Kerney told Chase about his reasons for coming to California and his early morning discovery of Spalding’s body at the ranch. He emphasized that Claudia Spalding had been in the company of a man on a remote, high country trail-riding trip when notified of her husband’s death, and finished up by summarizing the conversations he’d had with Alice Spalding and Penelope Parker. He deliberately skipped over his visit to the Spalding estate.
He put Sergeant Lowrey’s business card on the desk. “That’s the San Luis Obispo sheriff’s deputy who’s handling the inquiry,” he said. “Give her a call, Captain, and get her side of the story.”
Chase nodded. “Wait out in the bullpen, and give me a few minutes.”
Chase closed the door behind Kerney and spent a good ten minutes on the phone with Lowrey. When he reappeared he didn’t look too happy. He motioned for Kerney to enter.
Kerney’s cell phone rang as he sat.
“It’s Sergeant Pino, Chief,” Ramona said when he answered.
“What have you learned about Kim Dean?” he asked.
“He’s a divorced father of two. The ex-wife and kids reside in Colorado. He’s a pharmacist and the owner of one of those franchise pharmacies. He’s got a house in Canada de los Alamos and keeps a couple of horses. The neighbors say Claudia Spalding’s vehicle is frequently parked at his house overnight.”
“Find and talk to a friend of Claudia Spalding’s named Nina Deacon,” Kerney said. “She lives in Spalding’s area. Learn what you can from her about Dean’s relationship to Spalding.”
“Will do. Anything else, Chief?”
“Who’s working with you?”
“Russell Thorpe.”
Thorpe was a young, capable state police officer Kerney knew personally through his involvement in several major felony cases.
“Good. Check your facts carefully,” he said, hoping Ramona and Thorpe would get the hint and sit on what they’d learned for a little while.
“Will waiting thirty minutes before we pass on the information do?” Ramona asked.
“Perfect,” Kerney said, then disconnected and looked at Chase. “Well?” he asked. “What did Sergeant Lowrey have to say?”
“You’ve pissed her off, big-time,” Chase said flatly, “and frankly, I’m feeling that you’ve put me in an awkward situation. I don’t know whether to hold you for questioning or let you walk.”
“I’m not going anywhere for a while,” Kerney said. He gave Chase the name of the motel where he’d rented a room. “What did Lowrey tell you?”
Chase ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. “You know the drilclass="underline" no details or information gets released to potential suspects or targets of investigation.”
“Fair enough,” Kerney replied. “Can you talk about Alice Spalding and her search for her missing son?”
“That I can do,” Chase said with a small, derisive laugh. “There is no missing son. George Spalding was killed in a helicopter accident in Vietnam near the end of the war. He was a military policeman transporting one of the last prisoners from the stockade at Long Binh when the chopper went down. Both Spalding and the prisoner were killed in the crash.”
Kerney knew about the Long Binh Jail, located on a U.S. Army base near Bien Hoa, twenty miles north of Saigon. The troops referred to it contemptuously as the LBJ, for Lyndon Baines Johnson, the president who’d escalated the war through deceit, misinformation, and lies.
Kerney had been in-country as a lieutenant at about the same time as George Spalding, serving as a member of the last U.S. Army combat unit in Nam, the Second Battalion, Twenty-first Infantry.
“You’ve got DOD verification of George Spalding’s death?” he asked.
“Up the wazoo,” Chase replied.
“So why is Alice Spalding convinced her son is still alive?”
“Long before the Spaldings ever moved to Santa Barbara, she saw a wire service photograph in a newspaper of some people with injuries being treated at a traffic pile-up on the interstate. One of the victims in the photo looked like her son, and I grant you he did. But a check with the California Highway Patrol and the EMT who treated the man confirmed that it wasn’t George Spalding. As I understand it, that started the whole thing.”
“How did Clifford Spalding handle it?” Kerney asked.
“It was his cross to bear,” Chase said. “He asked me to contact him every time Alice called to report another sighting. She sees George everywhere, on television, in the newspapers, walking down the street, at shopping malls in Timbuktu. Most of the time the subject doesn’t even resemble George. I’ve been dealing with her obsession about her son for the past fifteen years.”
Kerney nodded sympathetically. “Why is she so obsessed?”
Chase shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“How do you handle her?” Kerney asked.
“In the past, she used to call me herself. But now it’s mostly her personal assistant who phones in to report a new sighting. I take down the information, tell her we’ll look into it, and then let Mr. Spalding know about it. He’d take it from there. He had a way of calming her down, at least for a while. Usually it would be a month, maybe two, before I heard from her or her assistant again.”
“Didn’t Spalding at one time hire a private investigator at Alice’s urging?” Kerney asked.
“Yeah, Lou Ferry,” Chase said. “He retired from the department about twenty years ago. I heard he got sick and had to shut down his business. Spalding used Ferry once or twice right after he moved here to placate Alice when she felt like we weren’t doing enough.”
“What about Debbie Calderwood?”
Chase held out his hands in a gesture of supplication. “Oh yeah, the girlfriend from Albuquerque. Wouldn’t it be great if she just dropped out of the sky into our laps? According to an Albuquerque PD report from back in the early seventies, she quit college and left town soon after George died. Nobody knows where she went or where she is. She’s just another person out there somewhere in the great unknown who doesn’t want to be found.”
“Not missing?”
“Who knows?” Chase replied. “She was never entered into the national missing persons data bank. For the life of me, I don’t see how any of this has any bearing on Spalding’s death or your situation.”
“When you don’t have a suspect, you focus on the victim,” Kerney said.
“That would be a smart thing to do,” Chase said, “especially if you did kill Spalding. It makes everybody think you’re just trying to clear yourself, protect your good name, and keep your 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?”