Slow Kill (4 page)

“A little of one, more of the other,” Kerney replied.

Lowrey laughed. “In that order?”

Kerney nodded again.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a cop who kept racehorses as a hobby.”

“I don’t plan to race them, and it’s not a hobby.”

“Still, it must be expensive,” Lowrey said, the smile fixed on her face.

“Ask your question, Sergeant.”

“The last time I checked, police work wasn’t in the top ten high-income professions,” Lowrey countered.

Kerney stayed silent.

“How many horses do you own?”

“Right now, none. By the end of the day, probably four.”

“That’s interesting,” Lowrey said, her smile fading.

Kerney knew he had to give Lowrey more information or face her continued probes, starting with why a man who owned no horses would come to this ranch, at this particular time, to buy some animals.

“I own a small place outside Santa Fe,” he said, “and I’m partnering with my neighbors to breed cutting horses. Except for ones I’m looking to buy, they’ll supply the brood mares. I’m also fronting the costs for the stud horse and two geldings. We plan to start training the geldings as soon as possible.”

“On a ranch outside of Santa Fe,” Lowrey said.

“Yes.”

“I’ve never been there,” Lowrey said in a casual tone, “but I’ve heard it’s where the rich people like to go and play.”

“It’s one of those places,” Kerney said. “Let me answer some of the other questions you haven’t asked me yet. How can I afford a ranch outside of Santa Fe? I came into a sizable inheritance several years back. Do I live anywhere near Mrs. Spalding? I know all my neighbors and she’s not one of them. Why did I come to this ranch to buy horses? My partner suggested it. Some of the finest cutting horses in the country have been bred here.”

Lowrey laughed and turned to face the track, where a trainer was running a frisky two-year-old. “You don’t like being the subject of an inquiry.”

“Would you?”

“Probably not. Are you going home tomorrow?”

“That’s the plan,” Kerney replied.

“Maybe I’ll have to come see you in Santa Fe,” Lowrey said as she returned her gaze to Kerney.

“That would be a waste of your time.”

“You haven’t asked me if Mrs. Spalding has been advised of her husband’s death.”

“I figured you’d tell me if she had been.”

“Of course I would.” She handed Kerney a business card. “Call me if you’d like to get anything off your chest.”

Lowrey stepped away in the direction of her police cruiser. Kerney stuffed her card in his shirt pocket. Clearly, the sergeant was just doing her job, and doing it very well. But that didn’t ease the irritation he felt at being treated like a suspect.

He laughed at himself. No matter what Lowrey thought, he had nothing to worry about. He went to take a closer look at one of the four geldings. It seemed a bit shallow in the flank and somewhat razor-backed, which wouldn’t do at all.

In her unit, Ellie Lowrey checked with Price by radio on the status of the autopsy and learned it was still under way. She decided to drive to Los Osos and get a firsthand report from the pathologist. She had deliberately given Chief Kerney the impression that he’d be free to go back to Santa Fe tomorrow. But that depended on what the doctor had to say.

Ellie knew she was operating solely on her intuition. But coincidence was always questionable in a criminal investigation. Happenstance, fate, and chance were often used by subjects to camouflage the truth.

She pondered a scenario. Kerney lived in the same town as Spalding’s wife. Both of them were apart from their spouses a good deal of the time. Kerney, who owned no horses, came to California to buy stock at the same time Clifford Spalding was at the ranch. They shared accommodations, which allowed Kerney to conveniently find Spalding dead in his bedroom in the morning.

According to Jeffery Jardin, Spalding had never stayed at the ranch before, and had arrived surreptitiously to buy a horse as a surprise anniversary present for his wife. Did Claudia Spalding know Clifford’s whereabouts? Wives often have a way of keeping track of husbands.

And what about Kerney? Who better to orchestrate a crime than an experienced cop? Who better to stage a death that looked natural, leave no evidence behind, and have plausible explanations at hand?

Motive, opportunity, and means made up the three major components of any criminal investigation. So far, all she had for sure was opportunity, and a lurking suspicion that perhaps Kerney and Claudia Spalding were lovers who’d plotted and carried out a murder. But why?

She’d watched Kerney carefully, and he hadn’t shown any nonverbal signs of lying. But cops, the good ones anyway, were masters at lying. A lot of dirtbags were in the slam because of well-formulated, totally believable lies told to them by police officers.

Ellie tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Was she completely off base? She hoped the autopsy would answer the question one way or the other.

She reached the mortuary in Los Osos, and the thought struck her that calling such places funeral homes was totally incongruous. If you were there to get buried, you were about as far away from home as you were ever going to get.

Inside, she found Price moving the body from the autopsy table to a gurney. “Where’s Doc?” Ellie asked.

“He left,” Price answered.

“And?”

Price shook his head as he covered the body. “It looks like straightforward heart failure. But Doc said he’d have the lab run exhaustive blood and chem tests, just as you asked. He’s particularly interested in learning what the levels were for the hormone replacement medication.”

“Did he say why?” Ellie asked.

Price laughed as he pushed the gurney into an open locker and closed it up. “For two reasons: to keep you happy, and to see if the drug may have contributed to the death. Spalding’s heart blew a valve and the muscles showed signs of fairly rapid and recent deterioration.”

“Getting the lab results could take several days.”

Price hosed down the autopsy table, stripped off the bloody gown and gloves, and dumped them in a hamper. “Not much we can do about it,” he said.

In his late fifties, Price had a fatherly air about him that always calmed Ellie down. Maybe she’d pushed the investigation as far as she could for the time being.

She gave Price a resigned smile and nodded. “Do you think I’m wrong about this one?”

Price responded with a shrug of a shoulder and a grin. “I’ve learned never to bet against you, Sarge.”

Ellie’s smile turned mischievous.

“What are you thinking?” Price asked.

“Did you do a plain-view search of the cottage?” she asked.

“No, just the bedroom.”

“I took a quick tour around the other rooms,” Ellie said, “and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Maybe we should go back there and look again, this time more carefully. Perhaps Chief Kerney will let us search his personal property.”

“He could challenge you on that,” Price said.

“I hope he does.” Ellie dialed Jardin’s number on her cell phone, and when he answered she asked for permission to search the cottage to look for any evidence that might help determine the cause of Clifford Spalding’s death.

“Is this absolutely necessary?” Jardin replied.

“It would be a great help to the investigation,” Ellie said.

“Do your search, Sergeant,” Jardin said.

“Thank you, sir.” Ellie disconnected and winked at Price. “Let’s go see what we can stir up.”

“Don’t you mean stir Chief Kerney up?”

“Exactly.”

Kerney found doing business with Ken Wheeler enjoyable. The man had given him lots of space and made no attempt to influence his choices. In the ranch office, Kerney signed the paperwork for the animals he’d selected, and arranged to have Wheeler contract on his behalf to transport the horses to Santa Fe. He was one mare short, but he could probably talk Jack Burke into selling him an eight-year-old bay he had his eye on.

“You picked the best of the lot,” Wheeler said as Kerney wrote out the check.

“They’ll do nicely,” Kerney replied. “Have you ever been to Santa Fe?”

Wheeler shook his head as he took the offered check. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought maybe you could tell me about Mrs. Spalding.”

Wheeler laughed. “I can’t help you there. As far as she’s concerned, I’m just hired help, and I’m sure not the type that would turn her head.”

“Meaning?” Kerney asked.

Wheeler scratched his chin. “She seems to have an eye for men. But they’re all a hell of a lot taller, younger, and better-looking than me. I’ve never heard that it went any further than that. But playing around isn’t all that unusual among the horse-racing set.”

“She got along okay with her husband?”

“Yeah, as far as I could tell. Why wouldn’t she? The guy was fronting some big bucks to keep her happy.”

“Did Spalding ever say anything about his marriage?” Kerney asked.

Wheeler wrinkled his nose. “Not directly to me. I did overhear him once bellyaching to a friend before a race that he had a hard time getting her to travel out to the coast. There was always something that would come up and keep her in Santa Fe. Why are you asking me these questions?”

“I have the feeling the sheriff’s deputy thinks I may be personally involved with Mrs. Spalding,” Kerney said, “and that her husband’s death may not be as uncomplicated as it appears.”

Wheeler’s genial attitude vanished as he looked Kerney up and down. “You’re saying the cops think Spalding might have been murdered?”

“They haven’t discounted it.”

“Well, you sure fit the type she’d be drawn to.” Wheeler shifted uneasily in his chair. “Not that I’m saying you’re involved in anything.”

“I’m sure it will all get sorted out,” Kerney said.

He picked up the paperwork from the desk and thanked Wheeler for making the transaction pleasurable. Outside, two sheriff’s units were parked in front of the guest cottage.

Kerney walked across the circular driveway thinking that what Wheeler had told him lent credence to Sergeant Lowrey’s gut instincts about the case. The idea of going home as a suspect in a homicide held no appeal. He decided to delay his return to Santa Fe and poke around a bit to see what more he could learn about Clifford and Claudia Spalding.

Ellie Lowrey didn’t see any hint of surprise or uneasiness in Kerney when he entered the cabin.

“Have you found anything interesting, Sergeant?” he asked. In the kitchen, the coroner was bagging the juice glass Kerney had rinsed out and left on the counter.

“Not yet,” Ellie replied.

He turned to leave. “I’ll wait on the porch until you’re finished.”

“Mr. Kerney,” Lowrey said.

Lowrey had deliberately avoided addressing him by rank. It was a neat psychological trick to establish dominance. Kerney countered by reducing Lowrey in rank. “Yes, Deputy?”

Color rose on Lowrey’s cheeks. “I’d like permission to search your luggage.”

“Go ahead,” Kerney said. “I’ll be on the porch.”

“Don’t you want to be present?”

“It’s not necessary.”

She held out a clipboard. “Please sign the permission slip,” she said tersely.

He scrawled his name, went outside, and sat on the stoop. Woodpeckers were busy in the trees and mares grazed lazily in the adjacent pasture. The afternoon sun, hazy in the sky, cast a soft, golden light that looked like melted butter. A mare rubbed her rump against the thick, curling lower branch of a live oak tree as her foal lay asleep close by, legs folded. Leaves shimmered in a whispering breeze, and a crow swished overhead, wings spread wide, croaking as it passed to drop down and perch on a creek-bed rock.

It had been an unusual day. Some of it had been as pleasant as the warm afternoon sun now on Kerney’s face, and some of it as chilly as the early morning air, the darkened bedroom, and death. He wondered what other events might be in store for him before it ended.

An hour passed before the coroner hurried out carrying a small cardboard box. He loaded it in the trunk of his unit and drove away. Lowrey soon followed, stopping to thank Kerney for his cooperation.

“No problem,” Kerney said.

“I still haven’t heard back if Spalding’s wife has been notified,” Lowrey said.

“I take it she’s not the first Mrs. Spalding.”

“No, ex-wife number one lives in Santa Barbara.”

He decided to tell Lowrey his plans. “I’m staying over until this gets resolved. How long do you think it will take?”

Lowrey blinked. “Through tomorrow night should do it.”

Kerney stood, brushed off the seat of his jeans, fished Lowrey’s business card from his shirt pocket, and waved it at her. “Good. I’ll find a motel and let you know where I’m staying.”

“Don’t you want to know what I found in your luggage?”

“Nothing of any consequence, I’m sure,” Kerney replied.

Lowrey nodded and walked away.

Kerney went inside, found his return airline ticket and car rental agreement, and changed his travel itinerary by phone. Then he called long distance information and got a phone listing for an A. Spalding in Santa Barbara.

A woman answered on the first ring. Kerney identified himself as a police officer and asked if she was Clifford Spalding’s former wife.

“I am not,” the woman replied. “That would be my employer, Alice Spalding.”

“May I speak to her?” Kerney asked.

“What is it in reference to?”

“Her ex-husband.”

“Talk to Mrs. Spalding’s lawyer. I can give you her office number to call in the morning.”

“Clifford Spalding died early today.” Silence greeted Kerney’s announcement.

“Where are you calling from?” the woman finally asked.

“Paso Robles,” Kerney said. “It’s important that I speak to Mrs. Spalding.”