Under the Color of Law (2 page)

Kerney turned the corner of the house, reviewing what he'd seen so far.

Molina had established the entry point to the crime scene at the security gate, using Herrera as the log-in officer. He'd strung several rolls of bright yellow police-line tape up the driveway to mark the route to be used to get to the house, which would make any tracks found outside the path easier to identify. Paw prints and two different sets of footprints in the snow had been flagged for the crime-scene unit to photograph. The victim's body and the area around it was off limits and under Molina's watchful eye to keep it preserved, protected, and free from any further contamination.

Good enough for starters, Kerney thought as he entered the house through the garage. But Molina's reticence to speculate about the crime scene bothered Kerney. Maybe Molina felt ill at ease making guesses with his new boss. Still, Kerney wondered why the lieutenant hadn't raised a question about the murder weapon. Scissors weren't normally used in premeditated murders. In fact, they were much more typically associated with crimes of passion or acts of domestic violence. Which, along with the absence of robbery as a motive, could mean the killer was known to the victim, perhaps well known.

The detectives inside the house didn't stop working as Kerney looked around.

Behind the great room were two master suites, each with an attached study, separated by a long gallery hallway. The open kitchen adjacent to the great room was within a few short steps to a formal dining room.

Another hallway led to an attached, stepped-down guest suite with a private patio containing a marble water fountain.

In Mrs. Terrell's bedroom a detective was visually examining the linens on the unmade bed. In her study, which had built-in shelves filled with framed photographs of family and friends, an officer was reading through the scattered papers on top of a mission-style desk.

Kerney said nothing to the detectives, greeting each one as he passed by only with a friendly nod. He had no intention of disturbing the chain of command by making suggestions, issuing instructions, or asking questions. The Terrell murder was the first major felony case fielded by the department since Kerney had assumed command, and he'd come solely to observe.

The layout of the second study and master bedroom mirrored Mrs.

Terrell's suite, minus any personal touches. No one was working the area, so Kerney took his time. There were books on the shelves, tasteful art on the walls, and a very choice modern sculpture on a tall stand in the corner of the study. But nothing in sight signaled daily use or ongoing occupancy by a family member.

Kerney slipped on a pair of plastic gloves and opened desk and dresser drawers.

All were empty. The walk-in closet contained some dry cleaning on hangers draped in clear plastic, consisting of two men's suits and some starched white dress shirts. On the floor were a half a dozen sealed packing boxes, each labeled with the contents, purportedly consisting of books, photographs, and odds and ends.

Curious about what might have been removed from the suite and packed away, Kerney decided to break his self-imposed rule not to interfere with the investigation. He took out a pocket knife, knelt down, and slit open the box labeled "Photographs." Packed in bubble wrap was an assortment of framed pictures of Ambassador Hamilton Lowell Terrell with foreign leaders, ex-presidents, and other dignitaries, all of them personally inscribed.

But it was the photograph of Terrell wearing the uniform of an army major general that brought Kerney to a full stop.

Kerney had been an infantry officer in Nam during the latter stages of the war.

His first brigade commander had been a colonel given to tongue-lashing junior officers, bullying his staff, and bullshitting the brass. Known as the Snake by his troops, Colonel Terrell had moved on to an ARVN airborne advisory assignment a month after Kerney arrived in-country, much to everybody's relief.

Kerney had all but forgotten about the Snake.

He studied the photograph of his old commander, wondering how such a backstabbing, heartless, self-serving officer could possibly become an ambassador, let alone a two-star general.

The thought was so naive it made Kerney smile. The world was filled with ruthless people who achieved high rank and prestigious positions, and over the years it had been Kerney's misfortune to serve under his fair share of them.

He repackaged the photos, stripped off the gloves, told one of the detectives he'd looked through a box of photographs, and left the house.

Outside, he glanced inside the RV and then walked around the residence, staying on a meandering flagstone path. When completed, the patio wall would encircle the structure except for a generous parking area near the front entrance. In all it would enclose a half acre. Some sections had already been finished and landscaped, other sections were barely under way, with nothing more than trenches dug for footings that curved and dipped in harmony with the terrain.

It was a major undertaking and not inexpensive by any means.

Kerney returned to the patio and watched the arriving crime scene techs and the ME walk up the driveway. The view across the valley was spectacular.

Early-afternoon sunlight made the snow glisten on Atalaya Mountain, and the Sangre de Cristo Mountain Range was frosty white.

Kerney checked his watch. Things were moving much too slowly. Why hadn't Molina pulled in more manpower7 Nearby neighbors needed to be canvassed.

Why wasn't a field search of the property under way? Why hadn't Santiago Terjo's tracks in the snow been identified and followed to see if he might be hiding nearby? Had the whereabouts of the ambassador been determined?

His jaw tightened. As much as he wanted to stand back and let Molina run the investigation without interference, the victim's prominence argued against such an approach. This was a case where every wrong move or screw-up would be placed under a media microscope.

He would wait for Molina to finish briefing the techs and ME before talking to him.

Across a deep arroyo that cut into the hillside an SUV climbed a paved road and turned into the driveway of the closest house. While the distance was too far for Kerney to see clearly, the person who got out of the vehicle looked to be a woman wearing a parka, cap, and blue jeans.

She opened the back of the SUV and a large dog hopped out.

For a moment the woman stood by the vehicle staring in the direction of the Terrell residence. Then she started down a footpath into the arroyo and walked quickly in Kerney's direction, the dog following eagerly along.

Using a path that intersected the Terrells' driveway, Kerney hurried to cut the woman off. He intercepted her as she scrambled up the side of the arroyo through wet snow.

"What's wrong?" the woman asked breathlessly as she came to a stop.

The dog, a Labrador, gave Kerney's pant cuffs a quick sniff and kept going.

"I saw the police cars at the end of the driveway. Has there been a burglary?"

"Can you control your dog?" Kerney asked.

The woman whistled once.

"Cassidy, stay."

The dog sat, tail wagging, and smiled at the woman.

Wisps of dark brown hair showed from under the wool cap pulled down over the woman's ears. Her worried brown eyes wandered from Kerney's face to the Terrell residence, partially hidden by pine trees along the path.

"What happened?" she asked

"Tell me who you are," Kerney said.

"You go first," the woman said.

"I'm a police officer," Kerney said, displaying his shield and ID.

"Let me walk you back to your residence."

The woman didn't move.

"If there has been a burglary, Phyllis will want to know about it."

"Are you friendly with Ambassador and Mrs. Terrell?" Kerney asked.

"You're not answering my question," the woman replied, as she tried to step around Kerney.

"I'm going up there to find out what happened."

Kerney blocked her way.

"You can't enter a crime scene. Let me escort you home."

The woman bit her lip.

"Can you really force me to stay away?"

"Yes, I can."

She gave Kerney an unhappy look, whistled once for Cassidy, then turned, and backtracked into the arroyo. Kerney followed as the woman climbed quickly and easily up the far side of the arroyo.

Inside the house the woman turned off the burglar alarm by the front door.

Cassidy scooted past Kerney and made a beeline for a dog bed. He retrieved a rubber ball, brought it to Kerney, and dropped it on the floor, ready to play.

"Sweet dog," Kerney said.

The woman, who had shed her parka and cap, stood with her hands on her hips and said nothing. Slender and of average size, she had attractive features accentuated by lips which suggested that, under normal circumstances, a ready smile came easily. Kerney guessed her to be in her early forties.

"Tell me your name," Kerney asked.

"Alexandra Lawton. Look, I know Phyllis is out of town. She will want to know what has happened."

"I take it the Terrells are friends as well as neighbors," Kerney said.

"Phyllis has been a friend since she built her house two years ago."

"What about Mr. Terrell?"

"He doesn't live here. He moved out shortly after the house was built.

They've been separated ever since."

"Do you know Santiago Terjo?"

"Of course I know him. He's worked for Phyllis for over a year."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Landscaping and construction. Phyllis is creating an extraordinary garden bit by bit inside the patio wall. It keeps growing in scale as she designs it. It's turned into quite a project."

"Would you know where I might find Terjo?" Kerney asked.

"If he's not working or in the RV, mostly likely he'll be at the stables, caring for the horses. He's not a thief. He's worked for me upon occasion, and he's entirely trustworthy."

"Where are the stables?"

"I'll show you." Lawton led Kerney through the living room, which was filled with northern New Mexico antiques, inviting, comfortable easy chairs, and a grand piano, into a sunroom that had a panoramic southwest view of the valley.

"Phyllis bought two acres in the valley, right across from her driveway, to keep her horses nearby," Lawton said, reaching for a pair of binoculars on an occasional table between two rattan chairs.

She handed Kerney the binoculars.

"Look over the house on the far side of the road just a little bit to the left, and you'll see the stables and corral. If Santiago's pickup is there, he's most likely tending to Priscilla and Gigolo, Phyllis's mare and gelding."

Kerney looked; the truck was parked in front of an open stable door.

"He doesn't leave his vehicle at the house?"

"Never. In fact, the RV is kept at the stables unless Phyllis is out of town.

Then it's moved up so Santiago can keep an eye on the place while she's gone."

"Does Mrs. Terrell have a dog?" Kerney asked.

"No, but Santiago does. It's a Rottweiler-German shepherd mix, named Zippy. What was stolen?"

"We're not sure, Ms. Lawton."

"Well, I'm going to call Phyllis in Virginia. She's visiting her sister.

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.