Michael McGarrity - The big gamble

"What do you want me to do?" Greer asked.

"Talk to me, off the record."

"I can't do that."

"Do you want to be a whore?" Vialpando asked.

Greer dropped her head. "No, but I don't want to die, either."

"You won't, I promise."

Greer looked up. "I'm strung out."

"That won't kill you," Vialpando said.

"You don't understand."

"Make me understand."

Tears ran down Greer's face. She wiped them away. "I owe money to people."

"To Cassie Bedlow, I bet."

"You know?" Surprise filled her voice.

Vialpando nodded, got the desk chair, positioned it near the bed, sat, and leaned forward, not so close as to break into Greer's personal space, but close enough to keep her focused on him. It was time to get to the nitty-gritty.

"We know all about it," he said. "How she set you up with the tuition loan and reeled you in when you couldn't pay it back. Maybe even got you started on drugs. You're not the only one she's done it to."

"I know."

"But I don't think Bedlow would kill you."

"Not her," Greer said.

"Who?"

"This man, this boy."

"What happened?"

Greer took a deep breath to compose herself. "We were down in Ruidoso on location. The whole class. It was kinda like a big deal because we were finishing school and the photos would complete our portfolios. Cassie told me I had to pay her back right away for the tuition, plus interest. I told her I couldn't, and she said I had to work it off, that she had a job for me."

"Then what?"

"This boy drove me to El Paso, where a man and a woman were waiting." Greer started sobbing, her face twisting into a look of disgust.

Vialpando gave her a minute before saying, "Go on."

"They did me, all three of them. The boy put a gun to my head while he was on top of me. He said if I ever failed to do what I was told, I'd be killed."

"Then he beat you," Vialpando said.

"No, that happened the next night in Ruidoso when I turned my first trick. They killed him for hurting me, I'm sure of it. It was in the papers. I went to Cassie and asked her about it. She said I would end up the same way if I ever said a word."

"I need names and places, Sally."

Greer gave him what specifics she had. The man was Luis Rojas. The woman was called Debbie, and the kid Fidel, but she didn't know their last names. The trick who'd beaten her was Felix, an Hispanic male. She'd picked him up at the Indian casino while Rojas and Fidel watched.

The house in El Paso was like an estate, and by the way Rojas acted, was probably owned by him. The cabin in Ruidoso was a rental, Casey's Cozy Cabins. Rojas had driven her there with the trick. Fidel, who was assigned to keep an eye on Greer, followed in another car.

"We're going to have to go over this again," Vialpando said, "in greater detail."

"Will I be safe?" Greer asked. The makeup covering the bruise on her cheek had been washed away by tears, and her eyes were red.

"I'll make sure you are," Jeff said gently, reaching out to pat her hand. "Who's the lawyer you were supposed to call?"

"Leo Silva," Greer replied.

The fifth partner, Vialpando thought as he opened the door and motioned for a detective to enter. "This officer will stay with you," he said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Sally Greer wasn't listening. She dropped to her knees at the side of the bed and curled up in a ball, crying in long, jerky sobs.

Vialpando stepped into the adjacent room just as Ramona took off the earphones and swiveled in his direction.

"Wow," she said, flashing him a smile. "You got more than I bargained for."

"What next?" Jeff asked. "It's your call."

"We need to get as much out of her as we can and then find a safe place to stash her under protective custody."

"I can arrange that."

"I'm worried that she may still be being watched. Can we use one of your female detectives to pose as Greer? We put her in Greer's car, wearing a wig and Greer's dress, and send her to the apartment. She picks up some clothes and personal items to make it look like Greer decided to bolt, and we give her backup in case she's followed."

"It will take about an hour to arrange it," Vialpando said. "I'll have to call in an off-duty detective. She's almost a perfect physical match to Greer. Did you catch who her lawyer is?"

"I did."

"I'm going back in there for round two," Jeff said.

"You did real good," Ramona said.

"You're just saying that because we're dating."

The vice cop who'd been videotaping the conversation looked up and grinned at both of them.

Vialpando grinned at the cop and said, "Get Westgard for me. Tell her I need her here ASAP."

"Ten-four," the cop said, reaching for the phone.

"Go back to work," Ramona said. "I need to call my chief."

Sal Molina called before heading out to Kerney's house. The chief, who'd recently moved, gave him his new address, and Molina drove the quiet narrow road that wound up the canyon, past million-dollar properties. He knew the chief was rich, but because Kerney never made a big deal about it, Sal hadn't paid it much mind. That all changed as he swung into the driveway of a beautifully restored enormous adobe hacienda and parked in front of an equally charming guest house. From the size of it and the location, he guessed Kerney had to be putting out at least four grand a month in rent, which was quite a bit more than Molina's monthly take-home pay-a whole lot more.

Although it was past midnight, Kerney greeted him wide-eyed and awake, looking somewhat strained. He took Molina into a dimly lit, nicely furnished living room, where an almost full whiskey bottle and an empty glass sat on an end table next to an easy chair.

The whiskey bottle surprised Sal. He knew for a fact that Kerney wasn't much of a drinker, that the bullet wound to his gut had chewed up some of his intestines, destroyed part of his stomach, and made him cautious when it came to booze, so he wondered what was up.

"What have you got, Lieutenant?" Kerney asked.

"Information on Silva, Barrett, and Rojas," Molina said. "Plus some recent photographs of them."

Kerney nodded. "Run it down for me."

Molina spent ten minutes briefing Kerney, who looked at the photographs and listened silently, chin resting in his hand.

"You got questions, Chief?" Molina asked, as he closed his notebook.

"Not right now," Kerney replied. "A lot has happened and things are moving fast. I want a midday meeting tomorrow with you, Pino, that APD sergeant, Vialpando, plus two of your best detectives. Officers who can write flawless arrest and search-warrant affidavits. We'll put all the pieces we have together then and hammer out a plan of action. Set it up for me, will you?"

Molina nodded. "Want to tell me what's been happening?"

"Let's save it for the meeting."

Sal eyed the chief. Although his instructions were clear, there was something different about Kerney's tone. What was it? A blandness? A remoteness? Had the whiskey blunted Kerney's usual upbeat disposition?

Molina decided to risk asking. "Are you all right, Chief?"

"Yeah, I'm good, Sal," Kerney replied, pushing himself out of the chair. "Leave those photos behind, will you? I can use them in the morning."

Molina dropped the photos on the coffee table, said good night, and left, convinced that something was troubling the boss.

Fitful dreams and a dull headache woke Kerney earlier than usual. In the predawn darkness, he reviewed the material the Lincoln County Sheriff's Department had sent up to Santa Fe: the autopsy report, forensic lab findings, and Clayton's field notes on the excavation of Anna Marie's body. Nothing had been uncovered that could tie Tyler Norvell, or any other unknown suspect, to the killing.