Michael McGarity - Serpent Gate

Gilbert let his resentment over the change surface.

But his irritation was really with Cobb and Springer, and their air of superiority and condescension.

He shrugged it off and went into the museum. It was time to find out who put the art collection together for the governor's suite. kbrnet had kicked off his blanket. Stretched out on his back on the twin bed in the guest house, his feet dangled over the edge. He wore only boxer shorts, and while the scar from the gunshot wound and the surgery on his stomach looked ghastly, Kerney's body was lean and muscular.

Reluctantly, Fletcher shook Kerney awake. His eyes opened instantly.

"You again?"

"With my deepest regrets," Fletcher answered with a smile.

"A very cranky prosecutor named Wesley Marshall gave me an urgent message for you."

Kerney sat up. Fletcher wore a paint-splattered apron over blue jeans and a shirt. He had obviously been at work in the studio.

"What was it?" Kerney asked.

Fletcher consulted the piece of paper in his hand.

"Mr. Marshall said that you are to be deposed by defense counsel at three this afternoon, and to meet him at his office."

"What time is it now?"

"Noon."

Kerney got to his feet. Three hours sleep was better than none, but he still felt stiff and groggy.

"Aren't you overdoing it a bit?" Fletcher asked.

"You look haggard and wrung out."

"It was a long night."

"So I gather. I tried to wait up for you. I have information that might be of value to our investigation."

Kerney walked toward the bathroom.

"First things first, Fletcher. Do you have any food in your refrigerator?"

"Would a nice omelette do?"

"Perfect. I'll be there in five minutes."

The kitchen, a wide room at the front of the house, had an arched entryway leading to the dining room, and a cobalt blue Mexican tile splash guard on the wall behind the sink, stove, and countertops. There were no cupboards in the kitchen. A series of open shelves held glasses, plates, canisters, and jars. Pots and pans hung from suspended racks, and a huge pantry enclosed by hand-carved doors filled most of the far wall. In the middle of the kitchen sat an antique Spanish Colonial table with thick hand-turned legs, big enough for a family to eat at one end after the meal had been prepared at the other.

In front of a woven place mat was a small Waterford vase containing a single, showy bronze chrysanthemum.

Fletcher's best silverware and a fresh linen napkin completed the arrangement.

Kerney sat as Fletcher eased the omelette onto a plate and brought it to him.

"All this for me?" Kerney asked.

"It's far too elegant."

"Meals should be civilized events," Fletcher replied.

"And it's just my small way of saying thank you for all the fun I had yesterday. I honestly think I would have made a superb detective."

"What brings you to this modest opinion?" Kerney asked, as he took a bite of the omelette. It was perfectly done.

"Because I believe-modestly, as you put it-that I have uncovered new information which may further our investigation."

"You have my full attention."

Fletcher beamed a smile at Kerney.

"Good. My informant, Frank Bailey, owns a gallery on Canyon Road. He recently attended a social function where he overheard a woman named Amanda Talley complain about the lack of protection for the art collection in the governor's office. Bailey said that la Talley went on at some length about how easy it would be to steal it."

"That's excellent work, Pletcher. Just who is Amanda Talley?"

"Ms. Talley works at the fine arts museum. She supervised the selection of the art for the governor's offices."

Kerney swallowed another bite.

"Maybe you should have been a detective. Did you get a description of the woman? Is she a blonde?"

Fletcher nodded.

"Indeed, she is. Frank Bailey seems to know a good deal about her personal life."

"I'll have somebody talk to him."

The doorbell rang and Kerney took the opportunity to finish his meal while Fletcher went to answer it.

Fletcher returned towing Sergeant Gilbert Martinez by the hand.

"Do you know this dear boy?" he asked Kerney. He guided Gilbert to a chair.

"He's come looking for you."

"Yes, I do."

Martinez flushed slightly and sat.

"Well, I've known him all his life," Fletcher announced.

"He grew up across the lane in that lovely two-story home. It broke my heart when his parents sold it and moved away. Such a delightful family."

Fletcher dipped into the chair next to Gilbert and patted his hand.

"It's so good to see you. How do you know this Irish cop, Gilbert?" He waved Gilbert off before he could answer.

"No, don't tell me. Let me guess. You must be the police chaplain.

Although the fact that you're wearing a suit and tie raises some doubts in my mind."

"Chaplain?" Kerney asked.

Fletcher nodded.

"Yes. The last time I saw Gilbert he was going off to a seminary in the Midwest to study for the priesthood. That was twenty years ago."

Gilbert smiled.

"Well, I am a father. I have two daughters."

"Were you defrocked?" Fletcher asked.

"Excommunicated?

Tell me everything."

"Nothing that dramatic, Fletcher. I changed career paths. I'm a state police sergeant in criminal investigations."

"Unbelievable." Fletcher turned his gaze to Kerney.

"He was the perfect altar boy. Angelic."

"Stop exaggerating," Gilbert said.

"The old neighborhood doesn't look like it has changed too much."

"I try to keep the riffraff out."

"Who lives in my parents' old house?"

"It has changed hands five or six times since you moved away. The current owners are a New York couple.

They use it as a vacation home. He's a book publisher and she's a literary agent. I've been thinking of approaching them with a proposal to write my memoirs."

"Maybe I should try to buy it back the next time it comes on the market."

"Would that you could."

"You don't think a sergeant's salary could swing it?"

"Perhaps you might want to wait until you get another promotion or two," Fletcher said.

Gilbert's laugh was bitter.

"That, along with another full-time job, would probably get me a mortgage on the garage my father built." He turned to Kerney.

"I'd like to bring you up to speed, Chief."

"What have you got. Sergeant?"

"My conversation with Roger Springer went basically nowhere, although I did get the names of two women he took on unofficial, late-night tours of the Roundhouse. He swears he wasn't there last week after hours, and the two women aren't blondes."

"What else?"

"A curator at the fine arts museum by the name of Amanda Talley-she's a blonde, by the way-picked out the art for the governor's office."

"I've already told Kevin about her," Fletcher announced.

Gilbert gave Kerney a perplexed look.

"Fletcher made a round of the galleries yesterday at my request,"

Kerney explained, "and Amanda Talley's name came up. It seems she did some public complaining about lax security for the art in the governor's office, and talked about how easy it would be to rip it off.

What did you learn from her?"

"Nothing," Gilbert answered.

"Talley started a vacation late last week. She's in Belize. She left a hotel number where she could be reached, and I called. She's on a three-day boat expedition, touring some wildlife sanctuaries off the coast. The boat's not due back until the day after tomorrow.

"One more thing. Chief," Gilbert added.

"The three O'Keeffe paintings were due to be sent to the O'Keeffe Museum this week."

"Find out where Talley lives," Kerney ordered.

"She has an apartment on Yucca Road. I have the address. It's one of those big rental units."