job as Santa Fe police chief.”
“You have a cunning mind, Captain.”
Chase stretched, put his hands behind his head, and gave Kerney a friendly smile. “Tell me about this Dean guy you were talking about on the phone.”
“I already have,” Kerney said.
“Yeah, but it sounded like you got some fresh information.”
“It hasn’t been confirmed yet.”
“Is Dean someone you know?” Chase asked. “A friend perhaps?”
“I don’t know him at all,” Kerney said.
“Am I right to assume the phone call you got came from someone in your department who is keeping you advised?”
“My department is cooperating with Sergeant Lowrey’s investigation.”
“And keeping you advised,” Chase said.
Kerney decided it was time to end the game. “Of course. But I’m sure you know from your little talk with Sergeant Lowrey that she has asked the New Mexico State Police to verify any information my department passes on. It would seem she doesn’t trust my people.”
“Given the circumstances, wouldn’t you be cautious and skeptical?”
Kerney stayed silent.
“Tell me about this Santa Fe neighbor of Mrs. Spalding’s.”
“For now, there’s nothing to tell.”
“Holding out on Lowrey isn’t going to help your cause,” Chase said.
“I’m holding out on you, not Lowrey,” Kerney said, getting to his feet. “I see no reason to use you as an intermediary in this matter. It’s not your case or your jurisdiction. You know where I’m staying for the night. I’m sure Sergeant Lowrey will want to know how to contact me. Are we done here?”
Chase’s lips got tight and thin again. “Yeah, we’re done.”
“Good night, Captain.”
“See you around, Chief,” Chase replied.
In the rental car, Kerney drove in the opposite direction from the motel until he found a gas station, where he looked up Louis Ferry in a phone book and got an address.
He figured that Lowrey, by now fully briefed by Captain Chase, was on the road to Santa Barbara, prepared to ream him out once she arrived for meddling in her case. He decided it would be best not to meet with her until Ramona Pino and Russell Thorpe finished up with Nina Deacon and hopefully had enough information to put the spotlight on Kim Dean as a possible murder suspect or accomplice-if indeed a homicide had been committed.
He’d never completely discounted the possibility of murder, or disagreed when Lowrey took the investigation to the next level to see if it proved out. That wasn’t the issue. Kerney simply didn’t like the idea of Lowrey polishing her shield by tarnishing his reputation.
With the station attendant’s directions to Ferry’s address in mind, Kerney started off, aware that he might be on a wild-goose chase. Still, the story of Alice Spalding’s search for a son who’d been dead for thirty years continued to intrigue him. He wanted to learn more about it.
Lou Ferry lived in a trailer park on Punta Gorda Street, a dead-end lane cut off by the freeway. The rumble of traffic rose and fell as the cars and trucks rolled by.
Ferry’s residence was the first space in two long rows of small and medium-size camper-trailers that stretched down a paved drive filled with parked jalopies and older-model cars. The only modular home along the lane, it was enclosed by a five-foot-high wooden fence and gate.
Kerney knocked at the front door and a sour-looking, middle-aged Mexican woman greeted him.
“I’m looking for Lou Ferry,” he said.
“He don’t know you,” the woman replied.
“I’m a police officer,” Kerney said, displaying his shield.
“Just a minute,” the woman replied, closing the door.
Soon she was back, gesturing for Kerney to enter. “He’s in the bedroom,” she said, pointing to a passageway before walking away.
The sound of clattering dishes from the kitchen followed Kerney down the short hallway. In the back room, he found Ferry sitting up in bed watching television.
“Mr. Ferry?”
“Yeah,” Ferry
“You have a cunning mind, Captain.”
Chase stretched, put his hands behind his head, and gave Kerney a friendly smile. “Tell me about this Dean guy you were talking about on the phone.”
“I already have,” Kerney said.
“Yeah, but it sounded like you got some fresh information.”
“It hasn’t been confirmed yet.”
“Is Dean someone you know?” Chase asked. “A friend perhaps?”
“I don’t know him at all,” Kerney said.
“Am I right to assume the phone call you got came from someone in your department who is keeping you advised?”
“My department is cooperating with Sergeant Lowrey’s investigation.”
“And keeping you advised,” Chase said.
Kerney decided it was time to end the game. “Of course. But I’m sure you know from your little talk with Sergeant Lowrey that she has asked the New Mexico State Police to verify any information my department passes on. It would seem she doesn’t trust my people.”
“Given the circumstances, wouldn’t you be cautious and skeptical?”
Kerney stayed silent.
“Tell me about this Santa Fe neighbor of Mrs. Spalding’s.”
“For now, there’s nothing to tell.”
“Holding out on Lowrey isn’t going to help your cause,” Chase said.
“I’m holding out on you, not Lowrey,” Kerney said, getting to his feet. “I see no reason to use you as an intermediary in this matter. It’s not your case or your jurisdiction. You know where I’m staying for the night. I’m sure Sergeant Lowrey will want to know how to contact me. Are we done here?”
Chase’s lips got tight and thin again. “Yeah, we’re done.”
“Good night, Captain.”
“See you around, Chief,” Chase replied.
In the rental car, Kerney drove in the opposite direction from the motel until he found a gas station, where he looked up Louis Ferry in a phone book and got an address.
He figured that Lowrey, by now fully briefed by Captain Chase, was on the road to Santa Barbara, prepared to ream him out once she arrived for meddling in her case. He decided it would be best not to meet with her until Ramona Pino and Russell Thorpe finished up with Nina Deacon and hopefully had enough information to put the spotlight on Kim Dean as a possible murder suspect or accomplice-if indeed a homicide had been committed.
He’d never completely discounted the possibility of murder, or disagreed when Lowrey took the investigation to the next level to see if it proved out. That wasn’t the issue. Kerney simply didn’t like the idea of Lowrey polishing her shield by tarnishing his reputation.
With the station attendant’s directions to Ferry’s address in mind, Kerney started off, aware that he might be on a wild-goose chase. Still, the story of Alice Spalding’s search for a son who’d been dead for thirty years continued to intrigue him. He wanted to learn more about it.
Lou Ferry lived in a trailer park on Punta Gorda Street, a dead-end lane cut off by the freeway. The rumble of traffic rose and fell as the cars and trucks rolled by.
Ferry’s residence was the first space in two long rows of small and medium-size camper-trailers that stretched down a paved drive filled with parked jalopies and older-model cars. The only modular home along the lane, it was enclosed by a five-foot-high wooden fence and gate.
Kerney knocked at the front door and a sour-looking, middle-aged Mexican woman greeted him.
“I’m looking for Lou Ferry,” he said.
“He don’t know you,” the woman replied.
“I’m a police officer,” Kerney said, displaying his shield.
“Just a minute,” the woman replied, closing the door.
Soon she was back, gesturing for Kerney to enter. “He’s in the bedroom,” she said, pointing to a passageway before walking away.
The sound of clattering dishes from the kitchen followed Kerney down the short hallway. In the back room, he found Ferry sitting up in bed watching television.
“Mr. Ferry?”
“Yeah,” Ferry
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