He knew better than to try to hurry along the two men. An American, Nick had spent four years rotting in a Mexican prison and the past two years working for De Leon Both experiences had only hardened his prejudice against Mexicans, especially the mixed bloods, who were about one baby step out of the fucking Stone Age.
He stamped his feet against the cold. An Arctic low pressure system had entered the state, and the morning was dismal under a dreary sky.
Creosote bushes sprinkled over the desert sand hills fluttered in a stiff breeze that swirled and lifted small dust plumes into the sky.
Just as Emilio tightened the last lug nut on the spare, a state police cruiser rolled into view at the top of the hill.
Nick told Facundo and Emilio to stay put as he watched the black-and-white patrol car coast to a stop ten feet behind the van. He waved with his free hand and smiled at the officer, who waved back, keyed the handset to his radio, and started talking. Nick figured the cop was calling in the license number, which was cool since the van wasn't stolen and had valid Texas plates.
Nick started to move toward the cop car, but the officer motioned him to stop. He shrugged and complied, watching as the pig waited for a response to his radio inquiry on the van. Finally, the cop opened the driver's door and stood behind it for cover. Not a friendly sign, Nick thought as his finger found the trigger of the weapon concealed in his windbreaker.
"Just a flat, Officer," Nick called out in a friendly voice.
"We've got it fixed and we're ready to roll."
Officer Jerry Rogoff kept all three men in view.
There were no wants or warrants on the vehicle.
"Heading home?" Rogoff asked.
"Trying to," Nick replied with a smile.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary to Rogoff, but the special bulletin on the Santa Pc art theft made a closer inspection necessary. He nodded, stepped around the open cruiser door, and walked toward the three men. The Anglo man stood near the rear door to the van, while the two Hispanics waited quietly at the rear left fender, a tire and jack at their feet.
"Mind opening the rear door?" Rogoff asked the Anglo man, stopping six paces away, out of striking distance.
Nick smiled.
"Not at all." He pulled on the latch and swung the door up.
As the cop switched his gaze to the van. Nick shot him twice through the pocket of his windbreaker, the rounds punching into Rogoff's bulletproof vest.
Slammed back by the impact, Rogoff pulled at his sidearm.
Nick put a bullet in the cop's forehead before he could free the weapon. pa lazzi studied the road map while Emilio pushed the van to its maximum down the highway. Facundo was in the backseat clutching an Mi6 loaded with a thirty round banana clip. They had to get off the highway before a wolf pack of cops swarmed all over them. The best possible plan was to cut through the old mining towns of Hillsboro and Kingston, climb the mountain road through the Black Range, and swing down to Silver City. There they could lose the van, steal a car, and make a straight run to the border. After that, if they punched it hard, they could be in Mexico in an hour.
The problem was the dead woman. They had to lose the body before switching vehicles. Emory Pass at the top of the mountain range west of Kingston looked like a good place to stop. A ten-minute hike off the road should do it. Nick thought. With any luck, it could be years before the remains were found, if ever.
"Take the next exit," Nick ordered Emilio.
At the state police headquarters on the old Albuquerque Highway, Kerney turned Andy's conference room into a temporary office. The room had exposed brick walls, a large wall-mounted chalkboard, and three long tables pushed together to form a U. Windows provided a view of the parking lot, the highway, and a new car dealership across the road.
The word of his promotion had spread quickly throughout the building, and the range of staff reaction ran from polite congratulations to studied indifference. Kerney expected as much; cop shops were paramilitary societies, and any promotion outside of the traditional practice of rank and seniority always sent shock waves through the system.
Andy had gone back to the Roundhouse to meet with a legislative finance committee on his proposed budget, so Kerney was on his own. He selected several agents to assist him, met with the criminal investigations commander, and got busy pulling together a team. The report of Officer Rogoff's murder came in as he completed making initial assignments. He took two agents off the theft case and sent them down to T or C to take charge of the homicide investigation, and ordered field commanders in the southern part of the state to swarm their districts with patrols in an attempt to locate the vehicle and suspects.
Rogoff's murder put everyone in a foul, tight-lipped mood. By the end of the morning, all that could be done at the command level was under way. Kerney tapped more agents for field assignments to supplement the team. Almost every criminal investigator on duty was working the case one way or another.
He pushed the paperwork to one side and walked stiffly to the window.
Bone tired, he stared at the traffic on the highway, trying to clean out the cobwebs in his head. As he turned back, Andy came into the conference room through his office door, dumped his briefcase on the table, and sank into a chair. Kerney joined him at the table.
"Where do things stand?" Andy asked.
"We're working from a list of all the people with access to the underground garage at the state capitol," Kerney replied.
"It includes everybody on the governor's staff, the lieutenant governor and his staff, cabinet officers, legislators, and some of the state employees who work in the building."
"I hope you told our people to be diplomatic."
"Of course," Kerney replied.
"We're running fresh background checks on everybody, looking for shady relationships, money problems, or indiscretions that might be suspect.
I've got the two night janitors in interrogation, but neither of them seems to know a damn thing."
"Has anybody with access to the garage or private elevator turned up missing?" Andy inquired.
"No such luck," Kerney answered.
"What's the status on the Rogoff shooting?"
"No breaks yet. We've got a license number and description of the vehicle. Every law enforcement agency in southern New Mexico is looking for the van.
The one bit of good news is that Rogoff had his video camera on. We've got the shooting on tape, with good pictures of the killer and his cohorts. A copy of the video has been sent to the FBI to see if they can make a match." Kerney paused.
"What else?"
"The killer opened the rear gate of the van before he shot Rogoff.
There was no artwork inside, but something wrapped in a sheet was behind the backseat. Our lab people think it might have been a body.
They're analyzing the videotape now."
"Do you think the shooting and the robbery are connected?"
"That's the way I read it."
Andy nodded in agreement, stood up, and reached for his briefcase.
"How are the budget hearings going?" Kerney asked.
"I'm due back tomorrow morning. The committee wants me to cut ten percent from my request for new money for equipment."
"Will that ding the department?"
"Not really," Andy said, walking toward his office.
"I padded the budget by twenty percent, figuring I'd have to take a cut somewhere down the line." He stopped at the door.
"Catch Rogoff's killer, Kerney."
"That's the plan."
During the remainder of the day, Kerney kept in touch with the field investigators as they worked their lists and conducted initial interviews. He didn't expect anything interesting to pop up at the information gathering stage, and nothing surfaced. Likewise, the background checks were raising no red flags.