Michael McGarity - Serpent Gate

The governor's cherry-wood desk, matching sideboard, and executive chair sat in front of the only windows in me office, which were flanked by two empty, expensive brass-and-glass display cases. On me side walls were two private entrances: one connected to the chief of staff's office and me other to a large conference room.

In one corner was a leather couch, coffee table, and several oversize learner chairs. The rest of the space was taken over by two straight-backed chairs in front of the governor's desk, a small conference table with chairs, and a credenza that stood against the wall to the private bathroom.

Unhappily, Andy stared at the empty walls, fully aware the theft would draw intense public scrutiny and criticism. Failure to solve the case could damage the department and probably cost Andy his job.

Andy wasn't about to let that happen. He had retired from the state police some time ago when he realized his chances of becoming chief were nil, and moved to Las Cruces with his wife. Bored with retirement, he ran for county sheriff, won the election, served one term in on ice and was asked to return to the state police as chief. It was a dream come true, the capstone to his career that he had always wanted. But not for the prestige the appointment brought. Under his calm demeanor, Andy was a reformer, and he wanted to modernize and improve the department.

In uniform, Andy wore a light gray shirt with his rank on the collars and badge over the left pocket, a black tie, black pants with a gray stripe, and highly polished black shoes. On his belt was a high-rise holster containing a.357 revolver with a four-inch barrel. It was the one personal touch he had allowed himself since taking over the job.

Every other officer under his command carried the required standard-issue nine millimeter semiautomatic.

Captain Vance Howell, the officer in charge of security for the governor, stood silently next to Andy, waiting to get his butt chewed.

He had come up through the ranks junior to Andy and served under him briefly just prior to Andy's retirement as a captain. Now Baca was back as chief.

Howell knew exactly why Baca had been tapped for the job-it was politics, pure and simple. The governor, a Republican, wanted more money from the legislature to build new prisons, and the Democrats, who controlled the legislature, wanted their man sitting in the chief's chair.

Howell had hoped to get the appointment himself, but now he would have to wait until Baca stepped down. He had the governor's promise on it, which was good enough for him. And if Baca failed on this case, Vance might get a crack at the chief's job sooner than he had anticipated.

Andy scanned the paper in his hand and turned to Howell.

"Is this the complete inventory of the stolen property?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Howell replied.

"The cultural affairs office verified it."

Technically, Howell's sole responsibility was the safety of the governor and his immediate family, but that didn't mean Baca wouldn't try to lay the blame for the theft at Vance's feet, if the need arose.

Vance decided to test Baca's intentions.

"I guess you could say it was my henhouse that got robbed."

Andy shook his head and looked up. At six foot four, Howell towered over Andy's five-ten frame.

"That's not the way I see it. Captain. But I think we need to get you out of the henhouse for a while. I'm placing you and your staff on administrative leave."

Stunned, Howell reacted quickly.

"Is that necessary, Chief?"

"This job required inside knowledge. Until we get a handle on the case, everybody who works in this building is suspect."

"My people won't like it."

"And I don't like doing it," Andy replied, checking his watch. He needed to get this investigation under way pronto.

"I want you and your entire unit at headquarters in an hour to meet with Internal Affairs. A temporary plaindothes detail is on the way to relieve you until the IA investigation is concluded."

"I know my people, Chief. Nobody in my unit had anything to do with this."

"We're going to cover all the bases anyway. Captain.

You know the drill."

Howell nodded glumly.

"Who's running the investigation?"

"Kevin Kerney" Howell stifled a surprised expression.

"Is that wise, Chief? Kerney's new to the department and he has no command authority."

"He does now," Andy replied.

"When you meet with him, you'll be talking to the new deputy chief."

"Is the posting temporary?"

"No, it's not. Captain."

"You've jumped him over a lot of senior commanders."

Tm sure I'll get an earful from all of them," Andy replied.

"When the bitching is over, Captain-and it better be kept to a minimum-I expect everyone to cooperate with Chief Kerney."

Howell swallowed hard.

"I'll be glad to."

"I know you will, Captain."

Vance Howell left Andy alone in the office and walked down the hall thinking that there were going to be a number of rightly puckered assholes, including his own, tiptoeing around Andy and his new deputy chief. dog-tired and not in a good mood to begin with, Kerney crawled through the early morning rush-hour traffic on St. Francis Drive, pissed off with the congestion and the yuppies in their leather-lined, air-conditioned, four-wheel-drive sport utility vehicles used for fetching children from school, shopping excursions to Albuquerque malls, and getting up to Taos for skiing.

The changes in Santa Pc had turned the city into a seemingly endless array of strip malls, bedroom subdivisions, and gated communities for the rich.

The folks in places like Mountainair referred to the state capital as Santa Fake, and it rang true enough to make Kerney realize that the chamber of commerce growth mentality had won the war over those who wanted to preserve the tradition of the an dent city.

Nothing had stopped the greed.

After dealing with the crime scene unit at the Von Hewett Ranch and undergoing an interrogation about me shooting, Kerney had driven to the Albuquerque hospital where Nita had been transported. Although he had a brief confession in hand, he wanted to get a complete statement from Lassiter before the lawyers showed up to circle their wagons.

He had waited until she was out of the recovery room, in her hospital bed, and fully consdous before reading Nita her rights and tape-recording her confession.

She retold her story in greater detail and with such candor that Kerney found it hard to suspend judgment about the possibility of Gillespie's guilt. He had left the hospital feeling slightly sickened by the ugliness of the man's actions, and not at all happy about busting Nita Lassiter.

He got out of the traffic flow and drove into the south capitol neighborhood, an older residential area within walking distance of the downtown plaza and the seat of state government. At the end of a paved street, a private dirt lane led to two houses. He turned into the driveway of an adobe house almost completely hidden by a small rise at the front of the lot.

He parked at the side of the house by the door to the attached guest quarters, dragged himself inside, stripped off his boots, and fell across the bed, still smelling like horse shit. in kern by dream, a soft voice told him to wake up.

It sounded remarkably like Fletcher Hartley, his host and old friend, who had offered Kerney the use of the guest quarters.

The soft voice changed as Fletcher Hartley raised his easy baritone several notches in volume.

"Kevin, you must wake up."

Kerney opened an eye to find Pletcher standing over him. The door from the guest addition to the main house stood open. Fletcher wore a black silk kimono with brilliant orange, blue, and yellow hand-stitched flowers and butterflies. The kimono hung open to reveal a pair of boxer shorts and Fletcher's spindly but well-muscled legs.