Michael McGarrity - Everyone Dies

Molina scanned the growing crowd before addressing Ramona. “I know you caught the case, Detective, but I’m taking over as primary on this one.”

“I understand, Lieutenant,” Ramona said.

He sent Pino and Foyt off to brief the detectives who were piling out of unmarked units, flipped open his cell phone to call the chief, and hesitated.

Kerney had picked up his pregnant wife at the Albuquerque airport last night before starting a two-week vacation. Their baby was due any day, and on top of that Kerney was having a new house built on some ranch land he’d bought outside the city.

But the chief’s policy was clear: No matter where he was or what he was doing, he was to be informed immediately about every homicide or major felony that occurred within the city limits.

Reluctantly, Molina dialed Kerney’s number.

Lt. Colonel Sara Brannon handed the telephone to Kerney and watched his expression change from consternation to vexation as he listened to Sal Molina. She’d just told him that when her maternity leave ended she would start a tour of duty at the Pentagon in a plum strategic planning position that would put her on track for promotion to full colonel. He wasn’t at all happy about it.

“What is it?” she said after Kerney hung up.

“Nothing good,” Kerney answered. “A lawyer has been shot and killed outside the courthouse.”

“You’d better go,” Sara said, shifting her weight in the kitchen chair to ease the pain in her back. In the last two weeks being pregnant had become increasingly uncomfortable.

“They can get along without me for a few more minutes,” Kerney replied, giving Sara a long, unhappy look across the kitchen table. “I thought you were trying for an assignment closer to home.”

“Believe me, I did.” As a Military Police Corps officer, Sara wore the insignia of crossed pistols on her uniform. “The only possibility was with the 14th Military Police Brigade at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri. But there were no slots available at my rank.”

Kerney nodded and studied his wife’s face. Fast approaching her mid-thirties, Sara was fifteen years his junior. Even with the extra pounds she’d gained during pregnancy, she was lovely to look at. She had strawberry-blond hair, a slender neck, a small line of freckles along the ridge of her nose, sparkling green eyes capable of both warmth and chilling scrutiny, and lips that could smile generously or tighten quickly into firm resolve.

“What about resigning your commission?” Kerney asked. “I recall a conversation we had about that possibility.”

“I’m not ready to do that,” Sara said. “You knew I was a career officer when you married me.”

“Things have changed, we’re about to become parents.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Sara said forcing a smile and patting her tummy. “I’d totally forgotten.”

“We can talk about it later,” Kerney said flatly as he got to his feet. Sara’s sarcasm annoyed him, but he didn’t want to quarrel.

“I thought you had the time,” Sara said.

“Not for this discussion,” Kerney replied with an abrupt shake of his head.

He left the kitchen and returned wearing a holstered sidearm and his shield clipped to his belt. He gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and went quickly out the door.

Determined not to cry or throw her coffee cup against the wall, Sara decided to draw a warm bath and take a long soak in the tub.

Kerney arrived at the crime scene to find Potter’s body covered with a tarp. A large number of onlookers were clustered in the courthouse parking lot watching television reporters broadcast live feeds about the murder to network affiliates in Albuquerque. One reporter started shouting questions at Kerney from across the street.

He ignored the woman and took a quick tour of the evidence markers which, except for the bloody footprints, looked like nothing more than street litter. But if they found a suspect, DNA testing of the cigarette butts that had been marked as evidence might prove valuable.

He bent down and uncovered Potter’s body. Jack’s handsome, wide-eyed features were frozen in shock, and his bloody hands were pressed against a dark stain on the tank top just below the entry wound in his chest. Potter had died hard.

Jack had started his law career with the district attorney’s office a few years before Kerney first joined the police department, and Kerney knew him well, professionally and socially.

After a fairly long stint as an ADA, Potter had opened a private practice specializing in criminal law, quickly becoming one of the most sought-after defense lawyers in the city. When he came out of the closet as an advocate for same-sex marriages some years later, it didn’t hurt his reputation in Santa Fe one bit.

Of all the prosecutors Kerney had worked with in the district attorney’s office, Jack had been the best of the lot. Outside of the job, he was charming, witty, and fun to be around.

Kerney flipped the tarp over Jack’s face and stood. Inside Potter’s office he found Sal Molina talking with Larry Otero, his deputy chief and second-in-command. He nodded a curt greeting to both men and turned his attention to Molina. “Fill me in, Sal, if you don’t mind repeating yourself.”

“Not a problem, Chief,” Molina said. “Potter was shot once in the chest at close range. I’m assuming you saw the blood trail on your way in.”

“I did,” Kerney replied.

“He crawled down the sidewalk and died in front of his office. The ME estimates Potter was shot about fifteen minutes before his body was discovered. We’re canvassing the area, but so far we haven’t turned up anyone who either witnessed the event or heard the shot.”

Kerney glanced around the front office, once the living room of a modest residence. It was nicely appointed with matching Southwestern-style furniture consisting of a large desk, several chairs, a couch, and a coffee table. Two large museum-quality Navajo rugs hung on the walls, and a built-in bookcase held neatly organized state and federal statute books. The door to Potter’s inner office was closed.

“Have you ruled out robbery?” Kerney asked.

“Pretty much,” Molina replied, “as well as burglary. We’ve only done a plain-view search so far, but the office and his car appear undisturbed. There are no signs of breaking and entering and the vehicle hasn’t been tampered with. Both were locked, and Potter had his keys in his possession when he was shot.”

“Also, his wallet containing three hundred dollars and his credit cards is in the bathroom, along with an expensive Swiss wristwatch,” Otero said.

“Where’s his secretary?” Kerney asked.

“She showed up a few minutes ago,” Molina said. “Detective Pino has her over at the courthouse, conducting an interview.”

“Is Pino the primary?” Kerney asked.

“No, I am,” Molina replied.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Kerney said. “Get the secretary over here soon. Have her double-check to see if anything is missing.”

“That’s the plan,” Molina said.

“What have you learned from her so far?” Kerney asked.

“She says that unless Potter had a court appearance or trial scheduled, he worked abbreviated hours during the summer months,” Molina replied. “He’d come in early, go running for a half hour or so, and then shower and change here before starting his day. He usually finished up by mid-afternoon.”

“Several neighbors have seen Potter running in the morning, and he keeps a change of clothes in his office closet,” Otero said.

“So Potter kept to a daily schedule,” Kerney said, “which means this might not be a random shooting.”

“That’s the way we read it,” Molina said.