Michael Mcgarrity - Slow Kill

Dean’s flight to avoid arrest and the search warrant for his premises were all the justification needed to enter the house. They knocked first, waited a minute, then kicked in the front door with weapons at the ready, and cleared the house room by room.

In a workshop attached to the two-car garage, Ramona found a number of small knives and cutting tools on a table made of sawhorses and plywood, several of them coated with a thin layer of pale yellow dust. She bagged and tagged them right away.

Six-foot-high steel shelves filled with paint cans, bottles, coffee cans, and plastic storage bins lined one wall. Waist-high, built-in cabinets made from plywood and rough lumber ran along the opposite wall. Boxes of junk were strewn around the floor. From the looks of it, Dean was a total pack rat, which was an encouraging sign.

Ramona put the two detectives to work going through the shelves, the toolboxes, and cabinets. She cleared a space on the floor, covered it with clear plastic, and started emptying the trash basket next to the table piece by piece. She found a crumpled paper bag containing traces of yellow dust and a number of loose, oval-shaped, empty capsules.

Her cell phone rang, and the senior detective at the pharmacy search reported in. In Dean’s desk he’d found a full, unopened packet of the active thyroid ingredient and a copy of the wholesaler’s invoice showing that two packets, not one, had been delivered to Dean a month before Clifford Spalding’s last visit to Santa Fe.

“Describe the packet to me,” Ramona said.

“A small white box, two by three inches, sealed at both ends, with the name of the drug on a manufacturer ’s label.”

“Good deal,” Ramona said. “Make sure it’s dusted for prints.”

“Already done,” the detective replied.

Ramona disconnected, whistled at the two detectives, and told them what to start looking for. Then she called Sergeant Lowrey in California and gave her a status update.

“I hope you find that packet,” Lowrey said.

“If not, we still may come away with enough evidence to tie Dean to the crime.”

“You think Dean may be on his way out here?” Ellie asked.

“Possibly,” Ramona said. “Have you talked to Claudia?”

“Not yet. I’m on my way to her house right now,” Ellie said. “I’ll get back to you.”

Ramona put the cell phone away and went through the trash again until she was satisfied nothing had been overlooked. The two detectives were digging through the cabinets and pulling the plastic containers off the shelves. It would take time to go through everything, but they just might get lucky.

Ellie Lowrey found the Spalding estate no less mind-boggling on her second visit. In the past, she’d read newspaper articles about celebrities and their multimillion-dollar Montecito properties. But it had been impossible for her to imagine what that kind of money could buy until she’d seen it firsthand. In some ways, it still didn’t compute.

The solemn-looking secretary who met Ellie at the driveway took her through the vast living room, down a wide, long, arched corridor with tiny recessed ceiling lights that softly illuminated the paintings on the wall, and into a sunroom filled with exotic plants and wicker furniture that opened onto a patio at the rear of the house.

In the center of the patio were a large swimming pool and a separate hot tub surrounded by marble tile. Scattered around the pool was enough lawn furniture to accommodate forty or more people. Off to one side of the house stood an outdoor kitchen with stainless steel appliances, a built-in gas barbecue grill, and a work island protected by a freestanding pergola.

Beyond the swimming pool four cabanas sat near two tennis courts. A large swath of carefully groomed lawn in front of a low garden wall served as a putting green. At the bottom of a gently sloping hill, a gardener pruned shrubbery lining a pathway to a guesthouse three times the size of Ellie’s modest home.

Claudia Spalding stepped out of the guesthouse and paused along the pathway to speak to the gardener. She wore black slacks and a sleeveless black scooped top. At her neck a large solitary diamond glimmered in the sunlight.

“This is not a good time,” Spalding said stiffly when Ellie drew near. Her thin mouth was pinched, but her makeup, right down to the long lashes, eye shadow, and creamy red lip rouge, had been perfectly applied.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Ellie said.

“What do you want, Sergeant?”

“Have you spoken to Kim Dean recently?”

“Yes, I called him yesterday to tell him about Clifford’s death, as I have many other people. We’ve spoken several times since then.”

“Did he say anything to you about leaving Santa Fe?”

Spalding pushed a wisp of hair away from her cheek. “No.”

“An arrest warrant charging him with murder has been issued in Santa Fe,” Ellie said.

Spalding’s aloof expression vanished. She drew her head back sharply. “Impossible.”

“Why is that?”

“Kim is perfectly happy with our relationship as it is. He has no reason to harm my husband.”

“Can you think of any reason for him to leave work suddenly?”

“Perhaps he had an emergency of some sort at home,” Spalding said.

“He’s not at his house,” Ellie replied.

“Have you checked with his ex-wife in Colorado?” Claudia asked. “She constantly calls Kim to come and deal with his son when the boy acts out. The child has serious behavior problems.”

“That’s good to know,” Ellie said. “Where else might he have gone?”

“I have no idea,” Spalding said.

Ellie looked meaningfully at the guesthouse. “Would he be coming here?”

“No,” Claudia said emphatically.

Ellie stared hard at Spalding. “If you know where he is and refuse to tell me, you can be charged as an accessory to murder.”

Spalding waved her hand in annoyance. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Then tell me what in the world makes you think Kim killed Clifford.”

“I can’t go into that, Mrs. Spalding.”

“Well, whatever your reasons, it’s all absurd.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because Kim isn’t a violent person by nature. He’s very low-key. Calm and easygoing.”

“Why did you go to Dean’s pharmacy immediately after you picked up your husband’s thyroid prescription?” Ellie asked.

Claudia’s eyes turned angry. “I’ll answer your silly question and then you must leave. It’s the only store in Santa Fe that carries the perfume I use. Kim stocks it especially for me. Now, I have a funeral to arrange and a husband to bury. If you have any more questions, speak to my lawyer. Please wait here; Sheila will show you out.”

Ellie watched Spalding move across the patio and into the house. Was Dean a bully who, according to Ramona Pino, browbeat his employees? Or a low-key, pussycat kind of guy, as Claudia Spalding characterized him? The steel inside Claudia Spalding made Ellie doubt the woman would be attracted to a subservient man. But anything was possible. Maybe Spalding was a closet dominatrix.

Ellie tried to visualize Claudia Spalding cracking a whip while wearing spike-heel boots and leather. The idea of it almost made her laugh out loud.

Sheila, the woman who’d escorted Ellie to the patio, arrived and guided her back through the house. Along the way, Ellie learned that Clifford Spalding’s corporation was headquartered in Los Angeles, at Century City, and that Spalding had been in his office briefly the same day he’d driven to the horse ranch in Paso Robles.

Tomorrow, Ellie started her days off. She decided a trip to LA was in order.

The afternoon sunlight drenched the mountains with a golden hue. Cramped from sitting on the floor digging through boxes of junk, Ramona stood, bent over, touched her toes, and stretched. Behind her, Detective Matt Chacon was on his hands and knees with a flashlight trying to fish something out from behind the back of one of the built-in cabinets. Paul Austin, the other detective, was labeling Baggies filled with samples spooned from the various containers for analysis.