Helen smiled agreeably and referred to her notebook.
"I did some digging on your behalf. Trade Source is headquartered in Virginia, but they control a local subsidiary, called APT Performa, which has offices in the business park off Rodeo Road. It's a Los Alamos National Laboratory private-sector technology-transfer spin-off company, that develops state-of-the-art high-tech computer security software bundles."
"Whatever that means," Kerney said before Helen had the chance.
"Exactly. The CEO is a Mr. Clarence Thayer. Trade Source is on the NASDAQ exchange. I've asked a stockbroker friend to send over all the information she has on the company. You'll have it this afternoon."
"You should have been a cop, Helen."
Helen's eyes smiled.
"You don't want to hear my response to that comment, Chief."
"Probably not. Give me the back channel scoop on Alonso Herrera."
Helen's expression turned sober.
"Do you really want to step into that open manhole right now?"
"That bad?" Kerney asked.
"You know about Herrera's uncle?"
"I just learned who he was."
"Herrera was bounced from his patrol team and sent to the crime-prevention unit in an attempt to keep him off the streets."
"Be more specific," Kerney said.
"Shoddy paperwork, poor attitude toward the public, abuse of sick leave, sub par performance, citizen complaints about the use of excessive force."
"There's nothing documented in his file."
"Not anymore there isn't," Helen replied.
"Your predecessor ordered the file purged and Herrera's performance evaluations upgraded to adequate. As a result the department got a nice bump in the annual budget that sailed through the finance committee and the city council without a hitch."
Helen passed the file folder she'd brought in to Kerney.
"When you asked me for Herrera's personnel file, I thought we might have this discussion. That file contains copies of the original disciplinary reports and performance evaluations on Officer Herrera, along with some internal memoranda. When I heard that you were to be our next chief, I was glad I saved them."
"You are insubordinate," Kerney said with a laugh.
"Only when it's in the best interest of the department."
An incredulous expression creased Kerney's face as he read the material.
He set the folder aside and said, "Herrera starts his days off tomorrow.
Prepare an order assigning him to permanent duty in Fleet Management upon his return to work."
"Are you sure you want to do that now?" Helen asked.
"I might as well find out right away if I'm going to survive in this job or not."
"You'll be making an enemy on the city council."
"I'll add him to my list. Captain Otero wrote some strongly worded memos protesting the decision. Is that why he was removed as a field-operation captain and placed in charge of Technical Services?"
Helen nodded.
"It tubed his career. He's got a short-timer's calendar in the top drawer of his desk, and he's counting the days until he can take early retirement."
"How close is he?"
"Sixty days."
"Have him come see me," Kerney said.
"May I tell him why? With the old chief the senior commanders never knew what to expect when called to appear at the Crystal Palace."
"Tell him I've a few minor questions about the fleet-replacement schedule. Set up the appointment for late this afternoon, and get me his personnel jacket. I want to take another look at it. I may have found my deputy chief."
Helen grinned.
"What?" Kerney asked.
"Nothing," Helen said lightly as she rose and left the office.
Detective Sloan had accepted Kerney's offer to scout out Father Joseph's military records and make contact with the priest's mother, so he turned to those tasks, first calling the Armed Forces Record Center.
Kerney got nowhere with the civilian employee he spoke to. Terrell's records could not be released without his written permission.
He called the retirement home where Mrs. Mitchell resided, and spoke to a caseworker. Mrs. Mitchell, age eighty-seven, was in failing health but mentally alert. Leaving out many of the details, Kerney gave the caseworker the news of Father Joseph's death. The woman suggested it would be best for her to pass the information on to Mrs. Mitchell to soften the impact.
"By all means, please do that," Kerney said.
"But Mrs. Mitchell will still need to speak to the police. I'm going to ask the Houston Police Department to have an investigator meet with her as soon as possible."
"Why is that necessary?" the woman asked.
"To learn as much as we can about Father Mitchell, and find his killer."
The caseworker sighed and hung up.
By phone Kerney put in his request to the chief of detectives of the Houston PD, who agreed to get someone on it right away. As an afterthought Kerney asked for any information Mrs. Mitchell might have on the death of her other son, Colonel Mitchell, United States Army, first name unknown.
He hung up and read through Captain Larry Otero's personnel file. Otero had attended a number of traffic-safety institutes, was a graduate of two FBI police-management training courses, and had earned instructorship status in field-officer training, officer survival techniques, and DWI enforcement. He held a BA degree in criminal justice, and up until the prior administration his performance ratings had been excellent.
Aside from his present assignment and his prior position as a patrol captain, Otero's job experience included a tour in Traffic Services as commander, a stint as an Internal Affairs lieutenant, and two years as a sergeant in crime prevention.
At forty-two Otero was seasoned, capable, and knowledgeable about a wide range of department operations, which was exactly what Kerney needed in a deputy chief. He also liked the tone of Otero's clearly written, dissenting memos about the Herrera whitewash. The man had backbone and principles.
It could work out to be a good match, he thought, as he closed the file and checked the time. Charlie Perry's press conference was due to begin soon.
Although he knew he had to go, he disliked the thought of watching Perry do the FBI spin-doctor routine that inevitably accompanied such events.
Chapter 4
Charlie Perry opened the press conference reading a two-page prepared statement that had been distributed to the media. Minus the hype about cooperation with local law enforcement, it boiled down to nothing more than that the FBI was on the scene and in charge of the investigation.
Kerney hung back while Perry finished his canned remarks and fielded questions.
The reporters, all from area newspapers and Albuquerque television stations, focused their attention on the ambassador's wife, eager to get quotes and sound bites that would guarantee a wire service byline or network news spot.
One young man, a television reporter standing at the back of the room, called out Kerney's name.
Kerney stepped to the microphone and acknowledged the reporter.
"Did you request FBI involvement, Chief?" the reporter asked.
"Whenever a crime is committed against a federal government official or a family member, the FBI has jurisdiction. My department welcomes the Bureau's help and the resources they can bring to the investigation,"
Kerney replied.
"Do you have any reason, at this stage of the investigation, to believe that the murder was a terrorist act?"
Charlie Perry crowded close to Kerney, impatient to take back the podium. Kerney refused to yield.
"At this point all avenues are being explored," he said.
"That's why the FBI is here."
"Was the ambassador the target?" the reporter asked.
"I think Special Agent Perry should answer that question."
Perry stepped up to the microphone.