“Well done,” she said as she buckled her seat belt.
“I don’t think you’ll be free for very long,” Warren said as he pulled onto the highway, the two unmarked police cars close behind. He explained the situation. “Perhaps no more than a matter of hours.”
“I understand,” Claudia said softly.
Warren glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. The hem of her black dress rode up an inch above her knees, showing sleek, smooth calves. Her hips were nicely rounded, her neck long and flawless.
She turned her head and smiled warmly at him. “Could you hurry a bit, please?”
Claudia Spalding’s allure was subtle yet powerful, and Warren found himself obediently hurrying along.
At the gate to the estate, the two unmarked police cars pulled to the curb as he turned into the driveway and entered the code Claudia provided on the keypad. He drove up the lane not knowing what to expect. But he’d represented many celebrity clients, was familiar with their extravagant lifestyles, and figured the estate had to be top of the line. When the mansion came into view it matched anything he’d seen in Beverly Hills.
He parked and looked at Claudia Spalding. “There’s a slight chance the judge will reconsider granting bail if you’re here when the police show up with a new warrant. I’ll certainly make a strong argument for it.”
“That’s something to look forward to,” Claudia said.
“Would you like me to stay with you until they arrive?”
Claudia shook her head, her hand on the door latch. “No, Mr. Warren, that won’t be necessary.”
“It would be in your best interest to have me stick around,” he said, fully aware his motives were mixed.
Claudia flashed him a knowing smile and stepped out of the car. “Yes, I’m sure it would. Good night, Mr. Warren.”
He watched her walk to the house, her posture perfect, body moving in a lithesome rhythm, as though she didn’t have a care in the world.
Lieutenant Dante Macy found it no easy matter to have a warrant for Claudia Spalding’s arrest issued by a Santa Fe district court judge. Since it was after normal working hours on a Friday, he first had to go through a Santa Fe PD dispatcher, who put him in touch with the highest ranking officer on duty, a patrol captain, who in turn referred him to the lieutenant in charge of special investigations.
Macy called the lieutenant at home, who contacted an off-duty detective named Matt Chacon. Detective Chacon got on the stick in a hurry and talked to the ADA on duty. He reported back promptly to Macy that the original arrest affidavit prepared by Sergeant Pino had been turned down by the DA and would have to be reworked and re-submitted.
Macy knew Pino was on her way to California, bringing with her all the case materials. “Do you have the information you need to do it?”
“We have copies of everything,” Chacon replied.
“How long will it take you?”
“I’ll use what the sergeant wrote, add in the Dean confession, and that should do it.”
“How long?” Macy repeated.
“An hour to do the paperwork,” Chacon replied. “I’ll hand-carry it to the ADA, who has the judge who signed the warrant for Dean standing by.”
“My sheriff, who’s not a happy camper, is hovering over my shoulder on this, Detective. When will I get a faxed copy?”
“Give it two or three hours, Lieutenant,” Chacon said, “barring any unforeseen delays.”
“Like what?” Macy asked.
“The district attorney wants to sign off on it. I think he’s talking to your DA as we speak.”
“Are there any political issues regarding Claudia Spalding I should know about?” Macy asked.
Chacon chuckled. “I don’t think Claudia Spalding has any political clout at all in Santa Fe. From what I know about her, she didn’t come here to engage in civic affairs, if you get my meaning.”
In spite of himself, Macy laughed. “Okay. Thanks for pushing it along, Detective.”
“No problem. I’ll have it to you as fast as I can.”
Macy called Bill Price, who had a team of officers on stakeout at the Spalding mansion. “Is everything quiet?”
“No problem, LT. She hasn’t moved, and no one’s been to visit since the lawyer dropped her off.”
“We should have a warrant from New Mexico in two or three hours. I’ll let you know as soon as it comes through.”
“Ten-four,” Price said.
Because Ramona’s tickets had been booked a day before her departure, she wasn’t able to fly directly to San Luis Obispo and had to lay over at the Phoenix airport and catch the last flight to Santa Barbara.
For a time, she sat in the busy concourse oblivious to the people around her and read through the chief’s case notes on George Spalding.
Kerney had put everything in chronological sequence, and his narrative style was crisp, clear, thoroughly detailed, and filled with solid observations. The notes read like a compelling mystery, and by the time Ramona finished she was caught up in the case, eager to know where George Spalding was and why he’d faked his own death.
Ramona wasn’t surprised by Kerney’s investigative skills. She’d watched him work several major crimes, and knew he’d spent most of his career in the major felony crime unit as he rose through the ranks.
Because of his background in investigations, Kerney paid a bit more attention to the unit than most chiefs normally would. But he didn’t shirk his larger responsibilities, and Ramona hadn’t heard any complaints of favoritism from members of the other divisions.
She put the case notes away and did some people watching. Businessmen and -women in rumpled suits traveling home for the weekend wandered back and forth pulling their wheeled carry-on bags and talking on cell phones. Weary parents chased after hyperactive children. Electric carts with flashing red warning lights passed by carrying senior citizens, frail and disabled people, and young mothers holding infants. Teenage girls in tight jeans showing bare midriffs clattered along. There were middle-aged men in baggy shorts and T-shirts, and an abundance of overweight people.
Her flight left on time and the small turbojet flew west into the sun, with Phoenix and its suburbs below spreading out for miles across the desert floor. Not yet immune to the fun of flying, Ramona passed the time looking out the window. When the plane banked and turned on its final approach to Santa Barbara the ocean came into view, shimmering like an enormous undulating sheet, each wave tufted in white as it broke against the shore.
The Santa Barbara airport was much like the one in Santa Fe, which also served only commuter jets and private aircraft. Portable stairs were rolled up to the plane to unload the passengers, and the terminal, a quaint, tidy California mission-style building, was just a few steps away. Inside, the passenger area was empty, and a small cluster of people waited behind the security barrier, manned by a bored-looking guard sitting on a stool next to the baggage screening machine.
A pretty woman, perhaps two inches taller than Ramona, with short, dark hair and a dimple in her cheek, stepped forward and waved in her direction.
“Ramona?” the woman asked with an easy smile.
“You must be Ellie.” Impulsively, she stepped forward and gave Lowrey a hug.
“Welcome to California,” Ellie said. “Let’s get your bags and hit the road.”
As they waited at the covered baggage stall next to the terminal, Ellie’s cell phone rang.
“Is Sergeant Pino with you?” Lieutenant Macy asked.
“Yes, she just arrived,” Ellie said.
“Good. I need you both here now,” Macy said. “Claudia Spalding is out of jail.”
“What happened?”
“The judge threw out the arrest on a technicality and released her. She’s home, but I’ve got people there making sure she stays put.”
“Do you want us at Montecito?” Ellie asked.
“No, the sheriff and the DA want you and Pino here to vet the new arrest affidavit before it’s served. They want everything in perfect order.”