lowered, and his eyes focused on Joe's paperwork. His mouth was a hard, thin line. He finished reading, closed the file, and looked up.
"What else have you got?" he asked tersely.
Valdez consulted his notebook. "Matador Properties owns some thirty commercial buildings in the
city.
Mostly high-end or historic buildings on the plaza, Canyon Road, and in the Guadalupe District. The company leases space to galleries, restaurants, retail shops, and various professionals. It owns two
major apartment complexes on St. Prands Drive."
"What's Watson's ballpark net worth?"
"I'm still digging to get those numbers. But it appears Matador has had sufficient cash assets to lend big bucks to Rancho Caballo. If Matador controls any subsidiary companies, Watson's total net worth could jump considerably."
"Is Watson carrying a heavy debt on his businesses?"
"If he is, I haven't found it yet."
"Is that unusual?"
"I'd say so. I've talked to all the commercial lenders in the area who offer jumbo mortgages. None of them are doing business with Matador. But he may be using out-of-state financing."
"What do you think?" Kerney asked.
"Money laundering would be a good guess."
"How can you get a handle on it?"
"If Matador is a holding company, it might have one master casualty-and-loss policy with an insurance underwriter for all its properties, including subsidiaries."
Joe reached for the file, tapped the papers into a neat pile, and stood up.
"Once I know exactly what the corporate structure is, I'll start looking at how the money gets moved around."
"Keep me informed."
"I'll start calling insurance agents right away."
"Do we have a list of local security companies?" Kerney asked.
"I've got one in my office."
"Get it for me, would you?"
"Sure thing. Chief." Joe hesitated. "I'd like to start a collection for Gilbert's family. They're going to
have a lot of expenses."
Kerney dug for his wallet, extracted all the currency, and put the bills in Joe's hand.
***
Retired city police officer Toby Apodaca watched the unmarked police cruiser stop in front of his Cemllos Road office. He unlocked the door and held it open as Kerney got out of the car and approached. "There aren't too many people who can get me out of a warm bed in the middle of the night," Toby said after Kerney stepped inside the Guardsafe Security office.
"How are you, Kerney?"
"Fine, Toby," Kerney answered. "And yourself ?"
"I'm doing okay," Toby said, brushing an errant eyebrow hair back into place. His bushy eyebrows flared wildly in every direction. He scratched the thick stubble on his chin and ushered Kerney around a counter, past a bullpen for security guards that was shielded by portable partitions, and into a back office.
"I heard you were back in harness," Toby said. "Do you like it?"
"I can't seem to avoid it," Kerney answered as he studied Apodaca. Toby had spent his last ten years as a cop on the Santa Fe Plaza, chasing purse snatchers and giving directions to disoriented tourists. He'd retired a few years before Kerney's shoot-out with a drug dealer.
"And carrying a deputy chief's shield," Toby noted. "That's pretty impressive."
"We'll see how long it lasts."
Toby had aged well, Kerney decided. In his late fifties, he carried about 150 pounds on a five-six frame. He had a full head of hair, and light brown eyes accentuated by wire-run glasses.
Toby chuckled. "I hear you. The thing I hated most about the job was the chickenshit politics. I don't miss being a cop at all. Now I've got my own company, with regular hours, weekends off, and a personal life again.
Well, most of the time, anyway."
"Sounds sweet."
"It is. So what's up with Matador Properties?"
"The owner may be a target of an investigation," Kerney said.
"That doesn't tell me jackshit," Toby said with a smile. "Deputy chiefs don't pull peace-loving private citizens out of bed after midnight to talk about the possibility that a rich guy like Bucky
Watson may have done something illegal."
"We think Bucky may be connected to a Mexican drug lord."
"Connected how?"
"I'm not sure. But if he is, it means he's working with a man who just had one of my officers assassinated."
"You lost an officer?"
"Several hours ago. Gunned down at a south capitol residence. I can't tell you more than that right now."
"What a damn shame." Toby shook his head.
"Tell me about your contract with Matador."
"It brings in a good third of my gross annual billings. I've had the contract for five years."
"Does the contract cover all his properties?"
"Just about. He lives in Rancho Caballo, and the subdivision provides security, so we don't cover his home."
"How many separate buildings do you patrol?"
"Forty-six, but it's more than just patrol work. At the apartment complexes I provide twenty-four-hour security. And I staff the larger retail outlets with round-the-clock personnel."
"How many properties does Watson own?"
"A bunch of them," Toby said. "I've got two contracts with Watson, one for his Matador Properties and one for his Magia Corporation."
"What do you cover for Magia?"
"Shopping malls, mini-malls, strip malls, discount malls, warehouses, self-storage units--that sort of stuff."
"Is there anything you don't cover'?"
"Well, not really"
"Meaning?"
"Bucky owns an art crating business in an old Victorian house. He said it didn't need any security."
"He told you about it?"
"No, I asked him. We patrol a nightclub and restaurant across the street for another company. My night man who works that sector saw Bucky at the house a couple of times and told me about it. I asked Watson if he wanted to add the building to the contract, and he said no. But I have my man keep an eye on the place, anyway."
"Have you gotten any reports of unusual activity at the shop?"
"Nope."
"How long has your man worked for you?"
"Over four years. He's an ex-correctional officer from the state pen."
"Reliable?"
"Absolutely."
"Is he on duty now?"
"He sure is."
"What's his name?"
"Max Olguin."
"Can you have him meet me outside the nightclub?"
"Can do." Toby wrote down the address and gave it to Kerney.
"I'll have him there in ten minutes."
***
Max Olguin opened the passenger door to Kerney's unit and got in. The bench seat sagged under his bulk. An overweight man somewhere in his late thirties, with a chubby face and a crew cut, Olguin shook Kerney's outstretched hand. "I'm Kevin Kerney."
"I know," Max said.
"I used to see you at the pen when you were still with the city police."
"It wasn't my favorite place to visit."
"Or work at," Max added.
"They ought to send the staff home, seal the perimeter, give each convict a loaded assault rifle, and let them have at it. Those sons of bitches would be killing each other within minutes. That would solve prison overcrowding, big time."
"Until the courts filled them up again," Kerney noted. Max grunted in agreement.
"But still, it would give us a break from the scumbags for a while. Toby said you needed to talk to me."
"I understand you keep an eye on the art crating business."
"Yeah. It's not official or anything. I check it when I patrol the nightclub. Just a visual from my car."
"Have you noticed anything suspicious or unusual?"
"Not really. A couple of times I got a little concerned."
"About what?"
"Trucks
in the alley late at night."
"Was there any activity around the trucks?"
"Yeah. Guys loading and unloading crates. Watson's car was always there, so I figured everything was cool."
"You know Watson's car?"
"Sure do. I give it special attention, so it doesn't get broken into or stolen. The boss says it doesn't hurt to keep the clients happy with a little extra service."
"Describe the trucks to me."
"One time they unloaded a panel truck and a minivan, and another time they were loading a ten-ton Ford."
"Did you ever get a look at the cargo?"
"Nope. I just saw them carrying crates. All different sizes."
"Have you seen Watson at the crating shop recently?"
"Last night I saw his car parked outside on the street."
"Did you see Watson?"
"No, just his car and two other vehicles parked in front of the building. The inside lights were on, so I figured Watson was there and had some of his people working."
"What other kind of vehicles were parked there?"
"A pickup and a subcompact. I've seen both before."
"No large trucks?"
"Nope. But trucks could have come and gone before I came back on my next round."
"Thanks, Max."
"Sure thing," Max said, easing his bulk out of the unit.
Kerney sat in the unit mulling over what Max had told him. He had a strong hunch Bucky wasn't shipping only fine art. He needed to find a way to prove it without conducting an illegal search.
He waited until Olguin drove away, got a flashlight from the glove box, walked across the street, and stood in front of the Victorian house. It had a deep porch supported by white-painted columns with two large windows flanking the front entrance. He walked around the building. A concrete loading dock jutted out from the rear entrance with steps on one side and a ramp on the other. A power line ran from a pole to an electric meter mounted on the corner of the building. The junction box below the meter caught Kerney's attention.
A circuit had been added to the house, and a conduit ran from the box into the ground. Kerney wondered if the building had a basement. At the front, he inspected the latticework grille that bordered the porch. A side section was hinged to provide access. He crawled under the porch and found a wooden insert covering a hole cut in the rock foundation, wide enough for a man to crawl through.
He pulled the insert loose, set it aside, and swept the darkness with the beam of the flashlight. About a quarter of the crawl space was sectioned off by walls that disappeared below grade. The electrical conduit at the back of the house ran straight into it.
Kerney crawled in for a better look. A three-sided stud-and-plywood enclosure butted up against the foundation. It was sloppy, substandard construction, and Kerney had no doubt it had been built without a permit.
Outside, Kerney dusted himself off. He wanted to know what was in the basement. If his hunch about the permit was right, it might be possible to find out without risking an illegal break-in.
* * *
Alex Castillo, a customs narcotics agent called up from Albuquerque, held a Vietnamese potbellied pig in his arms and eyed the state cop.
"What's the pig's name?" Kerney asked.
"Mabel."
"Does she have a good sense of smell?"
Castillo grimaced. It was four o'clock in the morning and he wasn't in a mood for pig jokes. Every cop who met Mabel for the first time turned into a stand-up comic.
"If the narcotics are there, Mabel will tell me," Castillo replied. He scratched the pig behind the ears.
Mabel snorted.
"Can she detect drug residue?"
"Mabel has a great nose, Chief. Bury it, bag it, sweep it up--it doesn't matter to Mabel. She'll sniff it out. Where do you want her?"
"Under the porch in the crawl space to the house."
"Do you have a search warrant?" Castillo asked.
"I have reason to believe there are controlled substances stored inside."
Castillo shook his head in disagreement.
"Anything we find will be considered an illegal search and seizure."
"I plan to find the stash legally," Kerney said.
"How are you going to do that?"
"Whatever I do won't involve you or Mabel."
"That's what I wanted to hear," Castillo said as he dropped to his knees.
"Give me your flashlight, Chief."
Kerney handed it over, and Castillo tugged gently at Mabel's leash before disappearing under the porch. The pig lowered her snout and waddled willingly along.
Kerney spent an anxious five minutes waiting for Castillo to reappear.
Mabel came out first. She snorted once and gave herself a good shake.
"Bingo," Castillo said as he crawled out. He stood up, reached into a pocket, and fed Mabel a treat.
"Mabel tells me you've got a lot of product in there."
"She told you that?"
"She gets real excited when she snifis out a big stash."
"That's not possible. You and Mabel were never here," Kerney said with a smile.
"I like your style. Chief," Alex said.
"Good luck catching the bad guys."
***
At the office, Kerney called the city building code supervisor, woke him up, and asked to meet him in person as soon as possible. Morris Wadley grudgingly agreed, and Kerney drove the predawn empty streets to a small residential subdivision that bordered Cerrillos Road. Built soon after World War II, it was a respectable middle-class neighborhood of pueblo-style, flat-roofed houses on good-size lots. Like most post-war developments, many of the homes had been expanded with second stories and additions as the baby boom swept the country. Wadley opened the door dressed in a robe and slippers. A pale, short fellow with baby-fine blond hair, he had sleep-filled eyes and a prominent vein in his forehead that caught Kerney's attention.
In a dining area off the living room, Kerney joined Wadley at the table.
"You said on the phone that you needed some information immediately," Wadley said through a yawn.
"And perhaps your help," Kerney added. "I want to take a look inside a building without violating anybody's constitutional rights."
"Is the building under construction or being renovated?"
"No, but I believe a basement has been added without benefit of a permit. Does your office accept anonymous complaints from citizens?"
"All the time. Most neighbors don't like to get in squabbles with each other. Let's say some guy is building a carport without a permit. We'll get a call and go check it out."
"What about commercial remodeling and renovation?"
"We inspect every commercial project in the city."
"Do you have unrestricted access to the site?"
"You bet we do. The city ordinance gives code enforcement inspectors the authority to enter any structure for the purposes of determining compliance with building standards. It's part of the health, safety, and welfare laws."
"What if you're denied entry?"
"That happens a couple of times a year," Wadley replied.
"I usually refer the problem to the city attorney and let the lawyers fight it out. In the end, we always get inside."
"Have you ever asked for police assistance to enter a property?"
"Once, I had to. State statutes allow it. Any structure under construction or being remodeled must pass an inspection. Police officers can be called upon to render assistance."
"What if the construction or remodeling was completed sometime in the past?"
Wadley smiled for the first time. "That doesn't matter. We can still inspect, if it's brought to our attention."
"What kind of inspection do you do?" Kerney probed.
"We go through the skin, down to the studs, into the footings if we have to--you name it. We can check the composition of the concrete pour, the wiring, plumbing, heating, the rafters--whatever. We can even order a structure to be demolished
if it's deemed unsafe for occupation. That's especially important in times of a natural disaster or catastrophe."
"Would you be willing to use a state police officer to assist in gaining entry to a building?"
"You want to take a look around, do you?"
"That's the idea."
"I don't see why we can't use your people. What building do you want to take a look at?"
Kerney filled Wadley in on the building's location. Wadley nodded.
"That structure is in the Guadalupe Historic District. I know exactly where it is. I don't remember any review hearing for a building permit."
"You'd remember?"
"You bet I would. The code is strict when it comes to historic preservation. We're constantly battling owners who want the rules bent for old structures. We stay on top of those projects. Have to."
"I believe the passageway to the basement may be concealed."
"That sounds interesting," Wadley said with a smile. "I may do this inspection myself. If it's there, I'll find it. You still haven't told me what you're looking for."
"Faulty wiring," Kerney answered with a grin.
Wadley laughed. "When do you want to meet?"
"The business opens at nine o'clock. I'll have a patrol officer standing by to assist you. He'll be fully briefed."
"I'll be there with bells on."
***
Kerney checked with his personnel before going to talk to Andy. Two agents were keeping tabs on Bucky Watson. As soon as Watson had settled into his Rancho Caballo house for the night, one agent had taken up a position at the gated entrance road, while the second kept close surveillance on Watson's house with nightvision goggles. Watson hadn't moved. At the art crating shop, a patrol officer watched the premises from a discreet distance. Everything was quiet.
Kerney briefed Andy on the scheme.
"How many men do you want to use?" Andy asked.
"Just three," Kerney replied.
"Two agents stationed out of sight, and a uniformed officer to accompany Wadley into the premises."
"Narcotics agents?" Andy asked.
"No. I don't want the slightest hint to crop up that we expected to find drugs."
"This Wadley guy; he's willing to say the complaint was anonymous?"
"If everything goes right, he won't have to say anything."
Serpent's Gate - Michael McGarity Page 19
