"Does that include underground parking and use of the private elevator in the Roundhouse?" Kerney asked.
"According to the night janitors, it does. Springer sometimes shows up late at night, with different women in tow. It has happened three or four times."
"Are any of them blondes?"
"I don't know," Martinez replied.
"Is he currently dating anybody on the governor's staff?"
"If I can believe what I've been told, he's not."
"What else have you learned about Springer?"
"He runs with a fast crowd of thirty-something yuppies.
He drinks at the best watering holes, gets invited to the most prestigious gallery openings, has opening night tickets to the opera, dates a lot of different women-that sort of thing. He lives high off the hog, but supposedly can afford it."
"Have you verified his financial status?"
"Not yet," Gilbert replied.
"One more thing. Chief.
Some of the people Springer hangs with are known recreational drug users. Mostly cocaine, hashish, and marijuana."
"Is Springer a user?"
"Not as far as I know."
"When is the last time Roger Springer was seen at the Roundhouse with a woman?" Kerney asked.
"I don't know."
"You've read the lab report on findings from the crime scene?"
"I have," Gilbert answered.
"Maybe we should find out if Springer's been dating any blondes."
Martinez nodded.
"Meet with Springer personally. Sergeant. Tell him we have reason to believe that he's been using the governor's office for late-night romantic rendezvous.
Reassure him that his conversation with you is strictly off the record, at this point. Let's see where it takes us."
"This could get me reamed. Chief."
"That's not going to happen," Kerney replied.
"If you catch any flak from Springer, bail out and dump it back in my lap. I'll take me heat. If he's sharp, he'll put up a smoke screen to protect his uncle, but you still might learn something."
Martinez studied Kerney, who looked him dead in the eye without flinching or fidgeting. Cops were no better than anybody else when it came to telegraphing lies, and Kerney was playing it straight with him.
That was good enough for Gilbert.
"You've got a deal. Chief."
"One more thing. Sergeant," Kerney said.
"I don't think the governor personally selected all the artwork for his office. From what I saw at his ranch, his taste doesn't include Georgia O'Keeffe. Her works were the most valuable of the lot. Worth almost half of the total haul. Send somebody to the fine arts museum in the morning. I want to know who put the collection together and when it was installed. Talk to that person."
"What are we looking for here. Chief?"
"Clues, Sergeant. I've been told that occasionally curators dedde to appropriate art for themselves. If that's the case, wouldn't it be smart to move the works you wanted to steal to a less secure setting before you swiped them?"
"I'll get on it." carlos sat in the Range Rover across the street and watched a tow truck back up to the van parked at the side of the Wal-Mart in Silver City.
Two city police units were stationed in the parking lot to keep curious people away, and a cop in civilian clothes stood next to the van directing the tow truck. His unmarked police car idled nearby.
"We got here too late," Facundo said indifferently.
Carlos shot him a dirty look, but in the darkness Pacundo missed it.
"Do you want to leave?" Pacundo asked.
"Not yet," Carlos answered. De Leon had told him to retrieve the van, which now appeared impossible. What would De Leon want him to do?
"We'll wait," Carlos added.
The van couldn't be traced back to De Leon of that Carlos was certain.
But the patron was a man of exacting standards, who viewed an inability to carry out orders as negligence, regardless of the circumstances.
Carlos stopped grappling with the problem. It was too confusing. His best bet was to call De Leon and ask for instructions. But he would wait until he knew exactly where the police were taking the vehicle before disturbing the patron.
The tow truck pulled away with the van and Carlos nudged Facundo.
"Stay at a safe distance behind the police car," he ordered.
Facundo waited until the tow truck was a block away before he pulled onto the street. The flashing blue lights on the truck made it easy to follow. At the police station. the truck turned and disappeared behind the back of the building.
Facundo continued on to the next intersection before doubling back and coasting to a stop at the curb.
"Wait here," Carlos said as he got out of the vehicle.
He walked behind an adjacent building and stood in the shadows. The tow truck operator was winching down the van at the back of a parking area inside a vehicle impound lot. No one eke was in sight. Three empty police cars, including the one that had followed the truck to the station, were parked near the rear entrance.
Carlos took the cellular phone from his jacket pocket, flipped it open, and dialed De Leon private Santa Pc number. As soon as De Leon came on the line, he explained the situation.
"You did well to call me," De Leon said when Carlos finished.
"Is there any way you can safely get to the vehicle without being seen?"
"Yes, patron. It is not under guard. But I believe the police will search it soon."
"Can you drive it away?"
"No, patron. It is parked in an impound lot behind a locked gate."
"Burn the van," De Leon instructed.
"Do not allow yourself to get caught. Do not allow the police to see the Range Rover."
"Yes, patron."
Carlos rang off and studied the layout. He would climb the impound fence at the rear of the lot, and use darkness for concealment. He went back to the Range Rover, took the road atlas away from Pacundo, and tore out a handful of pages.
"Drive away when I leave," Carlos ordered.
"Do not come back here. I will meet you at the all-night convenience store on the main street in one hour. We passed it on our way here."
"I know where it is," Facundo answered, as he slipped the vehicle into gear and pulled away.
Carlos waited until Pacundo was out of sight before returning to the back of the building next to the station.
The tow truck was gone and no one was in sight.
Staying in the shadows as much as possible, he made his way quickly to the rear of the impound lot, climbed the fence, and moved in a crouch to the van.
He reached under the fender near the fuel tank, found the flexible hose to the tank, and slashed it with a knife, opening a wide, deep cut. He stuffed some twisted pages from the atlas down into the tank until they were saturated with gas. He pulled them out and repeated the process until he had enough to make a fuse that ran from the tank to the ground.
Maybe he had three or four seconds to get away once he lit the paper.
He judged the distance to the back fence. He could just reach it before the van blew up.
Somebody might catch a glimpse of him, but he would be too far away to be identified.
He lit the fuse and started running at full tilt. The van exploded into flames and heat seared the back of his neck. He was safely over the fence and in deep shadows when the first cop burst out of the back door of the police station, carrying a fire extinguisher.
Carlos turned down an empty side street and trotted away.
Kerney was two blocks away from Fletcher's house and some much needed sack tame when he got the news that the van used in the shooting of Officer Rogoff had been found in Silver City. He hit the siren and ran Code Three back to headquarters. Within minutes of his arrival the Silver City PD dispatcher called to report that the van had been torched and heavily damaged by persons unknown.