Michael Mcgarrity - Slow Kill

“Is that your version of what I’ve been doing?” Ellie asked.

Macy spoke with care, giving equal inflection to every word. “That is what the sheriff would have heard if Detective Price hadn’t been covering your ass, with my permission, I might add. Otherwise, I would have been compelled to write you up for failure to follow policy and engaging in activities outside the scope of your present assignment.”

“I did most of that work on my own time,” Ellie retorted, sending a quick smile of thanks in Price’s direction, “and you’ve been getting all my field interview and follow-up narrative reports.”

Macy nodded. “True enough.” He looked at Price. “Give us a minute.”

Price nodded, slipped out of his chair, and hurriedly left the office, closing the door behind him.

Macy leaned forward in his chair, clasped his hands together, and paused before speaking. “The question is, Sergeant, do you want to remain a patrol supervisor or voluntarily give up your stripes and return to your old job?”

“I worked hard for my promotion,” Ellie said, shaking her head.

“But you didn’t like the idea that you had to leave the detective unit to get it,” Macy said.

“It’s a dumb policy,” Ellie said, “when officers have to leave their specialty to move ahead.”

“If you want to rise through the ranks, you take the opportunities as they come,” Macy said. “That’s the name of the game.”

“So it seems,” Ellie replied.

“I am not faulting the work you’ve done on the case. In fact, I can easily understand why you were drawn to it. The complexity of the situation intrigued you. But you are a supervisor now, in a position that requires you to apply the rules to those who serve under you. Failing to do so weakens the entire command structure.”

“Duly noted,” Ellie said.

“Be glad this one-time warning comes from me and not your immediate superiors,” Macy said, his tone edgy, a stern look fixed on his face. “Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Macy relaxed and leaned back. “Do yourself a favor, Ellie,” he said, now much more friendly. “Put in two full years as a patrol sergeant and then ask for a transfer back to my unit. I’ll be looking to add another sergeant around that time.”

“You’d take me back?” Ellie asked.

“In a flash,” Macy said, breaking into a smile, “if you learn to lead by example.”

Price walked Ellie out to the parking lot and said nothing until they reached her cruiser. Before retiring as an Army nurse, he’d supervised an intensive care unit, overseeing other nurses, technicians, and support staff, coordinating services with physicians, therapists, and pharmacists, managing the day-today operations.

Price wholeheartedly supported Macy’s position. Ellie had to stop being a loose cannon for her own good and the department’s.

“You don’t look too badly chewed on,” he said as Ellie unlocked the cruiser door.

“I’m not. Is Macy going to keep you on the case?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Because unless Claudia Spalding’s lover confirms her complicity in the murder, which he hasn’t done yet, we won’t be able to charge her. The hard evidence just isn’t there.”

“What are you saying?” Price asked.

“Right now, the only way to implicate her is by building a circumstantial case. Spalding showed me a legal document that supposedly gave her permission from her husband to engage in extramarital affairs. The lawyer who drew it up said it was valid, but is it truly?”

“Good question. I’ll get a warrant for the original and run it through questioned documents.”

Ellie began to say more, shook it off, and got into the vehicle.

“What?” Price asked, holding the door open.

“Nothing,” Ellie replied. “But if a Sergeant Ramona Pino from the Santa Fe Police Department passes along any anonymous tips, you might want to check them out.”

Ellie’s intuition, her ability to absorb details, her perseverance, and her superior intelligence put her far beyond the pack as an investigator. But she could be bull-headed, a trait that had caused her trouble in the past.

“Don’t risk your stripes, Ellie,” he said.

“I wouldn’t think of it,” she said, pulling the car door closed.

Price watched her drive off, wondering if he should share his gut feeling about her with Macy. He decided to let it ride. Maybe Ellie could keep herself from going over the line.

The six-hour interrogation of Mitch Griffin combined with other details and facts developed during the day made Ramona Pino feel overloaded with tasks to accomplish, information to sort through, and assignments to make.

First off, Kim Dean had been denied bail and remained in jail, just where Ramona wanted him. He’d fired his lawyer, hired an experienced criminal trial attorney, and still wasn’t talking.

Even if Dean continued to stay dummied up, the lab results from California added heavy weight to the evidence against him. As for the other charges, Griffin’s testimony would go a long way toward securing multiple convictions.

But that still left Claudia Spalding in her California mansion as free as a bird. Finding Coe Evans, the man Claudia Spalding had allegedly asked to help murder her husband, was critical if Ramona had any hope of turning that situation around. But Evans, who no longer worked at the horse rescue ranch, had dropped out of sight, whereabouts unknown.

Ramona had detectives on the phones, talking to Evans’s former coworkers and old acquaintances, checking with utility and phone companies and the postal service, querying banks and credit card companies. So far, he remained off the radar screen.

Locating Evans was just one of the tasks Ramona was juggling. Griffin had identified his framing subcontractor, Greg Lacy, as the man who’d left the ten pounds of grass in his garage. A detective sent out to Lacy’s house had reported no one at home. A neighbor confirmed Griffin’s statement that Lacy was camping somewhere down in the Gila National Forest.

Ramona had questioned Griffin closely about why Lacy’s toolbox had been stored in his garage, and his response had sounded plausible. Many of the subs he hired used his garage and land to store tools and excess materials. They would often come to pick things up or drop things off even when he wasn’t home. Besides, his current building projects were just a few miles away from his house, which made it all the more convenient as a storage site.

Still, Ramona hadn’t bought it. Was the grass really Lacy’s, or was it all a big lie on Griffin’s part? Until they found Lacy and talked to him, that question remained unanswered.

Through her open office door, Ramona could hear her team at work. All of them were well into their second shifts, clacking away at keyboards, talking quietly on phones, stapling reports and shuffling papers, compiling information. Before she turned out the lights and called it a day, she would screen every bit of it.

Two narcotics officers, with the assistance of a member of the Tri-County Drug Enforcement Task Force, were working to verify the identities of the users, dealers, and suppliers Griffin had named. Detective Matt Chacon was on the horn calling around to learn more about Greg Lacy’s personal life, business dealings, employees, and friends. Other team members were working up evidence sheets, doing field reports, writing narratives.

Her phone rang and she picked up.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to arrest Griffin on harboring a fugitive charges?” Barry Foyt asked, his voice sputtering with anger.

“Did you really want to let him completely off the hook?” Ramona replied calmly.

“You blindsided me.”

“No, I upheld my sworn duty,” Ramona said.