Michael Mcgarrity - Slow Kill

“So, everyone is healthy and well,” Trinidad said, when Joe finished bragging about his family. “That is what is most important, to be happy and well. But you didn’t come here for an old man’s philosophy of life. What brings you to see me, Mr. Policeman?”

Joe laughed. “I’d like to talk to you about Clifford Spalding.”

“For what reason?”

“Spalding has died under suspicious circumstances, and I’m looking into questions about his finances.”

Sandoval shook his head. “When you get to be my age, it seems like everyone you know dies. What are these suspicious circumstances you speak of?”

“He may have been murdered,” Joe replied.

Trinidad quickly crossed himself. “I will say a prayer for him at Mass.”

“How did Spalding come to do business with you?”

“First, he tried to buy the property through a Realtor. But I wouldn’t sell. Because of the zoning, I knew it was valuable. It was only one of a few commercial parcels close to the Plaza that could be developed into a hotel without difficulty. When he offered to lease it, I accepted, because it kept everything in the family.”

“Who were his partners?” Joe asked.

Trinidad blinked. “His partners? He didn’t have any.”

“Perhaps they were silent partners,” Joe replied. Chief Kerney’s notes had specifically mentioned that the property lease had been secured by a partnership that included Spalding.

“I don’t think he had any partners,” Trinidad said.

“Could I see the original paperwork?” Joe asked. “I’ll keep the information confidential.”

Trinidad thought a long minute before nodding in agreement. He left the kitchen and soon returned with a thick packet, which he placed on the table in front of Valdez.

Joe spent an hour reading the material, taking notes, and asking Trinidad some clarifying questions. Spalding had paid the first two-year lease up front. The agreement had a rate renegotiation clause that kicked in every twenty-four months. It was tied to current costs per square foot of similar properties, which had risen dramatically over the last three decades.

Along with the money he’d borrowed, Trinidad had used Spalding’s first payment to renovate and enlarge the building. When the initial lease came up for renewal, the monthly rate jumped significantly to take into account the expansion and improvements Sandoval had made to the property.

From day one, Trinidad had wisely retained complete control over the property, which he now owned free and clear. The hotel generated a sizable chunk of money every month, enough to support every member of the Sandoval family comfortably for the foreseeable future.

Joe left with the name of the Albuquerque law firm Spalding had used to draw up the lease agreement in his notebook. When time allowed, he’d call and see what he could learn about the source of the six-figure payment Spalding had made to secure the lease.

Other than the question of Spalding’s financing, nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Mid-morning found Kerney at his desk reviewing the information that had come in on the Spalding family and Debbie Calderwood. Interestingly, Clifford Spalding had filed a bankruptcy petition three months before the death of his son in Vietnam. Before the court could act on the matter, Spalding had withdrawn the filing and paid his creditors in full.

A real estate transaction record dated six months later showed that Clifford and Alice Spalding, doing business as Sundown Properties, had paid a mall developer for a land parcel to build a motel in Albuquerque. That seemed to jibe somewhat with what Penelope Parker had told him.

He went back through his notes. Parker had said the developer had wanted to buy Spalding’s old motel, tear it down, and put up a franchise hotel next to the mall.

He thumbed through the bankruptcy paperwork. The motel Spalding had listed as an asset was several miles away from the shopping mall. Kerney wondered about the disparity. Maybe Parker’s version of how Spalding had started his hotel empire was flawed. Kerney didn’t doubt her honesty, just her knowledge of events prior to her involvement with the family.

Putting that issue aside, Kerney still wondered how Spalding had been able to bail out of his financial difficulties so quickly and come up with enough cash to pay for land next to a major shopping mall. Did he have help from a national hotel chain, as Parker reported? If so, why would any large corporation partner with a small-time operator who was about to go broke? It made no sense.

He had Helen Muiz fax copies to Joe Valdez, and took a call from the Harding County sheriff, Luciano “Lucky” Suazo, who reported that his horseback trek along the Canadian to look for Dean at his cabin had been fruitless.

“Nobody’s there,” Lucky said, “and I saw no sign of anybody coming or going.”

“What about his vehicle?” Kerney asked.

“Didn’t see it. His closest access would be at the Mills campground. He’d have to leave his vehicle there and cross the river on horseback or on foot to get to his land. From the campground, it’s two hours by horse, three on foot, to get to his cabin.”

“Are there any other jumping-off points?”

“Yeah, on private land. I’m calling all the ranchers up and down the river now,” Lucky replied. “So far, nobody has seen Dean or his vehicle, and believe me, they’re out there looking.”

“What about the cabin?” Kerney asked.

“Locked up tight, with shutters over the windows. No fresh footprints. Looks like it’s been a couple of months since anyone has been around.”

“Thanks, Sheriff,” Kerney said.

“No need for that, Chief,” Lucky replied. “Just doing my job. I’ll get back to you if anything turns up.”

Kerney hung up and went looking for Ramona Pino, who was in her cubbyhole of an office, fingers clacking away at a computer keyboard.

“I just got off the phone with the Harding County sheriff,” he said, as he sat in a straight-back chair. “Dean wasn’t at his cabin. Do you have any news?”

“Nothing yet, Chief,” Ramona replied. “We’ve got the Denver PD staking out Dean’s ex-wife’s house, and I just finished calling all the airlines. He hasn’t flown out of either the Santa Fe or Albuquerque airports.”

“Did you talk to the ex-wife?” Kerney asked.

“Yeah, and she’s not a big fan of her ex-hubby. She’s about to file against him for failure to pay child support. He’s in arrears for almost fifty thousand dollars.”

“What’s up with the evidence?” Kerney asked.

“The knives are on the way to California,” Ramona said. “Hopefully the lab out there will be able to match one of them to the tool marks on the pill. The stuff I pulled out of the trash bin at Dean’s house had traces of thyroid medication on it, and we lifted Dean’s prints off both packets the drug wholesaler shipped to him. The packet we found in the workshop contained a mixture of all the ingredients Dean used to make the pills. I guess Dean decided to keep his concoction for another attempt on Spalding’s life in case the first batch of pills didn’t kill him.”

“So, where the hell is he?” Kerney asked.

Ramona shook her head. “I wish I knew. Ellie Lowrey has the Montecito estate under observation in case he shows.”

“Okay,” Kerney said.

“I’d like to rework the arrest affidavit on Claudia Spalding and have it ready to resubmit, Chief.”

“What can you add to it?” Kerney asked.

“The only way Dean could possibly have known the specifics about Spalding’s medication and heart condition is through knowledge he gained from Claudia Spalding. Where else could he have gotten it?”

“I agree that it’s a good supposition,” Kerney said. “But a defense lawyer would argue that the information was innocently passed on to Dean by Claudia Spalding. We need something that irrefutably ties the two of them together as coconspirators.”