Andy shook his head in disbelief.
"I don't even want to think about it. How did you meet Fletcher?"
"Outrageous, isn't he? But he's sharp, talented, and a sweet guy.
When I was with the Santa Fe PD, Fletcher had a California boyfriend-one of those dumb, good-looking muscle boys. Fletcher wouldn't increase his spending allowance, so he ripped off Fletcher's Japanese fan collection. It's worth a small fortune.
"I caught up with the perp when he tried to sell the fans to an Albuquerque antique dealer. The dealer sent him away, tipped me, and I picked up the suspect when he went back to close the deal. It was an easy bust.
Fletcher has always been grateful."
"How grateful?" Andy asked with a grin.
Kerney grinned back.
"Don't try to be funny, Andy.
You know my taste in women."
Andy groaned in response.
"Yeah, the type that always seems to leave you."
Kerney thought about Karen Cox, the ADA he had worked with in Catron County.
"That's not true. They just don't seem to be interested in long-term relationships."
"Whatever. By the way, you did a damn fine job on the Gillespie case."
"Thanks. But it doesn't feel real good."
"Why do you say that?"
Kerney put the cassette tape of Nita Lassiter's confession on the dashboard.
"Listen to the tape. I think you'll find it interesting."
"I can't wait to hear it," Andy said, reaching into his shirt pocket.
"Your efforts deserve special recognition."
He laid the deputy chief shield in Kerney's hand.
"Put this beauty in your badge case."
Kerney stared dumbly at the shield for a minute.
"What the hell is this for?"
"You've been promoted. Chief," Andy said, breaking into a grin.
"I want my best man reporting directly to me on this case, with full authority to act without the bureaucracy getting in the way."
"I don't need to be a deputy chief to do this job."
"Maybe not, but I need a second-in-command I can trust to run this investigation. Most of my senior commanders were vying for my job, and they're still pissed off that they didn't get it. I can't risk the possibility of sabotage."
"Why turn over the reins to me?" Kerney said.
"Handle the case yourself. I'll work with you on it."
"I don't have the time. I've got a whole department to run and two months before the next legislative session to convince the joint budget committee to give me the money I need to upgrade equipment. I want a computerized fingerprint system, a new dispatch system, onboard laptops for every patrol car, and better firepower for the field officers."
"Making me chief deputy isn't going to win you any popularity contests," Kerney said.
"Your appointment has the governor's blessing, and that's all I care about. Harper Springer knew your parents when they served together on the New Mexico Cattle Growers Association, and he knows you by reputation.
Besides, he likes the idea of having a shit-kicking cowboy working for him. Said it was the one minority group he hadn't hired enough of in his administration."
"So who do I work for? You or the governor?"
Kerney prodded.
"For me." Andy cranked the engine and slid into a Harper Springer twang.
"But, hell, son, we all work for the people of this great state. So let's recover the goodies and catch the bad guys before the governor's opposition starts slinging mud at him." since Andy's information on the robbery was preliminary and sketchy, Kerney was up to speed in the three minutes it took to reach the Roundhouse.
"What kind of vehicle would it take to move the artwork out of the city?" Kerney asked as he opened the passenger door of the cruiser.
Andy handed him the list of the stolen items.
"Nothing big; a panel truck, van, or small rental trailer would do it."
"Any idea when the break-in occurred?" Kerney asked as he scanned the inventory.
"Not more than three or four hours ago. What do you have in mind?"
"If the stuff's not airborne it's either stashed somewhere or on the road. How about telling the district commanders to have their patrol officers do some selective traffic stops? Give them a profile of what kind of vehicle to look for. We might get lucky."
"I should have thought of that," Andy said, reaching for the microphone as he drove away.
Kerney was braced for an ID by a uniformed female officer on duty in the reception area of the governor's suite. Her black uniform with gray piping had no chevrons on the sleeves and the collar insignias were silver, which identified her as a junior patrol officer.
He showed her his badge while he read the brass nameplate over her right shirt pocket. Patrol Officer Yvonne Rasmussen stiffened and pulled in her chin. No more than five-four, about twenty-five years old, with short brown hair and light gray eyes, everything about Rasmussen's bearing told Kerney that the young woman was ex-military.
"Chief," the officer said.
In spite of himself, Kerney liked the way his new title sounded.
"How soon can you get someone to relieve you?"
"Ten minutes, sir."
Sending Yvonne Rasmussen to Fletcher's door would probably bring a chuckle from the old man the next time Kerney saw him. He handed the officer the list of stolen merchandise, and asked her to make a copy as soon as she was relieved, get photographs from the museum of all the items, and take everything to Fletcher's house. He gave her the address.
"I'll take care of it, sir," Rasmussen said as she folded the list and slipped it in her pocket.
"Can you have my vehicle picked up and brought to me?" he asked as an afterthought, fishing for his car keys.
"It's at the same address."
"Can do, sir."
"Great," Kerney said, handing over the keys.
"Thanks."
"No problem, sir."
"Who is in command of the crime scene investigation?" he asked.
"Lieutenant Marcella Pacheco, sir."
"Where is she?"
"Meeting with the governor's chief of staff."
"Have her report to me in Captain Howell's office when she's finished."
"Yes, sir."
Kerney gave Officer Rasmussen a smile and limped away, thinking his blown-out knee needed rest.
Vance Howell's office was a small room right off the reception area.
Yellow crime scene tape blocked passage down the corridor that led to the governor's suite. Kerney could hear the sound of a vacuum cleaner and the voices of the crime scene technicians as they worked the area.
He toured the crime scene before heading to Howell's office, where he found Lieutenant Pacheco waiting for him.
A blowout on the interstate just north of the Truth or Consequences exit slowed down De Leon men.
With the Border Patrol checkpoint station only a mile up the road, it was a bad place to get a flat tire. Custom agents, state cops, and Border Patrol officers were thick as flies along this stretch of highway, and Nick Palazzi flinched every time a patrol unit cruised by.
He watched Emilio and Facundo change the tire while he stood guard at the back of the van, next to the green-and-white highway sign that announced the Truth or Consequences exit. Nick had spent many nights in local motels waiting for the Border Patrol checkpoint to shut down so he could move De Leon drugs safely up the pipeline, and he knew the town had been named for an old television show from the fifties. To Palazzi's way of thinking, it was a stupid name for a town.
Emilio had been the driver, Pacundo the muscle, and Nick the trigger-man on the Santa Fe job. De Leon information and planning had been good, so nobody had gotten hurt except for the dead woman in the back of the vehicle.
Nick was nervous about the body, and he had his hand wrapped about the grip of the handgun inside his windbreaker pocket just in case a curious cop decided to stop and check them out.