Michael McGarity - Serpent Gate

Bailey hung up the receiver and joined Fletcher. He had long, prematurely gray hair that he wore in a ponytail, green eyes, high cheekbones, and an angular face. In his early forties, he was considered very attractive by the ladies from Dallas and Houston who shopped Santa Pc. His appeal had cost him two marriages.

"It's been a wasted day, Pletcher," he said.

"The rich just don't seem to be practicing trickle-down economics right now. What brings you out to see me?"

"I'm assisting the police with their inquiries," Fletcher replied.

"Really?"

"Yes. The art rip-off at the governor's suite." Quite pleased with his use of the correct slang word, Hetcher decided he had to learn more cop jargon from Kerney.

"Wasn't that something?" Prank said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Have you had any recent inquiries to buy or sell a Sharp or a Dixon?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Has anybody asked for a market appraisal of either artist's work?"

"Not recently" "Have you had any walk-in browsers who seemed a little peculiar or out of place?"

"This is Santa Fe, Hetcher. Everybody's peculiar."

"Have you heard any gossip?"

"I've heard a rumor that you have a cop living with you. Have you snagged a hunk to comfort you in your old age?"

"If only that were true." Fletcher sighed.

"He's a friend, not a lover, and he's staying with me, not living with me. He's very straight and not at all homophobic.

"Now," Pletcher continued, "no matter how interesting I might be, I am not the subject of this conversation.

Have you heard any chitchat about the robbery?"

"No."

"It's not the response I was hoping for," Fletcher said as he started to rise from the chair.

"But I can't wait to tell Amanda Talley that she was right," Bailey added.

Fletcher settled back.

"Isn't she that leggy young woman who works at the fine arts museum?"

"That's her. She predicted the robbery would happen," Prank replied.

"She went on and on about how easy it would be to walk off with the collection."

"When was this?"

"During the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum fund-raiser last month at the Rancho Caballo clubhouse. I fully expected to see you there."

"I was hanging a show in Seattle. Mostly my smaller pieces. It did very well. What exactly did Amanda Talley say?"

"Just that she had misgivings about the lack of security.

She didn't think the works were properly protected."

"Did she share her concerns with others besides you?" Fletcher asked.

"The subject came up while a small group of us were having a drink in the bar."

"Who was there?"

"Bucky Watson, Henry and Carol Jergerson, Roger Springer, and a couple of Rancho Caballo homeowners.

I don't recall their names. Bucky knew this one guy who hung out with us. A Spanish or Mexican fellow who seemed interested in Amanda."

"Anyone else?" Fletcher asked.

"Not that I recall. We had one drink together and then everybody went their separate ways."

"How well do you know Amanda?"

"We dated briefly when she first came to town. She's a knockout. She has brains, a great body, and likes to party. I mink she's looking for a rich husband so she can quit her day job and be a trophy wife. She'll do it with style, too."

"Would you say she has a criminal mind?"

Frank laughed.

"Amanda? I don't think she weighs herself down with scruples, but I don't think she'd go that far, either."

"Is she your garden-variety gold digger?"

"Not at all. Amanda's hard to pigeonhole. She's tough-minded, very dear about who she is, and doesn't play any dumb games. Whoever corrals her gets a prize."

"You sound smitten."

"I'm just one of many strewn in her path."

"Would you mind writing down the people you just mentioned?" Fletcher asked, holding out pen and paper.

"I'm terrible with names."

"You're such a damn princess, Fletcher," Bailey said, taking the proffered items.

Pletcher smiled broadly.

"Someone has to set the standards for the common folk to emulate." caklos Ruiz was glad to be back in Mexico. Santa Pc's wintry November weather didn't suit him, and the late-afternoon Juarez sun warmed his bones. Little more than three hundred miles separated the two cities, but they were worlds apart in climate.

There was no answer when he knocked at the door of the Juarez apartment Nick Palazzi shared with his Mexican girlfriend. That suited Carlos just fine. Inside the apartment he could hear the two chattering monkeys Palazzi's whore kept as pets. He hated those fucking monkeys; they were always climbing all over him and sitting in his lap whenever he had to stop by on business for De Leon Before he turned away, he thought about breaking in to shoot the ugly little fuckers just for the hell of it.

At the Little Turtle, De Leon nightclub and gaming establishment, Carlos scanned the room looking for Palazzi. The crystal chandeliers above the gambling tables were dimmed low and a full house of players spilled over to the long antique bar and the nearby dining tables under the mezzanine. Carlos looked up at the mezzanine. Palazzi and his whore sat at a table near the railing, engrossed in conversation.

Before Carlos could move to the staircase, he was stopped by three of De Leon friends, who wanted to know if Enrique was back in town. He answered politely, keeping an eye on Nick, who caught sight of him, waved, and came down the mezzanine stairs to meet him.

"What's up, Carlos?" Palazzi asked, studying Ruiz carefully. Even with De Leon reassurance on the phone that everything was all right, Ruiz's unexpected appearance made him uneasy.

"The patron wants the body moved to Mexico and the van recovered, if possible."

"No problem," Nick said.

"I can take you to both."

"Don Enrique wants you to stay put," Carlos said.

"It would be too much of a risk for you to go back right now. Tell me where they are and I will do it."

"Is De Leon pissed?"

"No," Carlos answered.

"He understands that you had no choice in the matter."

"You'll need a driver for the van," Nick said hopefully "I can't take you with me. Nick," Carlos said with a smile as he led Palazzi through the back door to the old stone warehouse at the rear of the Little Turtle.

"You killed a gringo cop. You have to stay in Mexico. Just tell me where I need to go, and enjoy yourself with your chic ha He closed the soundproof door and walked Nick to the loading dock.

"The van is parked at a Wal-Mart in Silver City, on the side of the building," Nick said.

"And the body?"

"In the Black Range on State Road 152 there's a big sign that says Emory Pass. You can't miss it. Walk straight behind the sign about a hundred yards. I stashed the body there and covered it with rocks.

Pacundo helped me carry it. He knows exactly where it is."

"I'll take Facundo with me," Carlos said.

"Gracias, Nick. Go have a good time."

When Palazzi turned to leave, Carlos reached out and broke his neck. at quitting time, Andy's secretary brought Kerney the typed transcript of Robert Cordova's statement. He stood by the conference room windows watching the last brush stroke in a red sky change to twilight, and thought about Robert's account of the rape of Nita Lassiter. Robert's recall, while disjointed, had been fresh and detailed, as though it had happened days instead of years ago. Kerney stayed at the window and read through the meat of Robert's statement.

KK: "Robert, tell me what happened on May is, 1980."

RC: "AddieandI-" KK: "Can you identify Addie more precisely? " RC:

"Anita Lassiter. Her nickname was Addie when I lived with her family.

That's what I call her."

KK: "Goon," RC: "It has a big head with round spots for the body. And ears and little fact."