Sloan's tiredness vanished.
Kerneys plans to move out of the small guesthouse he rented in the South Capitol neighborhood had been delayed by the workload of his new job. He changed from his uniform into cold-weather civvies, and drove his truck to the end of Upper Canyon Road, where he left it in the parking lot of the New Mexico Audubon Society. The house, which bordered the edge of the Santa Fe watershed and reservoir system, had once belonged to a well-known local artist.
He started up a hiking trail that led into the mountains, but as soon as he passed out of sight of the building, he veered off the path jumped a fence, and entered the restricted area of the Santa Fe watershed. He cut across below the lower reservoir to the hills beyond, where Phyllis Terrell's house overlooked the valley, and made a hard climb up the foothills, his bad knee protesting with each step. He topped out at a circular dirt road that served the expensive houses bordering the watershed, hobbled his way to Alexandra Lawton's front door, and rang the bell.
The door opened. Lawton looked over Kerneys shoulder at the empty driveway and then down at his snow-covered hiking boots and wet pant cuffs.
"You walked up here?" she asked.
"Why?"
"I needed the exercise," Kerney replied.
"Please, Chief Kerney, I doubt that was the reason."
"I wanted to talk with you privately and off the record."
Lawton stepped back to let Kerney enter.
"Come in."
"Could we talk outside?"
The wind had subsided and wet heavy snowflakes drifted out of a slate-dark sky, covering the teakwood patio furniture.
"It's not a particularly pleasant day to sit outside," she said.
"I'll explain my reason if you'll get your coat," Kerney said.
Lawton studied Kerney's expression, nodded in assent, and pulled a parka off the hall coatrack.
"This better be good, Chief Kerney."
Kerney waited to speak until Lawton closed the front door.
"I wonder if you ever heard Mrs. Terrell talk about being under electronic surveillance."
"That's absurd," Lawton said.
"Why would anyone want to spy on Phyllis?"
"The ambassador is engaged in highly confidential government work.
Protective services and precautions to keep foreign-service staff and their immediate family members safe from harm are standard protocols in the diplomatic corps."
"But why should they bother with Phyllis?" Lawton asked.
"After all, she was living apart from the ambassador, divorcing him."
"A wife, even an estranged one, could still be a kidnapping target,"
Kerney said, "and the ambassador did visit her upon occasion. State Department officials are vulnerable to acts of terrorism."
"Why don't you talk to the government about this?" Lawton asked sharply.
"I did," Kerney replied, "and got nowhere. You know, the federal government has a good deal of latitude when it comes to protecting high-ranking officials.
Frequently, citizens who have personal relationships with people in sensitive positions, diplomats, or their immediate family members, undergo deep background investigations, often without any knowledge that they've been scrutinized."
Lawton shivered, partly from the cold and partly because of Kerney's words.
"All they would learn about me is that I'm pro-choice and in favor of banning all handguns. You're pushing my natural skepticism about our government into paranoia. Why are you doing this, Chief Kerney? From what I've read in the papers, Phyllis's murder has been solved."
"That's correct," Kerney said.
"But Santiago Terjo is missing. If I can determine that surveillance is in place at the Terrell residence, I can ask for a court order that will allow me to access all recorded conversations. It may be helpful in finding him."
"Santiago missing? Are you quite sure? His truck is parked at the stables."
"Have you seen him over the past several days?"
"I haven't seen him since the day he was arrested. I hope nothing bad has happened to him."
"Let me change the subject, Ms. Lawton. Have there been any problems with the utilities in the neighborhood recently?"
"Around the holidays an electrical transformer had to be replaced. We were without power for several hours."
"Were you given the location of the faulty transformer?"
"No, but I was home when it happened and watched from my picture window when the man came to fix it. It was the one at the bottom of the hill between Phyllis's driveway and my road."
"Was that about the time Ambassador Terrell came to Santa Fe?" Kerney asked.
Lawton nodded.
"Yes, a day or two before. I remember Phyllis was in a snit about his visit. She didn't want to see him, but he was insistent."
"Did she go into any detail?"
Lawton shook her head.
"I noticed you weren't at the cemetery this morning."
"I knew nothing about it."
"Do you know of any other neighbors who might have wanted to attend?"
Lawton shrugged a shoulder.
"Randall and Lori Stewart might have gone. Phyllis had little contact with the rest of the people who live nearby."
"The Stewarts were friends of Mrs. Terrell?"
"Phyllis and Lori got along well, and sometimes Randall would help her when her computer crashed, or if she needed help moving rocks when Santiago wasn't around."
"The Stewarts live where?" Kerney asked.
"Two houses up the hill. Randall's probably at work. He's a stockbroker.
But Lori should be there. She's a fine arts dealer who works out of her home."
"Did Phyllis talk to you about her love life or her relationships with men?"
Kerney asked.
"She was closed mouthed about the subject of men. But I attributed that to what she was going through with the divorce. In fact, she hardly ever discussed the ambassador or the reasons she was divorcing him."
"She said nothing?"
"Just that she couldn't live with him."
"Why the long, drawn-out divorce negotiations?" Kerney asked.
"Property settlements can be very difficult when a great deal of money is involved. Phyllis wanted to make sure she kept all of hers." Lawton wrapped her arms tightly around her body.
"Why am I standing out here freezing, Chief Kerney?"
"Ambassador Terrell most likely has the highest government security clearance possible. Sometimes federal agencies will monitor the conversations of family and friends. It's a good way to make sure classified information isn't being inadvertently discussed."
"Are you saying I'm being spied upon?"
"I doubt it," Kerney said.
"But then you never know."
Lawton searched Kerney's face.
"This is unreal. I don't like what you're saying at all. What can I do?"
"Call in an electronics expert to sweep your house inside and out. The cost may well be worth your peace of mind." He shook Lawton's gloved hand.
"Thank you for your time."
"Unreal," Lawton said again, shaking her head as she went inside.
The woman who opened the door at the Randall Stewart residence had her long brown hair pinned up. She wore bright yellow rubber kitchen gloves.
In her forties, she had tired eyes and seemed decidedly unhappy about the interruption.
Kerney showed the woman his shield and asked if she was Mrs. Stewart.
"I'm Cynthia Cabot, the housekeeper," the woman replied.
"The Stewarts are out of town on a skiing vacation. Where's your police car?"
"I walked up from Ms. Lawton's house," Kerney said.
"When did the Stewarts leave?"
"I'm not sure. There was a note on the kitchen table when I arrived this morning. The trip wasn't planned ahead of time, I can tell you that.
Mrs. Stewart always lets me know when they'll be gone. This must have been a spur-of-the-moment thing. And they took the boys out of school to go with them."