Under the Color of Law (21 page)

"Do you have Stewart in custody?" Andy inquired.

"That's not possible," Kerney answered.

"He was murdered."

Andy raised an eyebrow.

"When?"

"Sometime yesterday up in Red River. It was made to look like a skiing accident."

"Suspects?"

Kerney shrugged.

"I'd like to think it was Charlie Perry. But he's not the professional-killer type. My best guess is that it's someone who is operating under the color of law."

Although he didn't want to believe it, Andy had no reason to doubt Kerney.

"Does Perry know you've blown a hole in his case?"

"He will in about four hours when the news of Stewart's murder is made public."

"Jesus, what have you fallen into?" Andy asked.

"Quicksand," Kerney said.

"What are you going to do?"

"I want to move the bar up a notch. Let me use your criminal intelligence people to wire Perry and Applewhites hotel rooms for sound and tap their telephones."

"Have you got a court order?" Andy asked.

"Do you know a judge who'd give me one?" Kerney replied.

"I'd be laughed out of chambers. At worst it's my word against the FBI.

At best it's pure speculation."

"You're asking me for something I'm not willing to do."

"Would you be willing to change your mind if I told you that I have reason to believe Father Mitchell's murder is directly tied to the Terrell case?"

"What reasons?"

"Start with the fact that yesterday Bobby Sloan found a stack of videotapes and a briefcase ful of information Mitchell had assembled that points to a major government espionage operation in South America.

Add to that Applewhite's arrival at Bobby's house after midnight armed with a federal court order requiring that all the evidence be immediately turned over to the Bureau."

"You better give me the whole story."

"Not in your office," Kerney replied.

Andy reached for a phone.

"Let me cancel a meeting and we'll find a nice, private place in the building to talk."

Andy took him to the armory, a room with thick, reinforced concrete walls and a steel door, where tactical weapons and ammunition were stored.

"Start at the beginning," Andy said, closing the door.

Kerney ran it down.

Andy said nothing until Kerney finished.

"The connection between Terrell and Mitchell is a stretch, Kevin," he said.

"The MOs are completely different."

"All four murders, if you include the Gatlin suicide, are different,"

Kerney countered.

"Which is exactly the way a professional killer would operate."

"You're assuming one killer, possibly a government agent, did them all?"

"I think it's highly probable."

"This is risky business, Kevin."

"I know it."

"I don't think you do. You've got a new wife, a child on the way, and a career to think about."

"I'd be very happy if none of this had happened, Andy. But it has.

Would you let it slide?"

"Not completely," Andy said.

"I'd want some answers, but I wouldn't risk my neck to get them."

Kerney thought about Sara, his impending fatherhood, and all he had to look forward to.

"I don't plan on going off half cocked. I want information, not confrontation. Will you help?"

"You want electronic surveillance on Perry and Applewhite?"

"That could get us some of the answers I need."

"And ruin our careers," Andy said.

"Okay, you've got it."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me," Andy replied.

"I'm already regretting my decision."

The police radio squawked Kerney's call sign. Larry Otero wanted to talk to him, Helen Muiz had paperwork needing his signature, Detective Sloan wanted a few minutes of his time, dispatch had three messages to pass on from Cloudy Herrera's pushy lawyer.

He didn't respond and drove out of town along the two-lane state road that passed by the state penitentiary and the new county jail. He kept his eye on the rearview mirror as he passed the jail and didn't turn around until he was certain he wasn't being tailed.

He had to assume that his office, house, and car were bugged, tapped, wired, and videotaped; that Andy was also under some sort of electronic surveillance; and that vehicle-tracking devices had been planted on department vehicles to keep tabs on the whereabouts of key personnel.

Doing a sweep or a grid-search for wiretaps and bugs at police headquarters wouldn't catch everything, not with the new remote technology that made long-distance eavesdropping easy. Ripping out bugs and inspecting vehicles for tracking sensors wouldn't be smart anyway.

You could never be sure if you found everything and it would only serve to alert the listeners that their surveillance had been compromised.

He parked and went inside the county jail. It was a safe place to put his plan into motion. Cops went in and out of jails all the time, so his presence at the facility shouldn't raise suspicions.

He introduced himself to the receptionist, showed his shield, and asked to use an empty office. In a small space used by shift supervisors he dictated everything he knew and all his conjectures about the Terrell-Mitchell homicides into a micro tape recorder. When he finished he wrote out a message to Helen Muiz that read:

Hand-carry this confidential message to It. Sal Molina and Detective Robert Sloan. Do not speak to anyone about this message or make a copy of it. Destroy this message immediately after the officers have read it.

TO; It. Molina, Det. Sloan Assemble all remaining Terrell-Mitchell case documents and meet me at the county jail ASAP. Do not travel together or use departmental vehicles. Do not reveal your destination or engage in any radio or telephone communication about this assignment after you receive this message.

He signed the message and faxed it, hoping that the two officers didn't show up looking at him like he was a paranoid nutcase.

Kerney's early-morning phone call to the Red River marshal, and his voice message to Helen Muiz canceling all his scheduled appointments, had forced Elaine Applewhite out of a warm bed in her hotel room and into her car.. She'd followed him all the way to Questa before turning back. She didn't give a damn if the fatal accident got turned into a homicide. It had been a good hit that wouldn't come back to bite her.

None of them ever had.

What bothered her was Kerney. He was acting a bit too clever. What put him on to Randall Stewart in the first place? What made him think that Stewart was a target?

Applewhite knew the ambassador wouldn't be happy when she called him in Washington with the report of Kerney's snooping. He expected everything to go smoothly, thought that all field contingency problems were caused by sloppy procedures, and stomped hard on operatives when pissed off.

Maybe there wouldn't be a need to raise the old boy's blood pressure.

Applewhite decided to wait and see what shook out from Kerney's little jaunt up north. She had lots of time before a call had to be made;

Terrell wasn't scheduled to return to South America until tomorrow morning.

She'd watched for Kerney's return from the outskirts of Santa Fe, monitoring the Taos district state-police-band frequency through a computer satellite link that fed directly into her laptop. The last transmission from the officer at the scene came in when Stewart's body had been loaded on the meat wagon for transport. He'd coded his report as an accidental death and resumed patrol.

That had made Applewhite smile.

When Kerney passed by, she'd switched the laptop to a vehicle tracking program that would record the travel and location of his vehicle in a fifty-mile radius. Then she went back to the hotel for a late lunch, feeling much more positive about the phone call she needed to make to Ambassador Terrell.

Maybe fuss-bucket Charlie Perry, whom Applewhite longed to whack just for the fun of it, had been right about Kerney being an over-the-hill lightweight cop who occasionally got lucky.

Kerney hoped that Molina and Sloan would buy into his scheme. While he waited for their arrival, he faxed a request to Andy Baca that would put the plan into play, if his officers agreed, and got a good-to-go response back. Bobby Sloan arrived first, carrying a cardboard box. He dumped it on the table in the meeting room Kerney had taken over and gave him a wily smile.

"What's all that?" Kerney asked.

"Applewhite didn't get everything, Chief. I stayed late at the office last night and copied all the Mitchell documents and tapes."

"Did anybody see you do it?"

Sloan shook his head.

"Nope. I've got more news, Chief. Phyllis Terrell made two five-thousand-dollar cash withdrawals on the same days that Mitchell entered identical deposits in his checkbook."

Kerney smiled. The link between Terrell and Mitchell was now real.

"What will it be, Bobby? A commendation or a promotion?"

"I'll pass on the promotion, Chief. I've already got the job I want.

But a commendation for my personnel file would be nice."

"Consider it done," Kerney said.

"Thanks." Sloan popped an antacid pill.

"I figure we're meeting at the jail because some naughty FBI agents have been listening in on our private conversations."

"You're not wrong. They haven't been playing nice. It's our turn to bend a few rules. Are you game?"

"You bet, if I'm allowed to do great bodily harm to Applewhite. She freaked my wife out last night."

"That's not a good idea."

"I can dream, can't I?" Sloan said with a grin.

Sal Molina arrived. Kerney asked Sloan to bring the lieutenant up to speed on the Mitchell case. Bobby summarized the important events and what had been learned from the new evidence.

Molina sat silent and stone faced.

"I should have known about this, Detective," he said when Bobby stopped talking.

Irritated by Molina's officious response, Kerney fiddled with a loose paper clip before reacting.

"Detective Sloan came to me because you were out in the field, Lieutenant. I asked him not to talk to anyone about the developments in the Mitchell case without my permission."

"You don't think I can be trusted?" Molina asked.

"You wouldn't be here if I thought that. It's almost a sure bet that we're under electronic surveillance. On top of that I acquired conclusive proof today that the FBI lied big time about Scott Gatlin."

Kerney spelled out the facts surrounding Randall Stewart's murder and the DNA test results. Bobby Sloan sat wide eyed in his chair, rubbing a hand over his stomach. Molina let out a low uncharacteristic whistle.

Kerney continued.

"In about an hour Charlie Perry will know that we know Randall Stewart's death was a homicide. He'll assume, quite rightly, that the Terrell murder cover-up has been blown. We've been under surveillance since day one. As of now I'm returning the favor to the fullest extent possible.

There are phone taps, video cameras, and microphones planted in Perry's and Applewhite's hotel rooms."

"You got a court order for that?" Molina asked disbelievingly.

"No." Kerney leaned forward in his chair, concentrating his attention on Molina.

"You were right to bust my balls about shutting down the investigation, Sal. But I'd been warned off by Perry and I didn't want to telegraph my intentions to keep digging into the case-not with the Feds listening. I thought I could do enough hunting out of season on my own to get a handle on what is really going on, but I can't. I need help."

Molina thought about his career and his short-timer's calendar. He thought about doing time in the slammer if the feds decided to hand him his balls on a silver platter. There would be no trips in the camper, no fishing excursions to Idaho.

"Okay, what do you need from us?" Sal asked, his mouth dry.

"I want to put tails on Perry and Applewhite," Kerney said.

"We need to track their movements. Surveillance only. No intervention regardless of what goes down. We photograph or videotape anything that's out of the ordinary."

"For how long, Chief?" Bobby Sloan asked.

"Forty-eight hours."

"Who else gets assigned?" Molina asked.

"Just the two of you," Kerney replied.

"Impossible," Molina said.

"Perry and Applewhite know us."

"If you agree to this, I've registered both of you for a class at the law-enforcement academy starting tomorrow. Two vehicles seized by the state police and outfitted for undercover narcotic work will be waiting for you there.

Each is fully equipped. The sheriff's department will handle all your radio traffic, utilizing the tri-county drug task force channel. I'm betting the feds aren't going to be expecting us to look outside the department for help."

"Speaking of that," Sloan said, "who set up the electronic surveillance?

It wasn't any of our people, that's for sure."

"Chief Baca," Kerney answered.

"His criminal intelligence people will monitor and stay in touch with you through the sheriff's dispatch. This will be a straight forty-eight-hour assignment. You'll sleep in the cars, eat in the cars.

No breaks, no relief."

"This scheme could bring a lot of good cops down," Molina said.

"Which is why I'm asking for your help, not ordering."

"Jesus, Sal, let's do it," Bobby said, who like Kerney had pulled a tour in Nam.

"This country isn't a fucking police state. At least, not yet."

The consequences scared Molina, but he had to decide. Either he took the risk or he bailed out on his chief. He shored himself up.