Serpent's Gate - Michael McGarity

by Michael McGarrity

  "Some place," he added.

  "Do you like it?" Kerney asked as he took his station on the side of the door, the nine-millimeter in the ready position.

  Andy put the key in the lock. "Not really." He turned the key slowly. "Don't get me shot. Connie wouldn't like it."

  "Should I call for backup?"

  "You are my backup," Andy said as he pushed the door open.

  The burglar alarm went off and they waited a few beats before entering.

  They cleared the house room by room with the alarm bleating in their ears. They finished up in the garage and went back to a locked door in the lower hallway. It was protected by a keypad system.

  "Well," Kerney said, "aren't you going to open it?"

  Andy hit some numbers on the keypad and the alarm shut off. He punched in more numbers and smiled at Kerney.

  "Try it."

  The doorknob turned freely. Kerney swung the door open and turned on the lights. The stolen paintings were stacked neatly along the walls away from the wine racks, and the antique and pottery pieces were on a tasting table in the center of the room.

  "Sweet Jesus," Andy said, his face cracking into a grin.

  "I didn't know you were a religious man."

  "I am now," Andy replied as he patted Kerney's shoulder and stepped into the room.

  "Let's get some techs and people from the museum over here pronto."

  ***

  Buck Watson broke off his conversation with his lawyer when the door to the interrogation room opened and Kerney walked in. He leaned back in his chair and sneered at the cop. "Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen," Kerney said.

  "Are you the arresting officer?" Earl Buffett asked.

  "I am." Kerney smiled in Watson's direction and dragged a chair across the floor to the table. Bucky's sneer remained intact.

  "I want this interrogation ended," Buffett said.

  "It has gone on much too long."

  "Mr. Watson is under arrest," Kerney noted. "We can keep him here for quite a while," He sat down and carefully stretched out his right leg.

  "How are you holding up, Bucky?"

  "Better than you," Bucky answered sarcastically, studying Kerney's drawn, exhausted face.

  Kerney switched his gaze to Buffett. The man had very little space between the tip of his nose and his upper lip, and a pinched jaw that pulled his lower lip down at the edges.

  "Aside from the drugs found in the basement, what other evidence do you have against Mr. Watson?" Buffett asked.

  "Have patience, Mr. Buffett," Kerney counseled. "Gathering evidence takes time."

  "You've had most of the day to search the shop," Bufiett replied. "Surely it doesn't take that long."

  "Bucky's shop is only one of the places we've searched today."

  "I assume you had search warrants?"

  "Certainly."

  "Where else have you been?"

  "So far? His house, gallery, and the design studio," Kerney answered.

  "Are you ready to do some hard time, Bucky?"

  "That's not going to happen," Bucky said.

  Buffett shot Bucky a glance to shut him up.

  "You have presented us with no proof that my client had knowledge of the drugs stored in the basement."

  "Weren't you told?" Kerney asked, feigning surprise.

  "Told what?"

  "Bucky's fingerprints are all over the kilos of smack and cocaine." Watson snickered.

  "Does that amuse you?" Kerney asked.

  "You can plant as much evidence against me as you want," Bucky replied. "It doesn't mean anything."

  Buffett held up a hand to cut Watson off. "Please, Bucky. We can deal with the evidence issue later. What else?"

  "Skip and Kiko have agreed to testify against your client. From what they've told us so far, both have made a number of drug deliveries. We'll be adding additional charges against you, Bucky."

  "Is that the extent of your investigation?" Buffett demanded.

  "No. I'm sorry if you haven't been given all the facts," Kerney replied apologetically.

  "What facts?" Bucky snapped.

  "We were able to access your computer files. That's quite a nice little distribution network you've got going. We have your shipment records with all the details. It's the next best thing to a confession. Have you told your lawyer about Enrique De Leon?"

  Bucky flinched.

  "Who?" Buffett said.

  "You need to be more forthcoming, Bucky," Kerney chided. "Mr. Buffett can't help you if you withhold information from him."

  "Back up," Buffett said.

  "Forget it," Bucky growled, cutting Buffett off.

  "De Leon is a Mexican drug lord," Kerney explained.

  "Probably the biggest smuggler on the border. A very nasty man. Are you sure you don't want to talk to your lawyer about him, Bucky?"

  Watson glared and damped his mouth shut.

  "Then on to other matters," Kerney said, switching his attention to Buffett.

  "We're asking the United States Attorney to prosecute your client under the federal drug trafficking statute."

  "That carries an automatic death penalty upon conviction," Buffett said.

  "That's why we thought it would be a good idea. How does that sit with you, Bucky? Will a death penalty be enough of an object lesson for you?"

  "Fuck you."

  "I'd be angry, too," Kerney said with a shrug.

  "You're between a rock and a hard place. If De Leon doesn't kill you, eventually the government will. It's not a pretty picture."

  Buffett leaned over and whispered in Bucky's ear. Bucky gulped, nodded, and whispered something back.

  "Can we deal?" Buffett asked, when he broke away.

  "Nothing happens without a full confession," Kerney said.

  "That's hardly accommodating to my client. What, exactly, do you want?"

  "Full disclosure on De Leon money laundering scheme and his drug distribution network."

  "Forget it," Bucky said. He would rather make a seven-figure cash bond and disappear with his considerable nest egg as soon as the judge released him.

  "De Leon knows you've been skimming money from him," Kerney said.

  "Get real," Bucky said.

  "I faxed the information to him myself." Kerney had taken no such action, and had no proof that his accusation was true, but the thought of De Leon retaliation might make Watson reconsider his position.

  Bucky reacted by rubbing his nose, putting both elbows on the table, and crossing his legs--sure signs of stress and guilt.

  "I know De Leon Bucky. And I guarantee that he'll have you killed before you can leave town. Tell me I'm wrong."

  "If you know De Leon so well, how did you contact him?" Bucky asked.

  "The information went to his hacienda and to the Little Turtle Casino in Juarez. You're going to need to be someplace safe for a while. De Leon has a long reach."

  The smug look on Bucky's face vanished and he swallowed hard. "Just where the fuck is that?"

  "I can get you into a special federal prison under a new identity. I understand it's quite a nice place, as prisons go. We can hold you there until your trial."

  "Would you be willing to have my client tried in state court?" Buffett asked. A state court trial would keep Bucky off death row, if he was convicted.

  "That might be arranged."

  "I want more than that," Bucky said. "If I talk, some important people in this state are going to fall

  hard."

  "First you talk and then we deal," Kerney countered. "But the DA might be willing to reduce the charges. It would mean less hard time. A lot less, perhaps."

  Bucky thought about his options, and decided he had none. Everything he'd built up was crashing down around his ears.

  "Okay," he said weakly.

  "I'll send the team back in," Kerney said. "Give them your statement." He looked at the lawyer.

  "Don't let your client change his mind, Mr. Buffett. This is a onetime offer."<
br />
  Buffett made no response.

  "By the way, Bucky, did you know that De Leon masterminded the art theft and killed Amanda Talley?"

  "That's absurd," Bucky said.

  "Did Amanda leave with De Leon after the O'Keeffe benefit?"

  Bucky's eyes widened. "They both left about the same time."

  ***

  Kerney caught a night's sleep at a Cerrillos Road budget motel. In the morning, he found the construction crew working on Fletcher's house. A laborer scrubbed away at the bloodstains in the garage. The ruined dining room carpet had been pulled up and dumped on the porch, where a workman was hanging a temporary front door. The man nodded and stepped aside to let Kerney pass. He found Fletcher on his knees cleaning out the kitchen pantry. Many of the cans, bottles, and containers had been raked by gunfire, resulting in a gummy mess. Fletcher dumped a gooey container in a wastebasket, wiped his sticky hands on his trousers, and got to his feet.

  "You came back," Kerney said.

  "Better to face what happened than hide from it," Fletcher said.

  "I'm glad you feel that way."

  "I didn't expect to find my home already under repair. Thank you for arranging it."

  "It was the least I could do."

  "You gave the contractor a sizable deposit. I want to reimburse you."

  "We can talk about that later."

  "Let me show you something," Fletcher said. He went to the kitchen counter, where the Peter Hurd lithographs, removed from their shattered frames, were laid out.

  Kerney stepped over and looked. The lithographs were heavily damaged, peppered with holes from Rasmussen's shotgun blast. They appeared unsalvageable

  "Can they be repaired?" Kerney asked.

  "I don't think so, but that's not the point," Fletcher said.

  "Once, I valued these inordinately. Art can enlarge life, but it can't replace it. I'm just happy to be alive. The loss of the lithographs pales in comparison. I must find a way to thank that young officer for saving my life."

  "I'm sure you'll think of something unique."

  "Have you gone to visit her?"

  "Not yet, but she's going to be fine."

  He scrutinized Kerney carefully.

  "You have a dangerous look about you, Kevin."

  "I'm not in a very good mood."

  "There's more to it than that," Fletcher said.

  Kerney nodded his head in the direction of the pantry.

  "I guess we each have our messes to clean up."

  "Let me write you a check and pay you back for the deposit. My insurance is going to cover everything."

  "No, Fletcher, I don't want the money. Use it, if you like, to replace one of the Hurd lithographs."

  "As you wish," Fletcher said.

  "The door to the guest quarters has been replaced. I'll expect you back after work. We'll have a nice dinner together."

  "I'd like that."

  "I need the company," Fletcher added. "I still can't stop thinking about Gilbert."

  "I can't either," Kerney said.

  ***

  The governor's receptionist announced Andy's arrival, and Vance Howell came out of the inner sanctum to escort him to Springer's office. Other than a greeting, Howell had nothing more to say. In the hallway, workers on ladders strung wires for a new closed circuit television security system. Another example of locking the barn door after the horses got out, Andy thought glumly.

  Howell left, and Andy knocked and entered to find Harper Springer at his desk conferring with his chief of staff. The man glanced at Andy, gave him a tight smile, whispered something to Springer, and retired through the side door to his office.

  New paintings had been hung on the walls, and the glass display cases on either side of Springer's desk held Indian pots and some small cowboy sculptures. Fewer pieces of lesser value had been used to redecorate the office.

  The governor rose and gestured at the couch as he came around his desk.

  "Have a seat. Chief Baca."

  Andy's antenna went up; Springer was usually much less formal with his senior staff.

  "We haven't talked in a while," Harper said as he sank into a chair and crossed his legs. "I know you've been busy."

  "That's true. Governor."

  "Finding the stolen art was good work. Real good work. But the museum people aren't happy that the Lady of Guadalupe bulto wasn't recovered."

  "I know that."

  "Any chances of getting it back?"

  "We'll do our best," Andy answered.

  Springer nodded. "I visited with your officer at the hospital. That's one brave young lady. I think she deserves a citation, don't you?"

  "It's in the works. Governor. Would you be available to present it?"

  "Set it up with my press secretary. And I want to attend Sergeant Martinez's funeral service."

  "I've given that information to your administrative assistant."

  "Good. I'm still waiting for arrests. Chief Baca. We can't let these cop killers get away."

  "I agree."

  "I want closure. Chief."

  "We'll push a little harder. Governor."

  "I know you will. Get something out to the media on it. Let them know the manhunt is continuing. Now, tell me about these charges against Bucky Watson. How solid are they?"

  "They're very substantial."

  "Do your people have their facts straight?"

  "Yes, they do."

  "He was a heavy contributor to my reelection campaign."

  Andy chose not to respond.

  "Will Watson's arrest affect anyone else?"

  "Watson has implicated your nephew and Sherman Cobb in a money laundering scheme."

  No surprise registered on Springer's face. It was clear that Vance Howell had kept the governor well informed.

  "I find that hard to believe, Chief Baca."

  "It does create an uncomfortable situation," Andy noted.

  "How are we going to handle it?" Springer asked.

  "I plan to keep working the case, Governor."

  "Let's think this through. I don't want any political fallout to occur because a member of my family may be accused of a crime."

  "The situation will get the public's attention," Andy said.

  "That's why we need a flexible strategy here. I think the investigation has to be completely separated from my administration. What if I asked the attorney general to step in?"

  "I'm not sure such an abrupt change in the investigation would be wise," Andy said.

  "I understand that. But the attorney general is a Democrat who holds an elective office completely removed from my administration. If he agreed to appoint a special independent prosecutor for the case, that would erase any doubts of political interference on my part."

  "I'd rather not see the investigation slowed down."

  "I'm sure the attorney general can act quickly," Springer said.

  Andy gave up arguing and got to his feet. Springer was telling him what was going to happen, not asking.

  "I'll give the attorney general my full cooperation."

  Springer flashed a winning smile. "That's the kind of talk I like to hear, Andy."

  "This must be hard on you. Governor."

  "It cuts deep, Andy. But we'll get through it. I've been talking to the legislative leadership about that budget expansion request you want for new equipment. If you can cut costs a little bit more, I'm sure we can get you that appropriation."

  "I'll work up some new figures."

  "Good." Springer stood, pumped Andy's hand, and showed him to the door.

  "Hold up any further action on this Watson mess until we've got the attorney general in the loop."

  On his way back to the office, Andy stewed over his meeting with Governor Springer. It made no sense, except as political face-saving bullshit. Springer wanted him to catch cop killers, yet he had just pulled the plug on the only investigation that could possibly lead to an arrest and conviction of the murderers. And when Springer pledged
his support for new money for the department, it made Andy feel like a co-conspirator in a cover-up. He didn't like the taste of it at all. Two officers had given their lives and a third had been wounded. Turning over the case to the attorney general would be a slap in the department's face. The case belonged to the department and nowhere

  else.

  He swung the car out of traffic, parked at a small diner, and went in for a cup of coffee. He had some heavy thinking to do.

  ***

  Neil Ordway had left no forwarding address with the Mountainair town clerk, and there was nothing in his police officer certification file that yielded information on his current whereabouts. Kerney phoned the agency that administered the police pension fund and got lucky; Ordway had made a request to withdraw his retirement contributions. He had asked that the check be mailed to a street address in the town of Bemalillo, just north of Albuquerque. Kerney stopped by Andy's office and found it empty. He decided not to wait for Andy to return from the governor's office before taking off. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two to round

  up Ordway.

  He paid a quick visit to Joe Valdez, who had his head buried in a stack of papers. Kerney cleared his throat and Valdez looked up. He had a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face.

  "I was going to call you in a few minutes. Chief."

  "To tell me what?"

  "Do you want the technical or the bonehead explanation?"

  "Keep it simple, Joe. I have trouble balancing my checkbook."

  "It's a round-robin scam. Bucky's companies are nothing but conduits for De Leon money. He pumps it through Tortuga, which lends cash to Matador, Magia, or some other front, and then it's funneled into projects like Rancho Caballo. Everything comes back to Tortuga nice and clean."

  "Does it all come back as cash?"

  "No way," Joe said. "Shopping malls, raw land, apartments, subdivisions, commercial and industrial developments--take your pick. De Leon has too much cash; his quandary is finding ways to convert the money that keeps pouring in."

  "How did you get to it so quickly?"

  "It's a high-tech world. Chief. Even drug lords use computers nowadays. Bucky's computer was linked to the one at Tortuga International. When our computer specialist found the link, I asked him to search the data fields in the Tortuga computer system. It's been a damn gold mine."