Ferry’s head sank against the pillow and his eyes closed. The fatigue in his face ran deep into the wrinkles of his cheeks and cut into the furrows of his forehead. A vein throbbed in his skinny neck.
“Did you keep copies of your reports?” Kerney asked.
“No copies,” Ferry said in a weak voice. “That was part of the deal.”
“You need to sleep,” Kerney said as he stood.
Ferry’s eyes fluttered open and he winced in pain. “Yeah, maybe I’ll get lucky this time and won’t wake up.”
Kerney left the bedroom quietly. In a dining area off the front room, Ferry’s wife sat at the table talking softly in Spanish on the telephone. She looked at him with cool disinterest when he waved good-bye and left.
Outside under the street lights, some kids were kicking a soccer ball around, and two teenagers sat in an old primer-gray Chevy smoking cigarettes and playing loud rap music on the car stereo.
It wasn’t the Santa Barbara in the travel posters or real estate ads. Not that there was anything mean or menacing about the area. It was just another one of those tucked-away places you could find in any city that the underclass lived in and everyone else avoided.
Kerney drove away thinking about Lou Ferry. He’d spent a lifetime on the job as a cop and a PI. All he had to show for it was ownership of a run-down trailer park and a woman who couldn’t wait for him to die. It wasn’t the happiest of endings.
What Kerney had learned about Clifford Spalding’s efforts to defeat his ex-wife’s search to find her son gnawed at him, as did the New Mexico connection that kept popping up. He decided, if time allowed, to speak to Penelope Parker again and get a little more background on the man.
He glanced at the dashboard clock. But first there was Sergeant Lowrey to deal with. He hoped she was stationed outside his motel room waiting for him to show.
Five blocks from his motel, Kerney’s cell phone rang. He pulled to the curb and answered. It was Ramona Pino.
“What have you got for me, Sergeant?”
“Interesting stuff, Chief. We’ve just finished up with Nina Deacon. It seems like Claudia Spalding and Kim Dean started out as horseback-riding buddies and the relationship segued into a hot love affair about two years ago that’s still going strong. Recently, Claudia has been crying on Deacon’s shoulder about the prenuptial agreement she signed with her dead husband.”
“She wanted out of the marriage?” Kerney asked.
“Affirmative,” Ramona replied. “But she didn’t want to lose the Santa Fe house or her lifestyle. According to Deacon, any divorce caused by infidelity on Claudia’s part cuts her out of Spalding’s will. The way Deacon tells it, the Santa Fe property is in his name as the sole owner, with a legal agreement signed by Claudia to back it up. About all she could walk away with would be her horses, other gifts he’s given her over the years, a half interest in the furnishings they bought together for the house, and whatever is in her personal checking account.”
“What else?” Kerney asked.
“Spalding was out here about two months ago for ten days. He got sick about halfway through the visit. Fatigue, heat intolerance, the sweats. Deacon said Spalding thought he was just having a reaction to the dry climate and the change in altitude.”
“Did he see a doctor?” Kerney asked.
“No, Claudia nursed him, cared for him hand and foot until he left.”
“The loving wife. Where is she now?”
“At the Albuquerque airport waiting for a flight to Burbank. According to Deacon, she keeps a car in Burbank and drives up to Santa Barbara.”
“Did Deacon see her before she left?”
“Yeah. Claudia told Deacon that probably Spalding’s heart had given out.”
“Will Deacon keep her mouth shut about your visit?” Kerney asked.
“She’d better. Both Thorpe and I made it clear that warning Claudia about our inquiries would make her liable to be charged as an accessory.”
“Did that sink in?”
“Big-time, Chief,” Ramona said. “She squirmed in her seat and promised to be a good girl.”
“Put somebody on Kim Dean to keep an eye on him. I don’t want him suddenly disappearing.”
“It’s already done.”
“Have you got Sergeant Lowrey’s cell phone number?”
“I do.”
“Call her now and brief her.”
“You don’t want me to do time-delayed information sharing on this go-round?” Ramona asked with a hint of a smile in her voice.
Kerney laughed. “No, let’s get this over with so I can come home without a black cloud floating over my head.”
“Ten-four to that, Chief. Thorpe is on the horn to Chief Baca with the news right now. Get ready to have him rib you about all of this when you get home.”
“He’s already started,” Kerney said. “Good job, Sergeant. Pass on my appreciation to Officer Thorpe.”
“Thanks, Chief. Will do.”
He disconnected, sat back against the car seat, sighed with relief, and looked at the dashboard clock. He’d give it five minutes before driving to the motel in the hopes that a sheepish Sergeant Lowrey would be waiting for him with an apology in hand.
Ellie Lowrey watched Chief Kerney enter the motel parking lot and ease to a stop next to her unit. Although she’d been rehearsing what to say to him, her mind suddenly went blank and her mouth got dry. She motioned at him to join her.
He slid into the passenger seat, closed the door, and nodded a silent greeting.
Ellie waited a few beats, hoping Kerney would say something to break the ice and let her off the hook. When the silence between them became unbearable, she said, “I guess I had my eye on the wrong target, Chief Kerney.”
“Your instincts were good,” Kerney said, keeping his voice flat.
“It wasn’t personal,” Ellie said, hoping Kerney would make eye contact with her.
Kerney stared straight ahead. “I know that.”
“I’m sorry for the hassle.”
Kerney glanced her way and smiled. “It’s okay, Sergeant. You were doing your job, and doing it well.”
“You’ve talked to Santa Fe?” Lowrey asked, trying to keep the relief she felt out of her voice.
“I have. Now it’s your turn to fill me in.”
Ellie told Kerney about the preliminary findings from the postmortem, the discovery of the hormone replacement medication in a pill case in Clifford Spalding’s clothing, and Price’s telephone conversation with Spalding’s doctor.
“You only found one pill?” Kerney asked.
“Yeah. Is that important?”
“I talked to a caretaker at Spalding’s estate who told me Spalding had been on a business trip for the past two weeks before he went to the ranch. I doubt he’d be foolish enough not to keep a supply of medication on hand.”
“We didn’t find a prescription bottle,” Ellie said.
“Did you search his car?” Kerney asked.
Ellie shook her head.
“It might be a smart thing to do. The caretaker also told me that Clifford Spalding forgot to take his medication with him while visiting his wife in Santa Fe two months ago, and had to get his prescription refilled locally. Don’t you find that interesting, given who Claudia Spalding has been sleeping with?”
“I do,” Ellie replied.
“Who better to tamper with or alter medication than a pharmacist? And if it was Dean who filled the prescription, did he dispense a one-month, two-month, or three-month supply?”
Ellie mulled it over. “Claudia Spalding told Nina Deacon her husband probably died of heart failure, which comes pretty close to the autopsy findings. Now, how would she know that, given the fact that Spalding was in good health at the time of his last checkup?”
“Exactly,” Kerney said.
“So how would Dean have done it?” Ellie asked.
“I don’t know,” Kerney replied, as he opened the passenger door. “But the caretaker mentioned that since his return from Santa Fe, Spalding had been complaining about sleeping poorly and blurred vision.”