Michael McGarrity - The big gamble

"Want to take a look at the crime scene?" he asked.

"I would," Kerney replied.

Clayton pulled off the highway and together they walked to the building.

"At least the mud has dried up," Clayton said as he turned on his flashlight to show Kerney where Montoya's body had been found.

"It must have been a bitch to excavate the remains," Kerney said, peering into the cold-storage space from the doorway.

"Yeah," Clayton replied. "Why would Norvell, if he is the killer, put her body here?"

"I've thought a lot about that," Kerney said, stepping back from the doorway. "Let's say Montoya meets him at the shopping mall in Santa Fe and agrees to go someplace private where they can talk. Norvell takes her to some secluded spot and when he realizes she won't be dissuaded from unmasking him, he decides to kill her, except he doesn't have a gun, a knife, or the balls to strangle her. So he punches her, knocks her out, and uses a tire iron to kill her, hitting her not once, but twice. I asked for a forensic analysis of Montoya's skull. It showed that she suffered a hairline crack to the jaw along with two blows to the head consistent with a tire iron or similar object."

"But that still doesn't answer my question," Clayton said.

"I'm getting to it," Kerney said as he walked to the back of the building with Clayton following along. "So now he's got a dead body in his car, a long road trip ahead of him, and a big problem: what to do with the body. On top of that, he's probably not thinking very straight and is paranoid as hell about getting stopped by the police. He can't just dump Montoya out at the side of the road, or bury her on his own property. That would be too risky. So he thinks of places he knows where it might be safe to hide the body before he gets home."

"Even if you can prove Norvell knew about the abandoned fruit stand, have you got probable cause?" Clayton asked.

"That's the missing piece I need, according to the district attorney," Kerney replied, stepping back to look at the shell of the fruit stand. A parked car behind the structure wouldn't be seen from the highway.

He swung around and looked at the mountains. There were no houses or trailers in sight. "Norvell probably passed this place often during the years it sat unused. Maybe he even knew that Tully had no plans to reopen it. Or maybe he thought he'd come back later and move the body, but decided not to when time passed and the case turned cold."

"Have you seen enough?" Clayton asked.

"Yeah, let's go."

Clayton locked his gaze on Kerney's face. "One question: why did you back me as lead investigator with the sheriff?"

"Because you're the most knowledgeable about the case and you've done one hell of a job," Kerney replied.

The stern look on Clayton's face smoothed out slightly. "That's it? Nothing personal?"

"Part of it's personal, I guess," Kerney said. "You might think it's silly of me to say this, but I'm proud of what you've done."

The comment caught Clayton off guard. He swallowed hard and looked away.

"Let's go," Kerney said, taking the pressure off Clayton to respond.

All the phone taps, including land lines and cell phones, were up and running just before Cassie Bedlow arrived at her talent and modeling agency. In his APD uniform and driving a patrol car, Jeff Vialpando waited a few minutes before pulling up outside the building. Entering, he called out a hello and Bedlow appeared in her office doorway.

"Yes, Officer," she said, looking somewhat startled.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," Jeff said, taking off his hat. "But I need your help."

"Regarding?"

"A woman named Stacy Fowler died in an automobile accident last night, and the state police asked if we'd help locate next of kin. They found your business card in her wallet. Did you know her?"

"Yes, but only slightly. I interviewed her a month or so ago for a modeling job, but it didn't pan out. How did it happen?"

"I'm not completely sure, ma'am," Jeff replied. "But I do know it was a rollover accident outside the city limits, and Ms. Fowler was alone in the vehicle at the time."

"Oh my goodness," Cassie said, shaking her head sadly. "I heard something about it on the radio as I was coming to work."

"Do you know anything about her family?" Jeff asked.

"No, I think she'd just moved here from the Midwest."

"Her car was registered in Arizona," Jeff said. "Did she mention any family members there?"

"We only talked once and it was purely about business."

"Thank you for your time," Jeff said.

"I'm so sorry I can't be of more help," Bedlow said. "I hope it won't take you long to notify her family."

"It probably will," Vialpando said with a shrug. "We don't have much to go on."

Once he was back in the unit, Ramona's voice came over his police radio. "She's talking to Tully right now."

"Saying?" Vialpando asked as he drove away.

"That Fowler is dead and Greer didn't keep her date last night."

"And?"

"She tried calling Greer from home and got no answer. She's going to her apartment to look for her, then to Fowler's town house to make sure there's nothing incriminating for the police to find."

"Beautiful," Vialpando said. "That's even better than we expected. What else?"

"Tully's telling her to be careful. Bedlow's saying not to worry, the police are just investigating an accident, nothing more, and they don't know anything about Fowler. Tully just told her to act fast and call him back as soon as she's finished."

"I'm going home to change," Vialpando said.

"I'd like to send one of your detectives down to Fowler's town house to videotape Bedlow's comings and goings."

"Good idea. Use Alvarado. He's great with a camera and good at surveillance. Is Ault in place?"

"Ten-four."

Frustrated at not finding Sally Greer at home, Cassie Bedlow went to the resident manager's apartment, where Detective Allen Ault, unshaven and dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, opened the door.

"If you're looking for the leasing office," he said, "it's in Building One. Just take a left at the corner. You can't miss it."

"I'm looking for Sally Greer," Bedlow said.

"She moved out yesterday," Ault said. "Didn't even leave a forwarding address for her cleaning deposit."

"Did you see her?"

"Yeah, she dropped off her key." Ault waved his finger at Bedlow. "Wait a minute. Are you Carrie?"

"Cassie," Bedlow said.

"Yeah, that's it. She left a letter for you."

Ault rummaged around on the coffee table and gave Bedlow an envelope.

"Thank you," Bedlow said.

In her car Bedlow read the letter. I figure that what you did to me and let others do to me more than pays you back the money you "lent" me. You've made me sick to my stomach about myself. But I'll never be as sick and twisted as you are. Don't worry, I won't cause you any trouble. I couldn't stand to have anyone find out what I did.

Bedlow dropped the letter on the car seat and called Adam on her cell phone. He and Luis could decide what do about Sally Greer.

The rehabilitation center was located on a former air force base just south of Roswell. The original building, a blocky, monotonous structure, had served as the base hospital. According to old-timers and locals, it had been built on the site where secret autopsies had allegedly been performed by military doctors on the bodies of aliens from outer space who'd crash-landed in a UFO outside of the city after World War II.

A single-story, modern addition that had been appended to the hospital created a jarring, somewhat schizoid blend of architectural styles. A wide expanse of lawn with trees planted here and there failed to soften the impression.

In a physical therapy suite housed in the new addition, Kerney and Clayton watched through a glass partition as Hiram Tully finished up his treatment. The stroke had affected the left side of his body, and Tully was doing a leg weight exercise to strengthen his calf muscles. The old man was working hard, and Kerney knew from his own experience that the task wasn't easy. Soon he'd get to go through the experience all over again for his new knee.