrogate him at headquarters. Thanks for the heads-up, Chief."
"You seem a little short on manpower, Lieutenant," Kerney said.
"Can I call in more people?"
"You don't need my permission, Lieutenant."
Molina paused.
"Yes, I do. There's a standing order in effect:
Only the chief can authorize additional personnel for major felony investigations."
"That makes no sense."
"It's what your predecessor wanted."
"Why?" Kerney asked.
Molina shrugged and ran a hand through his thinning hair.
"Cost containment. My unit goes over budget every year. Nothing I said would change his mind. It didn't seem to matter that I don't have a crystal ball that lets me predict violent crimes on an annual basis."
"The order is rescinded," Kerney said.
"Get the help you need up here pronto.
And in the future, get in my face if there's something that keeps you from doing your job. Are you clear on that?"
Molina smiled broadly.
"You bet I am, Chief."
"Let me know when you plan to interrogate Terjo," Kerney said.
"I'd like to watch."
"Ten-four."
"Has Terrell's sister or husband been informed of her death?" Kerney asked.
"Not yet. We haven't gotten an answer from the State Department on the ambassador's exact whereabouts."
"Inform the sister, but keep the local media in the dark for as long as possible. If any newspaper reporters 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.