Under the color of law

Chapter 2

Although the city hadn't been hit with a lot of snow, a foot of new powder crowned the ski basin, and traffic along Cerril los Road was heavy with day trippers from Albuquerque on their way to and from the slopes. At the Airport Road intersection Kerney turned off and headed for the nearby police headquarters, remembering the time when the old Blue Mountain Ranch and a vast stretch of rangeland along Cerrillos Road had defined the southern limits of the city. Now that open space was gone, filled up by a large shopping mall, an auto park with four dealerships, and commercial clutter that stretched along the roadway almost to the Interstate.

Since starting the job, Kerney had tacked extra time onto his twelve-hour days to explore the city by car and get familiar with his jurisdiction. The growing south-side sprawl continued along Airport Road, where a mixture of strip malls, new residential subdivisions with houses on tiny lots, and boxy apartment buildings had sprung up at an astonishing rate. Santa Fe was fast losing its unique identity and Kerney doubted anything could stop it.

He entered police headquarters, where the receptionist, a young woman with a lackluster complexion and a bit too much blush on her cheeks, sat up straight in her chair and smiled a polite greeting that showed no warmth.

Kerney had grown used to the wariness most of the staff displayed when he came around. But he didn't like it, and he wondered how long it would take for it to ease.

He climbed the stairs to the administrative wing. The vacant deputy chief's office reminded him that he needed to act soon on filling the number-two slot.

Helen Muiz, Kerney's personal secretary and office manager, greeted him with a sheaf of telephone messages.

"Anything urgent?" he asked.

Helen shook her head and took off her reading glasses.

"Not yet. But I think you'd better tell the city manager about the Terrell murder before he hears about it from an outside source."

Kerney smiled. A thirty-five-year veteran of the department, Helen had been Kerney's secretary during his tenure as chief of detectives, and had served as the office manager for the past three chiefs. Now a grandmother in her late fifties, Helen didn't look the part. Full bodied, taller than average, with large round eyes that radiated a sharp sense of humor, Helen was the best-dressed civilian employee in the department. Today, she wore a pearl-gray wool gabardine suit and a silk plum-colored blouse.

She could retire at any time on a full pension, but chose not to do so.

Kerney was delighted to have her running the office.

"You always give me such good advice," he said.

"Which, if I recall correctly, you usually need," Helen replied.

"Probably. Find the order requiring the chief's approval to assign additional detectives to a major crime investigation and type up a memo rescinding it for my signature."

"That will make Sal Molina happy. Have you decided to stop rubbernecking and start driving?"

"You have an insubordinate personality, Mrs. Muiz."

"Isn't that why you're glad I'm here?"

"No comment," Kerney said lightheartedly.

"Don't bother to get the city manager on the line. I'll call him myself."

"How egalitarian of you," Helen said with a laugh.

"Shall I prepare another memo directing senior staff to answer their own phones and place their own calls whenever possible?"

"Why not?"

Helen's smile broadened.

"I knew having you as the chief would be fun."

"I'm glad I've made at least one employee happy," Kerney replied.

Through the one-way observation window Kerney watched Santiago Terjo as he sat alone in the interrogation room. Neatly dressed in jeans, work boots, and a heavy cotton shirt, Terjo was clean shaven and had dark curly hair that drooped over his forehead.

"According to Customs he's legal," Sal Molina said, referring to the notes from his preliminary interview with Terjo.

"Born in Hildalgo del Parral-wherever that is. Age thirty-eight. No wants, warrants, or priors. He's got a wife and three kids in Mexico, and a girlfriend and one baby here in Santa Fe."

"What kind of story did he give you?" Kerney asked.

"He says he moved the RV from the stables to the house yesterday after work before going to his girlfriend's house, where he spent the night.

He last saw Terrell alive at about six o'clock in the evening when they talked for a few minutes about what she wanted done while she was gone.

According to Terjo, Terrell was alone at the time."

"Does the girlfriend confirm he was with her?"

"All night. Her name is Rebecca Shapiro, originally from New York.

Someplace on Long Island. She's a jewelry maker who works out of her house. Shapiro said Terjo didn't leave until seven-thirty this morning."

"Is she lying?" Kerney asked.

"Not likely," Molina replied.

"She independently confirmed the events of their night together. Terjo came over, helped Shapiro make dinner, and then they ate. He played with his daughter, Aspen, age one, until her bedtime.

After that Terjo gave Shapiro a Spanish lesson-she's trying to learn the language. Then they watched a little television and went to bed."

"Does she know about Terjo's wife and children in Mexico?"

"Yeah. She says she's perfectly comfortable with her relationship with Terjo.

Isn't into the marriage thing."

"What happened in the morning?" Kerney asked.

"Terjo leaves his dog, Zippy, at the stables when he stays with Shapiro because she's allergic to animals. In the morning he stopped by to feed him and let him out. He left his truck behind and walked up through the arroyo to the house, so Zippy could do his business. Then he put the dog in the RV and went to work."

"Doing what?"

"Taking out some trees in front of a rock outcropping on an upper slope behind the house. Terrell wanted the area cleared because she was planning to have Terjo build a pergola and an outdoor fireplace on the site, and the trees blocked the view."

"Did anybody see Terjo working?"

"One neighbor heard the sound of a chain saw, and another neighbor coming down from his hilltop house saw Terjo at the site. The detective who examined the area said the trees were freshly cut."

"Why did Terjo run?"

"He came down to the house to get something to eat and let the dog out of the RV. Supposedly, Mrs. Terrell gave him standing permission to raid the refrigerator whenever she was away. He went into the house through the main entrance. That's when he saw Terrell's body. He got scared, panicked, and went back to the RV just about the time Matt Garcia was chasing Zippy up the hill. He saw Garcia and took off. He said he thought Garcia was the murderer."

"It's a good story," Kerney said.

"Do we have any physical evidence from the crime scene?"

"No prints on the scissors," Molina replied.

"But we've found some pubic and head hairs and a small fluid stain on Mrs. Terrell's bed sheets. Also, we have one set of footprints that don't match up with the victim, Terjo, or Matt Garcia. They're from a size-ten hiking boot. The tracks start at the front side of the patio, drop down the hill, and end at the road."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. Seven Baggies of marijuana, hidden in the stables. Terjo says he knows nothing about it. But I think he ran away so he could move his stash."

"Have you asked Terjo to provide head and pubic hairs for comparison purposes?"

"He agreed to it in writing. I took him to the hospital on the way here and had a nurse take samples. The lab has them. We're still waiting on results."

"You've found no other physical evidence?" Kerney asked.

"Not yet," Molina said.

"If the precipitating event was a lovers' quarrel or a burglary gone bad, there should be."

Molina nodded.

"No prints on the scissors and no sign of forced entry does seem to make it look a little too neat and tidy. I've been thinking that maybe the murder was staged."

"For what purpose?"

"If you can tell me that, Chief, then I'd have a motive."

Kerney studied Terjo through the glass. The man was nervous, rubbing his hands together and constantly shifting his weight in the chair.

"Terrell and her husband were separated. Maybe Terjo knows something about Phyllis Terrell that can help us answer that question," he said.

"I think he'll cooperate," Sal said.

"He already knows how much time he's facing on a possession-with-intent-to-sell conviction."

"If you can make it stick." Kerney nodded in Terjo's direction.

"Let's see what he says." *** Santiago Terjo had seen enough television cop shows to figure people were watching through the mirror and talking about him. He slumped against the back of the metal chair and tried to remain calm.

But the longer he waited alone in the small room the more his hands got nervous and his gaze wandered toward the mirror.

He'd lied to the police lieutenant about the marijuana, and about his family in Mexico. In truth, Terjo had no wife and children. If the cops found out he'd assumed his dead brother's identity, Terjo could go to prison first and afterward get deported. Then there would be no more money to send home every month for his only sister-in-law, Lupita, her children, his parents, or his aunts and uncles.

Three years ago Santiago, his brother, had died from a stomach illness while home for a visit. Ignacio, who had much the same features as his brother and was only a half inch taller, had used Santiago's green card to enter the United States and find work.

Because Santiago had worked in Texas, Ignacio had decided to go to New Mexico, where the switch wouldn't be discovered. It had worked perfectly. To Rebecca, Mrs. Terrell, and everybody he'd met in Santa Fe, he was Santiago.

How could he convince the cop it wasn't his stash they'd found in the stables, even though it was? He always brought marijuana back with him from his visits to Mexico, but only for his personal use, not to sell.

Usually he brought enough to last for six or eight months, sometimes a whole year.

Terjo coughed and swallowed the phlegm in his throat. It scared him to think he could be charged with drug dealing and maybe sent to prison for a very long time. Before the cops arrested him at the stables, he'd used a rag to rub the Baggies clean of any prints. That should help, but what if they found some seeds or stems in the RV, which was likely? How could he explain that?

He needed to come up with a convincing story. He tried to think of something the police lieutenant might believe. *** "Sorry to keep you waiting," Sal said as he entered the interrogation room and placed a tape recorder on the table.

"Who's watching me through the mirror?" Terjo asked.

"My new boss," Sal said, easing himself into the chair across from Terjo.

"I think he wants to make sure I know how to do my job. Help me out and cooperate, Santiago. I don't want to look bad."

"I already told you everything."

"Give me a minute," Sal said. He turned on the recorder, identified himself, and gave specifics of who he was interviewing, why, and when.

"There, that's out of the way. What did you say before I turned the machine on?"

"That I told you everything," Terjo said, giving Molina a friendly smile.

"But we haven't talked about the scissors," Sal said.

"The scissors?"

"They're expensive German-made, just like my wife's."

"As;?" Terjo replied, pulling at an earlobe.

"So, I'm wondering if you ever saw Mrs. Terrell use those scissors, or scissors like them."

"I don't think so," Terjo said.

"But she has a lot of stuff she doesn't really use much."

"Maybe she used them as kitchen shears," Sal said.

"Or for cutting string and wrapping presents."

"Maybe."

"Are the scissors yours?" Sal asked.

"No, pero I keep some in my toolbox."

"We found those." Sal rubbed his chin.

"Do you think the killer brought the scissors with him?"

Terjo shook his head.

"You shook your head," Sal noted.

"Nobody does that."

"I agree. Most people don't carry scissors around with them. That tells me something."

"What?"

"The killer was someone Terrell knew and let into the house."

"A lot of people come to the house, making deliveries, visiting."

"I have the list of names you gave me. Does anyone special come around a lot?"

"Alexandra Lawton. She is Senora Terrell's neighbor."

"Killing someone with scissors is something a woman is more likely to do," Sal said.

"She would never do such a thing."

"You must know Ms. Lawton pretty well to call her by her first name."

"She asked me to do so."

"Maybe you used the scissors as the murder weapon."

"I have no reason to kill Senora Terrell. She has been very good to me."

"Does Lawton have a boyfriend?"

"Who knows? It is not my business."

"Have you seen her with men?"

"yes, but they are strangers to me."

"What about Terrell? Did she have men friends who came to visit;?"

"I don't spy on my boss."

"Did you know that Terrell and her husband were getting a divorce?"

MI knew."

"An attractive woman like Mrs. Terrell must have had a boyfriend or someone she was seeing. After all, she'd been separated from her husband for nearly two years."

"I know nothing about that."

"Your English is very good," Sal said.

"I studied it in school as a child."

"How far in school did you go?" Sal asked.

Terjo tensed and stalled momentarily, mentally counting the number of years his brother had been in school.

"Eight years."

"And they taught you English?" Sal asked, leaning closer, breaking into Terjo's space.

"I didn't think Mexican schools did that very much."

"Everybody wants to learn English so they can come here," Terjo said defensively.

"What was the name of your school?"

"It is gone. The government closed it many years ago."

"You must have been a good student."

"I learned more English when I came to this country."

"I'm thinking maybe Lawton killed Mrs. Terrell because of jealousy," Sal said.

Torque?"

"Because you were sleeping with both of them."

"That's not true."

"Somebody had sex in Terrell's bedroom before the murder. Was it you?"

Terjo rubbed his nose.

"I would never do that."

"The hair samples we took will tell us," Sal said.

"Then you'll know what I say is true."

"I hope so, for your sake," Sal said.

"Still, we've got this marijuana thing to deal with."

"I think maybe some kids left it there," Terjo said, the tone of his voice rising slightly.

"Kids?"

Terjo spoke quickly.

"Sometimes they use the stables when I'm not around. They get in through the open stalls to the corral. A couple of times they even broke into the RV."

"I see."

"I've found empty beer cans and used rubbers in there before."

"In the RV?"

"Yeah, and the stables."

"How did they get into the RV?"

"Sometimes I forget to lock it."

"When was the last time this happened?"

"Maybe two weeks ago."

"Did you call the police and report it?"

"No. Nothing was stolen, nada."

"Did you report any of the prior incidents?" Sal asked.

"No."

"Do you know the kids by name? Where they live?"

Terjo cleared his throat.

"No, pero I'm guessing it was kids. Mira, I never saw them."

Molina shook his head sympathetically.

"Too bad. If you'd reported the break-ins, maybe this drug-dealing charge wouldn't be hanging over you."

Terjo lowered his head.

"It's not my grass."

"Did Mrs. Terrell ever talk about her husband?"

"Just to say he was a very important man who does much work for the government."

"Nothing more than that?"

"Sometimes she would seem upset after talking to him on the telephone."

"Upset about what?"

"I don't know."

"Did Mrs. Terrell have a lover?"

"She would never talk to me about personal things like that."

Sal pushed.

"Did she have a lover?"

Terjo looked away before responding.

"I don't know nothing about that."

"Let's go over again what you did last night," Sal said, backing off with a smile.

"I gotta stay here?" Terjo asked.

"For now," Sal replied.

"Start with what you were doing just before you spoke to Terrell for the last time."

Molina used his notes to move Terjo through the events he'd previously reported.

He finished up and got to his feet.

"Did you tell one of your amigos how easy it would be to break into Mrs.

Terrell's house and rip her off while she was gone?"

"I would never do such a thing."

"Maybe your friend came at the wrong time, Mrs. Terrell caught him in the act, so he decided to rape and kill her."

"That's loco."

Molina turned off the recorder and extracted the cassette.

"Just tap on the door if you remember something else you want to tell me, or if you want to change your story."

"I told you everything. I want to leave now."

"If you left, I'd start to believe you don't want to cooperate," Sal replied.

"You wouldn't want me to think that, would you?"

"I'll wait," Terjo said with a sigh.

"He stuck to his story, Chief," Molina said as he walked with Kerney to the second-floor landing, "and it didn't sound rehearsed to me."

"He's lying about something," Kerney said.

"Why and what are the questions?"

"I'll talk to the girlfriend."

"Canvass her neighbors to see if they saw Terjo entering or leaving her house.

And query the Mexican authorities and see what they have on him."

"We could wait weeks for a reply."

"I want him locked up at least overnight. Book him on the drug dealing charges."

"Our probable cause is weak," Molina said.

"Granted, but it buys you time to push him a little harder. Let's find out what he's covering up."

"Anything else, Chief?"

"Assuming Terjo isn't involved in the murder, that leaves us only with the victim's profile to go on."

"We're talking to Terrell's friends and acquaintances right now," Molina said.

"Good."

Helen Muiz signaled to Kerney from the doorway to the administrative wing. He waved and she stayed put.

"Do you need anything else from me, Lieutenant?"

"Some clarification would help, Chief. How deeply involved in the investigation do you want to be?"

"I want to know everything that goes on."

"I meant personally."

"That depends," Kerney said.

"On how well me and my people do our jobs?"

"Exactly. You've got five open murder investigations that haven't been cleared.

That's five out. of six during the past year. It is not a cheerful statistic.

Don't add the Terrell homicide to the list."

Molina fought off a desire to explain and squared his shoulders.

"If you want me to put in my retirement papers, tell me now."

"That's not what I want. At this point you have my goodwill, Lieutenant.

Whether or not I come to appreciate your abilities is up to you. Do the job and I'll stay off your butt."

"That's straight enough," Molina said, stomping away.

Helen Muiz eyed Kerney speculatively when he approached.

"What have you got for me?" Kerney asked Helen flipped open her notebook and started talking. Ambassador Terrell was due to arrive by corporate jet at the Santa Fe airport in several hours. The mayor, governor, and a State Department official had called asking Kerney to extend every courtesy to the ambassador. Several newspaper reporters were in the lobby clamoring for a briefing.

"Have them stand by in the downstairs conference room and ask Lieutenant Molina to issue the standard statement that we're not releasing any information presently," Kerney said.

Helen nodded.

"And the FBI has arrived," she said.

"Special Agent Applewhite is waiting in your office."

Kerney knew all the local special agents and Applewhite wasn't a name he was familiar with.

"Wanting what?"

"She didn't say."

Kerney made a face.

"Welcome to the Crystal Palace," Helen said.

"The what?"

"The chief's office was dubbed the Crystal Palace a couple of administrations ago. It is not a term of endearment."

"No, of course not," Kerney said.

Somewhere in her thirties, Special Agent Elaine Applewhite wore a cardigan sweater over a white turtleneck top and a pair of blue jeans.

The outfit didn't hide her sturdy-looking frame. She had a sharp chin, an oval face, a small, turned-down mouth, and empty eyes that reminded Kerney of the thousand-yard stare he'd seen on the faces of soldiers in Vietnam. A bright new red ski parka hung neatly over a chair at the small conference table that butted against the front of Kerney's desk.

"Make yourself at home," Kerney said as Applewhite arranged herself in a chair.

He moved to his desk, sat, and waited.

Applewhite adjusted her position to face Kerney head-on.

"The wife of a Federal official has been murdered, Chief Kerney. The Bureau has jurisdiction in the matter."

"Are you here to assume oversight?"

"That's not my role," Applewhite replied.

"I understand you have a suspect in custody."

"What exactly is your role, Agent Applewhite?" Kerney asked.

Applewhite leaned forward.

"We don't have to joust, Chief Kerney. I'm a liaison agent to the State Department. I've been asked to interrupt my vacation and assist you, until a task force arrives from Quantico."

"You're here vacationing?"

Applewhite smiled tightly.

"I was."

"Really? Where?"

"Taos. My husband and I are on a week-long skiing trip. He's not too happy about having our plans interrupted, I can tell you."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Kerney said.

"Why isn't the local FBI field office handling the case?"

"Because Mrs. Terrell's murder may have national-security implications."

"Such as?"

"I can't go into that."

"Then I assume you're the point man until the task force arrives."

"Not at all. I've been asked to provide you with some background information."

Applewhite paused.

"Ten years ago Ambassador Terrell divorced his first wife.

Within the year he married Phyllis Carol Straley Hasell, a woman twenty years his junior. In both her previous and current marriage Mrs. Terrell maintained a rather liberal attitude regarding her marriage vows, and was somewhat indiscriminate about her choice of sexual partners."

"Are you suggesting Mrs. Terrell may have been killed by a lover?"

Kerney asked.

"Its a highly speculative notion, but not outside the realm of possibility."

"Are Mrs. Terrell's past and present lovers known to the Bureau?"

"Our background investigations on family members are confidential, Chief Kerney.

But I can say that when the Terrells separated, the ambassador provided the State Department and the Bureau with a full, voluntary statement as to the reasons why."

"The ambassador told your department about his wife's lovers?"

"In the interest of national security he felt it was his obligation to do so. On a political note, you need to be aware that Proctor Straley is Mrs. Terrell's father. You may know of him. He owns the El Moro Land and Cattle Company in Ramah, New Mexico. He moved here from Texas and bought the property about twenty years ago. I understand it's quite a large tract of land. He's a close friend of your governor, and quite influential in state and national politics."

"I know who he is," Kerney said.

"How did you come to learn so quickly about Mrs. Terrell's murder?"

"The State Department advised the Bureau as soon as your department requested assistance in locating Ambassador Terrell."

"What is your role with the task force?"

"I've been asked to coordinate information sharing between you, the Bureau, and the State Department."

Kerney digested the statement and stared thoughtfully at the woman.

Although Applewhite had denied it, Kerney's hunch wasn't wrong;

Applewhite was the watchdog sent to keep the local cops reined in until the task force arrived.

"When do your people get here?" he asked.

"Before dawn. We'll be headquartered at the National Guard armory."

"I'll let my people know."

"We'll need full access to whatever information your detectives have gathered so far."

Kerney smiled.

"Of course, and I know you'll be equally forthcoming."

"You'll have clearance for all unclassified information," Apple white replied.

"Is the man you have in custody a possible suspect?"

"He hasn't confessed to anything yet. Will the ambassador be willing to meet with my violent-crimes supervisor?"

"In fact, he's asked to speak with you personally upon his arrival. His plane is due in at twenty-one hundred hours. But he may not have any information of value. For nearly the last two years the ambassador and his wife have maintained separate residences."

"So I've heard. Has he been advised of the theory that his wife may have been murdered by a lover?"

"I really don't know what Ambassador Terrell has been told."

"Interesting," Kerney said, getting to his feet.

"I take it the ambassador isn't the jealous type."

"Ambassador Terrell can't possibly be a suspect. He was out of the country, meeting with twenty-five high-ranking foreign and domestic diplomats when his wife was murdered."

"You couldn't ask for a better alibi, could you?"

Applewhite gave Kerney an unfriendly look.

"I wouldn't be thinking in that direction if I were you, Chief Kerney."

"With national security involved I'll gladly let your people call the shots," Kerney said as he opened his office door.

"My department isn't equipped to handle a case like this. I'm assuming your vacation is over."

"For the duration," Applewhite said, holding out a business card as she approached him.

"The phone number for my hotel is on the back. Can you hold off on any statements to the press?"

"Whatever you say," Kerney replied.

"It's your case."

"We're here to work with you, Chief Kerney."

"You'll have my full cooperation, Agent Applewhite."

Kerney closed the door behind the departing Applewhite, picked up the telephone, dialed Helen Muiz's extension, and asked her to send somebody outside in a hurry to get a make, model, and license number on Applewhite's vehicle.

"Have it done on the sly," he said, "and run a motor-vehicle check as soon as you have the information."

He replaced the receiver and stared through the office window that gave a view across Cerrillos Road to the shopping mall. The dinner hour had arrived and most of the parked cars were clustered near the entrance closest to a family-style mall cafeteria.

He'd tried to match Applewhite's low-key approach to the Bureau's taking over of the investigation, hoping that if he covered some of the basics but dumbed things down a bit he would be viewed as a hayseed police chief who wouldn't cause any problems. But Kerney had doubts about Applewhite's interrupted vacation story. He ran over the conversation in his mind. Aside from establishing FBI control over the case, Applewhite had laid out two key issues: focus on the victim not the husband, and beware the political and security minefields.

Why?

Kerney thought about sharing his suspicions with Sal Molina and dropped the idea. How did Applewhite know a suspect was in custody? Terjo hadn't been charged with a crime as of yet, and a simple wanted person computer check wouldn't flag him as a murder suspect.

Kerney tapped his finger on the telephone, and checked the time. There was a chance that Andy Baca, chief of the New Mexico State Police and his ex-boss, might still be at work. He dialed Andy's direct, private office number and Baca picked up.

"Working late?" Kerney asked.

Andy answered lightheartedly.

"I thought I got rid of you when you took the Santa Fe job, Kerney."

"I need a favor, Andy."

"What's up? Are you in trouble already?"

Kerney summarized the facts of the Terrell murder and recounted his conversation with Special Agent Applewhite.

"You need help from a much higher power than me," Andy said after Kerney finished.

"I'm glad the FBI is landing in your lap and not mine. What can I do?"

"I'd like some substantiation of Applewhite's story."

"A certain amount of paranoia is a healthy thing for any police chief to have, Kerney, but you may be stretching it a bit. Aside from the FBI, it's quite likely you'll have antiterrorist specialists, State Department counterintelligence agents, and the CIA camping at your door."

"I think I'm being played for a fool. Applewhite literally handed me a ready-made motive for murder. If this is a cover-up, I want to know it."

"Or you could sit back, cover your ass, and let them run their game.

Forget I said that; it's not your style. Okay, how do you want to handle it?"

"Nothing through official channels. Just a quiet check of Apple white's cover story. I'd like to know when she arrived in New Mexico and with whom. She was supposedly in Taos before getting pulled off a skiing vacation with her husband and sent down here to meet with me.

I've got the name of the Santa Fe hotel where she's booked a room, and we're running a license-plate check on her vehicle. I'll fax the information to you when it comes in."

"That's all?" Andy asked.

"I don't want to telegraph my suspicions."

"Why not use one of your people?"

"Not a good idea."

Andy thought about the mess Kerney had inherited from his predecessors: an understaffed department known for petty politics, poor morale, and vicious infighting.

"You're probably right," he said.

"I'll get back to you."

"Thanks, Andy."

"Keep your head down, Kevin."

Kerney heard the distant sound of an aircraft and looked up at the clear night sky. Against a backdrop of stars he saw the flashing lights of a plane ten miles out, on a straight gradual descent to the Santa Fe Airport.

Because large commercial jets flew into Albuquerque, less than an hour away by car, the airport terminal-a small, rather charming, old-fashioned pueblo-revival building-was quiet at night.

He got out of his unit, walked through the terminal, with its viga ceiling, tile floor, and mission-style benches and chairs, and waited at the outside gate that led to the tarmac. The night air, still and cold, chilled his face, and a quarter moon shed enough light to kindle a shivery glow on the snow-covered ground beyond the runway.

Kerney watched the corporate jet touch down and taxi to the terminal, thinking the chances were slim Terrell would remember him from their brief service together in Vietnam. He preferred it that way and had no intention of raising the old connection.

The outside terminal lights were bright enough to give Kerney a good look at Terrell as he came down the ramp. He wore an expensive wool coat that covered a chunky frame. His face had a tanned, healthy color and his expression looked subdued. There didn't seem to be any sadness in his eyes, though. He came forward without any hint of recognition.

For a man in his mid seventies Terrell appeared vigorous and lively. He carried a leather overnight bag.

"Are you the police chief?" Terrell asked, barely slowing his pace as he approached.

"Yes, I am, Ambassador."

Terrell didn't stop moving. He nodded his head and pointed a gloved hand at the terminal entrance as a signal for Kerney to follow along.

Kerney complied.

"No press," Terrell observed as they passed through the empty terminal.

"That's good. Where's your car?"

Kerney guided Terrell to his unit and drove him away. On the road to town Terrell relaxed against the passenger seat, took off his gloves, and rubbed his face with large, heavy hands.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

"Your wife was stabbed once in the chest with a pair of scissors, probably by an intruder," Kerney said.

"Have you caught the son of a bitch?" A touch of emotion colored his voice.

"We're talking to Santiago Terjo about the crime."

"That's a waste of time," Terrell said.

"You think so?"

Terrell stared out the window and said nothing.

"Can you tell me anything that might be helpful?" Kerney asked.

"Phyllis was never a cautious woman when it came to her personal safety."

"Any enemies?"

"My wife didn't make enemies," Terrell said, swiveling slightly to face Kerney.

"She prided herself on being gracious to everyone, and she was. Please tell me what you've learned so far." Kerney did as Terrell asked, saving for last-without revealing his source-Applewhite's imputations about Phyllis Terrell's moral character. It brought a sigh from the ambassador.

"I didn't realize it was such common knowledge in Santa Fe," Terrell said.

"You were aware that your wife had lovers?" Kerney asked.

"She made that very clear to me after we began to grow apart. My wife and I have been married in name only for the last two years. She built a house here so we could have totally separate lives. I came infrequently to visit and only on family business. We were moving amicably toward a divorce settlement."

"Do you know any of the men who have been involved with your wife?"

Terrell shook his head.

"I've been asked not to discuss anything of substance with you or your detectives until it is determined if my wife's murder has any connection to my official capacity."

"What can you tell me about the trade mission?" Kerney asked.

"Very little. It is a confidential, joint enterprise of various federal departments that has operated quietly with White House approval for the past eighteen months. Our existence, who we're dealing with, and why, haven't been publicly disclosed, and will not be unless an accord is reached."

"The FBI has claimed case jurisdiction for national-security reasons,"

Kerney said, checking the rearview mirror.

"They'll be here in full force tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, the two men who got off the plane after we entered the terminal have been behind us since we left the airport."

"Yes, I know. I'm staying at the Hotel San Marcos."

"And your traveling companions?" Kerney asked.

"Where will they be staying?"

"I have no idea, Chief Kerney. But they will be at my wife's house shortly on official business. Please have your people give them full access. You do understand that my conversation with you is strictly off the record."

Kerney made a turn onto a narrow street that led to the downtown plaza and the nearby hotel. The car behind continued on, out of sight.

"Under pain of federal prosecution?" he asked.

Terrell's hand was on the door latch as Kerney pulled to a stop in front of the hotel.

"I'm sure it won't come to that. Thank you for the briefing. I'll be in town for a few days. There are people to notify and arrangements to be made. Perhaps we'll talk again."

"I'll be available," Kerney said.

As Terrell passed through the lobby door, Andy Baca called on Kerney's cell phone and requested a quick meeting in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

He wouldn't say why but sounded a little peeved. Kerney gave him a five-minute ETA and drove hurriedly through the empty downtown streets, wondering what was up.

As he cruised through light traffic on Cerrillos Road, Lieutenant Molina made radio contact, asking for clearance to allow two FBI agents access to the crime scene.

"Let them in," Kerney said, "and meet me in my office in twenty minutes so I can bring you up to speed."

"Ten-four," Molina grumbled after a slight hesitation.

At Wal-Mart, Kerney spotted Andy's unmarked unit at the side of the building away from the parking lot lights and got in beside him.

"I got a telephone call right after I spoke with you," Andy said.

"Applewhite?" Kerney asked.

Andy shook his head.

"The U. S. attorney. Supposedly he wanted to let me know about the task force and make sure the resources of my department would be made available to the FBI."

"How polite."

Andy grunted.

"Yeah, right. When was the last time you ever heard of the FBI using a U. S. attorney as a front man for a task force investigation?"

"Never. What did he really want?"

"After he chatted briefly about national security implications and the need for discretion, he gave me Applewhite's name as the FBI contact person and asked me to call her at her hotel. So I did. She basically gave me the same line that she fed you, minus any aspersions about Mrs.

Terrell's sexual escapades."

"So, you get a reassuring call from the U. S. attorney within minutes of our conversation. What a coincidence."

"Your phone is tapped," Andy said.

"Either that or they're using a telecommunications-intercept system through the National Security Agency, which means they probably know we're meeting right now."

Andy brushed a hand through his thinning hair.

"Jesus."

"Drop the Applewhite fact check," Kerney said.

"You don't want to get involved."

Andy smiled slyly.

"Too late. I did it myself just to be obstinate. Her story checks out. I verified the car rental, the date she and her husband arrived by plane in Albuquerque, when they checked into their rented Taos condominium, and the time today that she reserved a hotel room in Santa Fe. But what I found interesting was that everybody I talked to, once I connected with the right people, had the information I needed at their fingertips.

No paper shuffling, record searching, or computer scan."

"Oops," Kerney said.

"Tomorrow should be a very interesting day."

"I know a retired special agent who might be willing to give me some background on Applewhite," Andy said.

"Let it go. If they're listening to my conversations, they're probably listening to yours. Best for them to think I'm satisfied that all is as it seems. I picked Terrell up at the airport and drove him to his hotel.

He brought two company men masquerading as FBI."

"You're sure?"

"That's my guess."

"Want some advice?" Andy asked after a pause.

"Sure."

Andy pulled at the collar of his off-white uniform shirt.

"Start wearing your blues, Kerney."

"Do you think that will impress the feds?" Kerney asked with a laugh.

"No, but it might make your troops start to think you're proud to be their chief."

"You know how I feel about uniforms."

"Then you should have been an accountant instead of a cop."

Kerney studied Andy's serious expression.

"What have you heard?"

"The same gripe that dogged you when you were my chief deputy. I put up with it because I knew what you did was far more important than whether or not you wore a uniform on the job. But now you're the chief of a department, and you damn well better dress like one. Wear the uniform."

Andy was right and Kerney knew it.

"I'll spit-shine my shoes and polish my brass in the morning," he said as he opened the car door.

"Call me if you get into a firefight with the feds," Andy said.

"If that happens, it will be too late to call," Kerney said.

"All of this could turn out to mean nothing."

"You never know," Kerney replied.