Michael McGarrity - The big gamble

"I need to take a statement from him," Clayton said, checking his watch, figuring his travel time back to Ruidoso on the forest road. "Where can I meet him in the next thirty minutes?"

"Do I have a problem with my driver, Deputy?" the manager asked.

"Not at all," Clayton said as he walked quickly down the road toward the locked gate.

The man told him where to meet the driver. Clayton disconnected and smiled to himself as he climbed the gate. What was that old saying? Sometimes people were just too smart for their own good.

Detective Pino sat quietly in Sergeant Vialpando's office while he examined the hard-copy printouts from Greer's Internet personal ad and Web site. One shelf of a bookcase held a display of baseball caps from various police departments. On Vialpando's desk was a framed photograph of a large, smiling black dog.

The bull-pen area outside the office was nearly empty. Only two detectives were at their desks. Except for paperwork or court appearances, mornings weren't the busiest times for vice cops.

Vialpando looked up from the copies. "Compared to a lot of the crap on the Net, this is pretty classy stuff. Some soft-porn poses, no totally nude pictures, good photography, a sexy, narrative come-on that only hints at sex for hire, and a good-looking woman who wouldn't raise any eyebrows if a guy was seen in public with her. I'd say the whole thing was professionally done to appeal to high-end clients."

"So send her an E-mail and ask her for a date," Ramona said.

"Not yet, unless you're in a hurry," Vialpando said. "We've got reasonable suspicion to believe Greer's a hooker, but no probable cause. I'd rather put surveillance on her for a day or two, document her next date, interrogate her client afterward, and then bust her when she asks me for money. If I can scare her enough, maybe she'll roll over on her pimp."

"I can wait," Ramona said. "Do you think she has a pimp?"

"From what you've told me, Greer is probably new to the game, so I'm betting somebody fronted the money for the Web site. They don't come cheap, and I doubt Greer built it herself."

"And Thomas Deacon?" Ramona asked.

"You've done me a huge favor identifying him as the photographer. Chances are he makes his bread and butter in the skin trade. He should prove to be a very valuable informant."

"I get first crack at him," Ramona said.

"Of course," Vialpando replied. "Are you ready for your meeting with Bedlow?"

"I am."

He gave her a worried look. "We never send our undercover female vice detectives out alone. Let me put a wire on you, just to be safe. I'll park a block away, record the conversation, and be there in case you need backup."

Given what Ramona had learned about Sally Greer, it was a good idea. She nodded her concurrence.

Vialpando nodded back, relieved. "We can meet for an early lunch afterward." He named the restaurant, a nice but not expensive eatery in the Nob Hill district just east of the university. "I'll have a lot of questions."

"About the case?"

"Yeah, but mostly about you," Jeff said with an easy smile.

Ramona stood and smoothed down her skirt. "I may have some of my own questions to ask."

Jeff Vialpando glanced at her legs and said, "Like what?"

She touched the framed photo of the smiling black mutt. "I want to know everything about your dog."

Vialpando laughed.

Ramona turned crisply on her heel to hide the flush on her face. "Let's get me wired," she said, as if she weren't already buzzing with the small jolt of electricity that had passed between them.

Yesterday's MRI test and his prior commitment to teach a late-afternoon class at the law-enforcement academy had left Kerney with no time to follow up on state senator Tyler Norvell. On his desk he found a file from Sal Molina with an attached note indicating that Detective Pino was still in Albuquerque and hadn't yet reported in.

Molina's public-records check on Belinda Louise Nieto had uncovered some fascinating information. Colorado court records showed that soon after the death of her father, Nieto legally changed her name to Crystal Fox. One year later she became a murder victim in an unsolved homicide still carried as an open case by the Denver Police Department.

Kerney read the investigative narrative provided by the Denver PD. The murder had occurred in the victim's car outside a trendy city nightspot. She'd been shot once in the chest by a small-caliber handgun. Analysis of the powder burns and flash points on the woman's clothing disclosed that the barrel of the weapon had been placed in direct contact with the victim's body.

Witnesses at the nightclub reported that the victim had been in the company of a well-dressed, Hispanic male, approximately thirty years old, of average to slightly above average height. None of the patrons or employees at the club recalled previously seeing the couple, who had arrived at the club separately. The detective noted that most witnesses interviewed at the scene appeared to be high on cocaine "or under the influence of other illegal substances."

Faced with an unknown suspect, the detective assigned to the case had naturally concentrated on the victim. Crystal Fox turned out to be a "personal escort who specialized in entertaining well-heeled out-of-town male visitors to the city."

An address book at the victim's apartment yielded the names of men who'd been entertained by Ms. Fox, many on a regular basis, according to a meticulously up-to-date social calendar discovered among her possessions. The night of the murder she'd had nothing scheduled.

Departments as far away as Los Angeles and New York City had cooperated in the investigation, interviewing every one of Crystal Fox's customers who could be located. None, based on verified alibis, had been in Denver at the time of the murder.

A knock at the open door made Kerney look up. Helen Muiz came in and presented Kerney with the agenda of the appointments he'd asked her to make. Kerney knew each person on the list. All were politically well connected, reasonably trustworthy, and could possibly provide valuable information about Senator Tyler Norvell.

"You'd better get cracking," Helen said. "Your first meeting is downtown in twenty minutes."

"Thanks."

"Whatever happened to your promise to make your own phone calls?" Helen asked.

"Because of your charm and persuasiveness, I knew you'd have better luck getting through to these guys," Kerney said, waving the slip of paper at her.

"Baloney," Helen said.

Kerney laughed. "Don't you mean to say that you respectfully disagree with my statement?"

"No, just baloney will do," Helen replied with a twinkle in her eye.

Kerney knew that look well, so he took the bait. "What is it?"

"Your doctor's office called. The results of your MRI came in. He wants you to call him back so he can schedule surgery. Does this mean no more limp?"

"I hope so."

"Wonderful," Helen said.

Clayton questioned the propane delivery driver carefully and learned it was company policy for the driver to announce his arrival at a customer's home. The man had honked the horn and waited for several minutes before proceeding to fill the tank. No one had appeared during the time he was at the cabin. Since the stop was on his regular route, he'd been furnished a key to the locked gate to gain entry. He delivered every two months. When asked, the driver noted that the tank was over three-quarters full, which probably meant the cabin hadn't been used much during the cold weather.

At the airport Clayton reviewed a list of airplane owners who kept personal vehicles at the parking lot. The list showed make, model, year, and license plate information for each. Rojas hadn't lied about owning an SUV. After cruising the lot without finding the vehicle, Clayton decided that maybe the girlfriend, Deborah, also hadn't lied about driving the SUV to El Paso as a favor to Rojas. But that was about the only truth the woman had told. It got Clayton to start questioning the whole girlfriend-boyfriend thing, again.