“You did the right thing,” Kerney said, responding to the anxiety in Parker ’s voice.
“Oh, good. I was worried that perhaps I had caused you some problems.”
“Not at all,” Kerney said. “Thanks.”
He disconnected before Parker had a chance to get chatty, and the phone rang almost immediately.
“I’ve been trying to ring you,” Ellie Lowrey said.
Kerney chuckled. “Ring me? What a terribly British thing to say.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes I also like to say lorry instead of truck, and knickers instead of underpants.”
“How revealing. What’s up, Sergeant?”
“Can you meet me for coffee?” Ellie asked.
“Tell me where,” Kerney answered.
The diner was, of course, the kind favored by penny-pinching cops, who were always on the lookout for a decent meal and a good cup of coffee at a reasonable price. Kerney sat with Lowrey in a booth and read the prenuptial legal amendment that gave Claudia Spalding the right to seek sexual fulfillment outside her marriage without penalty.
“My, my,” he said as he returned the document to Lowrey.
“It’s valid,” Ellie grumped, “and moreover, the attorney I met with said Claudia Spalding is due to get one-third of her husband’s estate after probate; Alice Spalding, by the terms of her divorce settlement, gets a third; and the rest goes into a trust foundation that Spalding established to do good works.”
Lowrey motioned at the waitress for a coffee refill. “I confirmed Spalding’s operation with the doctor who removed his prostate. He told me it is not uncommon after surgery for men, especially the elderly ones, to become unable to perform in bed.”
“Are you taking Claudia Spalding off your suspect list based on what you’ve learned?” Kerney asked.
Lowrey paused for the waitress to fill her cup and move away before giving Kerney a sour look. “Not necessarily, but it weakens the circumstantial evidence, which is further undermined by the fact that Kim Dean did not fill the prescription for Spalding in Santa Fe. It was handled by a different pharmacy.”
“That’s not what we wanted to hear,” Kerney said. “What about the neighbor’s assertion that Claudia was unhappy in her marriage?”
“Mrs. Spalding said she lied to Deacon and Dean so as not to violate the confidentiality clause in the agreement. But there is some good news. I asked the lab to test first for the presence and levels of thyroid medication in the blood sample that was drawn during the autopsy. The results came back way below what they should have been, given the daily dosage Spalding was supposed to be taking.”
“Would that have killed him?” Kerney asked.
“Over time, quite possibly, according to our pathologist. Too little thyroid hormone would cause a slowing of the heart rate and force the endocrine system to overcompensate. So while the heart struggles to pump blood, the patient could simultaneously have symptoms such as blurry vision, heat intolerance, restlessness, digestive disorders, and the like.”
“Some of which Spalding had been complaining about,” Kerney said.
Ellie nodded. “Exactly. Given Spalding’s already damaged heart muscles, our doc suggests he could have easily gone into cardiac arrhythmia and thrown a clot that blew his pump.”
“What about the pill you found?” Kerney asked.
“It’s under the microscope,” Ellie said, crossing her fingers. “Here’s hoping we find something. But even if the lab does confirm it was altered or duplicated to look like the real thing, I doubt I can get a search warrant approved.”
“What if Dean was acting on his own and somehow managed to switch Spalding’s medication?” Kerney asked.
“Give me the evidence to nail that idea down,” Ellie said, “and I’ll get a warrant signed today.”
Kerney shrugged. “It’s speculation, but worth looking into, nonetheless. Let’s say Dean bought into Claudia’s fairy tale about how unhappy she was with her hubby, and that Dean truly didn’t know about the confidential agreement. Maybe he decided, without Claudia’s knowledge, to set her free from her burden.”
“So he could claim her as his own,” Ellie added. “Good thinking, Chief. Now, tell me how we get from your theory to hard facts.”
Kerney took the check from the waitress and paid the bill. “I’ll have my peelers look into it.”
“Your what?” Lowrey asked with a grin.
“Peelers,” Kerney said, grinning back, as he slid out of the booth. “It’s an Irish slang word for cops.”
Ten blocks from the diner, a city police cruiser with headlights flashing came up behind Kerney’s car. He pulled off the road and the cop car followed, slowing to a stop when he braked and killed the engine. With his eye on the rearview mirror, Kerney watched as the officer called dispatch by radio, trying to figure out exactly what traffic ordinance he’d violated. He rolled down the window as the officer approached, his driver’s license and badge case in hand.
The cop took the license, glanced at it, handed it back, and looked at the open badge case Kerney held out the window.
“Captain Chase would like to see you in his office, Chief Kerney,” the officer said politely. “If you’ll follow me, please, sir.”
“Certainly,” Kerney said, wondering what he might have done to draw Chase away from his all-day meeting and require an escort to headquarters.
At his office, Chase greeted Kerney with a big smile and a hearty handshake.
“Sergeant Lowrey tells me you’re off the hook as a possible suspect,” he said.
“The truth is a persuasive argument for innocence,” Kerney replied.
“That’s for sure,” Chase said, settling into his chair. “Jude Forester said you came by and looked over the Spalding materials.”
“I did,” Kerney said as he sat across from Chase.
“Well, he didn’t show you everything,” Chase said, sliding a slim file folder across the desk. “That’s my file I keep here in the office. Have a look.”
Kerney scanned the contents. It contained Chase’s brief handwritten notes of conversations and contacts he’d had with Clifford and Alice Spalding over the years.
“There’s not much here,” Kerney said.
Chase laughed as he took the folder back. “What did you expect?”
“I was hoping there would be a copy of that newspaper article and photograph about the interstate traffic accident that originally caught Alice Spalding’s attention,” Kerney said. “It wasn’t in Detective Forester ’s file, nor were the statements of the cop and the EMT on the scene who confirmed that the man in the photograph wasn’t George Spalding.”
“It’s not in Forester ’s case material?”
“I didn’t see it,” Kerney replied.
Chase shook his head apologetically, but his expression was wary. “I haven’t looked at that file in years, but it should be in there. Maybe it’s just misplaced.”
“Probably,” Kerney said with an easy smile. “I guess it really doesn’t matter, since Spalding, his ex-wife, and their dead son are no longer of any concern to me.”
“Lucky you,” Chase said with a laugh. “Did you get a chance to talk to Lou Ferry?”
“Yes, last night,” Kerney answered. “But he was in too much pain to tell me much, and now it doesn’t matter.”
“He died early this morning,” Chase said.
“Good for him,” Kerney said. “That’s what he said he wanted to do. Hopefully, he went out easy.”
“In his sleep,” Chase replied with a nod.
“The best way to go.” Kerney slapped his hands on his legs and stood. “Thanks, Captain, for your courtesy and understanding,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound as disingenuous as it felt.
“My pleasure, Chief.” Chase rose, walked around his desk, and put a hand on Kerney’s shoulder. “Call me the next time you’re in Santa Barbara, and I’ll stand you to a drink or two.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
With the
afternoon sun in his face, Kerney drove out of the police parking lot. At the very least, it had been an interesting two days, nicely topped off by Chase’s sly gambit to probe Kerney’s intentions and do some subtle grilling about what he’d learned from Lou Ferry.
Kerney decided to drive to the beach later on and catch another sunset. He also decided to start a background check on the Spaldings—all three of them—and Debbie Calderwood when he got home to Santa Fe.
But first, he needed to find an electronics store, buy a tape recorder, and dictate everything he’d learned about the Spaldings, Debbie Calderwood, and Captain Dick Chase while it was still fresh in his mind.
Chapter 5
The next morning, Kerney’s flight took him over the oak woodlands and chaparral-covered hill-sides east of Santa Barbara, the evergreen coastal mountain forests, and the glittering low California desert. He changed planes in Phoenix and from his window seat looked down on the high mountains and rolling grasslands of the remote Gila Wilderness, which gave way to mesquite-covered desert scrubland cut by wide, sandy arroyos. It felt good to be going home.
After landing, Kerney went straight to his office. Within minutes, Helen Muiz, his administrative assistant, swooped in bearing paperwork. She immediately asked about his California misadventure, currently the hottest back-channel gossip topic in the department.
In her late fifties, Helen had worked for the PD for over thirty-six years, longer than any other employee, civilian or commissioned. Stylish, witty, and a grandmother twice over, among her many duties Helen served as the lightning rod for rumors, hearsay, and prattle that circulated throughout the department, all of which came to her sooner rather than later. She dispensed with it quickly, separating fact from fiction and squelching the falsehoods.
In private, Helen dealt with Kerney as an equal, which he didn’t mind at all.
“Well, are you having an affair with a woman currently under suspicion for the murder of her husband?” Helen asked from the comfort of the chair at the side of Kerney’s desk.
Kerney tried hard to act put-upon by the accusation. Instead, he broke into a smile and laughed. “Not guilty.”
“Does your lovely wife know about this?” Helen asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“Not yet,” Kerney said.
“I shouldn’t wait too long to tell her, if I were you. Some evil person might delight in putting a nasty spin on what happened in California, and feed Sara some misinformation.”
“Who would do something like that?” Kerney asked.
“Not everyone in this department loves you as much as I do, Kevin,” Helen said with a devilish wink.
“Name these malcontents,” Kerney jokingly demanded.
Helen laughed. “And destroy my network of informants? Never.”
She handed him a number of letters on department stationery, each neatly paper clipped with file copies and addressed envelopes. “Please sign these so they can go out today.”
“Perhaps I should read them first,” Kerney said.
Helen rose to her feet. “Good idea. Do you have anything for me?”
Kerney gave her the cassette tape of his recorded notes on the Spalding affair. “Have it transcribed and ask Sergeant Pino to come see me in ten minutes.”
“As you wish,” Helen said from the doorway.
“Did you buy any horses, or were you too busy professing your innocence to the police?”
“I got four good ones,” Kerney said.
Kerney’s open office door signaled that all were free to enter without knocking. Sergeant Ramona Pino stepped inside to find Kerney reviewing and signing letters. He smiled at her and raised an index finger to signal he needed a minute to finish up.
She took a seat at the small conference table that butted against Kerney’s desk, opened her notepad, and quickly reviewed her activity log on the Spalding case to make sure she was totally up to speed for her briefing report.
Ramona had stumbled badly on a major homicide case late last summer, but that hadn’t kept the chief from approving her promotion to sergeant. Since earning the new shield, Ramona had returned Kerney’s vote of confidence by doing her best possible work.
Kerney signed the letter, tossed it in the out basket, and sat back in his swivel chair. “So, where are we?”
“According to the pharmacist here in town who filled Clifford Spalding’s prescription, his wife called to say that the pharmacy in Santa Barbara was faxing the refill information to him, and she would pick it up when it was ready, which she did. She paid by credit card. Just as a matter of interest, I queried the credit card company and got a copy of her charges for that monthly billing cycle. On that same day, twenty minutes later, she charged a bottle of expensive perfume at Kim Dean’s pharmacy.”
Kerney’s eyes glinted with pleasure at the news. He interlocked his fingers, and tapped his thumbs together. “Go on.”
“A clerk who works at the pharmacy and knows Mrs. Spalding as a customer said Dean waited on her personally. The clerk found that odd, because Dean never bothers with customers who come in to buy sundries. She thinks, but isn’t sure, that Dean left Spalding at the perfume counter for a few minutes to do something in the back before he rang up the sale.”
“Did Sergeant Lowrey inform you about the pill found in Spalding’s possessions?” Kerney asked.
“She did,” Ramona said. “Not only is it a fake, but the analysis of the active ingredient in it perfectly matches the medication level in the blood sample that was drawn during the autopsy.”
“Which suggests Dean and Claudia Spalding switched the pills,” Kerney said.
“Yes, it does,” Ramona said. “If Spalding had lived one more day the evidence would have been gone, Chief. According to the Santa Barbara pharmacist Sergeant Lowrey spoke with, Spalding was down to his last pill when he died.”
“Was Dean present when you spoke to the clerk?” Kerney asked.
“No,” Ramona said. “I didn’t talk to her at the pharmacy. I hung around until she went next door to a deli for lunch and spoke to her there.”
“Will she keep her lip buttoned about your inquiry?”
Ramona nodded. “Dean’s a pushy, demanding boss who contradicts himself and then lays the blame on the clerk. She puts up with it because she’s older, divorced, timid, and needs the job. She promised not to say a word.”
“What else have you got?”
Ramona flipped back to a page in her notebook. “I checked with both Dean’s and Spalding’s cellular telephone providers. There has been a flurry of calls between the two, starting almost immediately after Sergeant Lowrey talked with Claudia Spalding in Montecito.”
“How many?” Kerney asked.
“Five yesterday and two this morning. Mrs. Spalding made first contact.”
“Do you have anything that can connect Dean to the fabrication of the pill?” Kerney asked.
“We know the inert ingredients are different, the weight is slightly off, and the shape isn’t uniform based on the manufacturer ’s specs,” Ramona replied. “So, I took a cue from your research into how he might have done it, and called a pharmacist here in town who said that duplicating the exact size and shape of the original pill wouldn’t be easy, but it could be done. He suggested we look for all the compounds Dean used.”
“Did the pharmacist have any idea about how Dean might have shaped and sized the pills?” Kerney asked.
“He said that except for the grooves on either size of the pill, it’s oval in shape, which is very common. Pharmacists use that kind of pill all the time, in many different sizes. He said if he were to do it, he’d make each pill as close in size to the original oval as possible, match the color, and then hand-cut the grooves to make them look right. The tedious part would be the final shaping.”
“How does all of this help us?” Kerney asked
“The analyzed pill shows small striations in the grooves. We’ve got tool marks, Chief.”
Kerney grinned. “Coordinate wi
th Sergeant Lowrey and get an affidavit done for a search warrant at Dean’s home and business,” he said. “We want to look for the tools he might have used and the raw ingredients identified by the lab findings.”
“Will do,” Ramona said.
“Then take everything we have that supports motive, opportunity, and means directly to the district attorney and ask if he’ll approve arrest warrants for Dean and Spalding based on circumstantial evidence. If he agrees that we have probable cause, synchronize the busts with Sergeant Lowrey so both of them are picked up simultaneously.”
“Shouldn’t we take a statement from Dean first?” Ramona asked.
“Normally, I’d say yes,” Kerney said. “But according to Dean’s clerk at the pharmacy, he’s a bully. If we stuff the facts we have down his throat, maybe he’ll crack.”
“I’ll make the collar at his store,” Ramona said, “and tell him Claudia is talking. That should shake him up.”
“Give the newspaper a heads-up and ask them to have a reporter and photographer standing by outside. Take two uniforms with you and have them take their time putting him into a unit.”
“Make it a perp walk,” Ramona said.
“You’ve got it,” Kerney said. “Good work, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ramona said as she closed her notebook and rose. She hurried out of the office before the pleasure she felt at the chief’s compliment turned into a noticeable blush.
District Attorney Sid Larranaga personally scrutinized carefully any arrest and search warrant affidavits prepared and submitted to his office by Sergeant Pino. He held her partially responsible for mistakes in a homicide case last year that resulted in the deaths of two innocent, mentally ill individuals, one in a totally uncalled-for SWAT gun battle, the other by suicide.
Ignoring Pino, who sat quietly in front of his oak desk, Larranaga read through the affidavits a second time, jotting notes as he went. Because of the complexity of the facts, the suppositions, and jurisdictional issues, he wanted to be absolutely clear that probable cause existed.
Slow Kill Page 9
