Family Jewels

46

Stone Googled the Rio Arriba County Sheriff’s Office and called the number.

“Sheriff’s Office.”

“May I speak to Sheriff Martinez, please?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Stone Barrington.”

“One moment.” A pause, then, “Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes, how are you, Sheriff?”

“Call me Ray.”

“And I’m Stone.”

“I’m real good. You?”

“Good. Tell me, have you made any progress on the Carrie Fiske murder?”

“Well, that’s a real embarrassing question, and I’m afraid the answer is embarrassing, too. It’s no. I got a call from somebody in Washington, D.C., alibiing that fella, what’s his name, Biggert?”

“Biggers, Harvey.”

“That’s the one. Well, I got this call saying that Biggers was in New York at the time of the murder, and the guy wrote me a letter, too. First time I ever got a letter from the CIA. I had it framed.”

“No other suspects, then?”

“Nope, not a single one.”

“I’ve got two for you.”

“I’m real glad to hear that. Who are they?”

“A couple, Derek and Alicia Bedford.” He spelled the names.

“They live around here?”

“No, and where they live is something of a mystery. Their names might be bogus, too. I think they might have been in a Santa Fe hotel the night before the murder, though.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know — possibly the Inn of the Anasazi. If not, then maybe one of the ones around the plaza. Could one of your people check that out?”

“I’ll put a deputy on it right away. We can do that on the phone. What do you want me to do if I find them?”

“I doubt if you will find them, but you might get an address on them. If they paid by credit card, you could get that number and run it for a name and a billing address. You could try the rental car agencies, too.”

“If, on the off chance, I actually can lay my hands on them, have you got anything to support a charge of murder?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then how is it worth it to me to put a deputy on this? I can’t arrest ’em for parting their hair funny.”

“If you can tell me where to find them, I can put the NYPD onto them, and they might come up with something.”

“Well, if they do come up with something worthwhile, I’m going to want these folks back in my county.”

“There’s an extradition process for that.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I’d appreciate your help, Ray. Maybe we can clear this one, get it off your books.”

“I’d sure like that.”

Stone gave him his number. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” The two men ended the conversation, and Stone hung up. He buzzed Joan.

“Yep?”

“Where is Carrie Fiske’s stuff that was sent from New Mexico?”

“In the basement storage room.”

“Can you ask Fred to bring all of it into my office?”

“Sure thing.”

Ten minutes later Fred started carrying luggage into Stone’s office; it took him three trips. “Anything else, sir?”

“Not at the moment,” Stone said.

He put the largest suitcase on his desk and went methodically through it. Nothing but clothes, neatly packed. He went through the smaller case and found pretty much the same thing. The train case was all girl stuff. Her briefcase yielded an airplane e-ticket to New York, her passport, some keys, four checkbooks, some pens, and an envelope containing five thousand dollars in brand-new bills. He set it aside and went through the two photography cases, which contained, not surprisingly, cameras, lenses, film, and a tripod. In the larger case Stone found the 4x5 camera that he had seen on the floor in Carrie’s rental cottage. He examined it carefully and found that it contained a plate. He stopped himself from pulling it out of the camera, not knowing how to determine if the plate had been exposed. He buzzed Joan.

“Yep?”

“Will you call Bob Cantor and ask him to drop by here when he gets a chance?”

“Does that mean right now?”

“If he’s available.”

She hung up and called him back three minutes later. “He’s not far away — ten minutes.”

“Good.” Stone set the camera and case aside, picked up the handbag and emptied it onto his desktop. It contained everything he would expect to find in a woman’s handbag: wallet, credit cards and cash, makeup, hairbrush, a guide to Ghost Ranch, and a checkbook. And an iPhone 6.

Joan buzzed. “Cantor’s here, coming in.”

Bob Cantor walked into the room. “You rang, Your Lordship?”

“What?”

“I heard you’re a lord of the manor now.”

“Put that out of your mind.” He handed Cantor the camera. “This appears to have a plate in it, but I can’t tell if it’s been exposed, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

Cantor examined the camera, then he went to the case and found an aluminum plate, inserted it into the camera, and withdrew it with the plate attached. “There you go,” he said.

“Has it been exposed?”

“I don’t know. I can take it back to my darkroom and find out, and if it has, develop and print the shot.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

Cantor left.

Stone picked up the iPhone and examined it. The number one appeared on the phone icon. He pressed it and found another number one on the voice mail icon. He pressed that and found a number. He pressed that, and a man’s voice said, “Hey, Carrie, got your message. We’ll see you around seven-thirty. Bye.”

Stone noted the date and the phone number, then compared it to the one Nicky Chalmers had given him for the Bedfords. It was identical. He checked the recent calls and found a call to a 505 area code number; he pressed the I icon and the Hotel Santa Fe, Hacienda & Spa came up. He called Ray Martinez. “You don’t have to do the search for the Bedford couple,” he said. “They were at the Santa Fe Hotel and Hacienda, and they left a message confirming a dinner date with Ms. Fiske the night before I found her body. You still might try for an address.”

“You done good,” Martinez said.