"You don't think I can be trusted?" Molina asked.
"You wouldn't be here if I thought that. It's almost a sure bet that we're under electronic surveillance. On top of that I acquired conclusive proof today that the FBI lied big time about Scott Gatlin."
Kerney spelled out the facts surrounding Randall Stewart's murder and the DNA test results. Bobby Sloan sat wide eyed in his chair, rubbing a hand over his stomach. Molina let out a low uncharacteristic whistle.
Kerney continued.
"In about an hour Charlie Perry will know that we know Randall Stewart's death was a homicide. He'll assume, quite rightly, that the Terrell murder cover-up has been blown. We've been under surveillance since day one. As of now I'm returning the favor to the fullest extent possible.
There are phone taps, video cameras, and microphones planted in Perry's and Applewhite's hotel rooms."
"You got a court order for that?" Molina asked disbelievingly.
"No." Kerney leaned forward in his chair, concentrating his attention on Molina.
"You were right to bust my balls about shutting down the investigation, Sal. But I'd been warned off by Perry and I didn't want to telegraph my intentions to keep digging into the case-not with the Feds listening. I thought I could do enough hunting out of season on my own to get a handle on what is really going on, but I can't. I need help."
Molina thought about his career and his short-timer's calendar. He thought about doing time in the slammer if the feds decided to hand him his balls on a silver platter. There would be no trips in the camper, no fishing excursions to Idaho.
"Okay, what do you need from us?" Sal asked, his mouth dry.
"I want to put tails on Perry and Applewhite," Kerney said.
"We need to track their movements. Surveillance only. No intervention regardless of what goes down. We photograph or videotape anything that's out of the ordinary."
"For how long, Chief?" Bobby Sloan asked.
"Forty-eight hours."
"Who else gets assigned?" Molina asked.
"Just the two of you," Kerney replied.
"Impossible," Molina said.
"Perry and Applewhite know us."
"If you agree to this, I've registered both of you for a class at the law-enforcement academy starting tomorrow. Two vehicles seized by the state police and outfitted for undercover narcotic work will be waiting for you there.
Each is fully equipped. The sheriff's department will handle all your radio traffic, utilizing the tri-county drug task force channel. I'm betting the feds aren't going to be expecting us to look outside the department for help."
"Speaking of that," Sloan said, "who set up the electronic surveillance?
It wasn't any of our people, that's for sure."
"Chief Baca," Kerney answered.
"His criminal intelligence people will monitor and stay in touch with you through the sheriff's dispatch. This will be a straight forty-eight-hour assignment. You'll sleep in the cars, eat in the cars.
No breaks, no relief."
"This scheme could bring a lot of good cops down," Molina said.
"Which is why I'm asking for your help, not ordering."
"Jesus, Sal, let's do it," Bobby said, who like Kerney had pulled a tour in Nam.
"This country isn't a fucking police state. At least, not yet."
The consequences scared Molina, but he had to decide. Either he took the risk or he bailed out on his chief. He shored himself up.
"Okay.
Forty-eight hours."
"I'm apprehensive too, Lieutenant," Kerney said, reading Molina's expression.
Breath whooshed out of Molina.
"Yeah."
Charlie Perry raged while Applewhite sat at the hotel-room desk punching up the vehicle tracking records for Kerney and the other key investigative personnel in his department on her laptop.
The lead detectives assigned to the homicides were off duty and at home, and Kerney, after making a stop at the state police headquarters, was parked at the county jail, where he'd been for a very long time.
"I thought Kerney had canceled all his appointments for the day,"
Applewhite said.
"Why did he go to state police headquarters and then the county jail?"
"Are you even fucking listening to me?" Perry snapped.
"Yes, the Red River marshal is treating Stewart's death as a homicide,"
Applewhite said blithely. She wished she could garrote the son of a bitch.
"I heard you."
Perry put both hands on the table and stuck his face in Apple white's.
"Who sanctioned the hit?"
"That's a pretty cheeky question to be asking me, Charlie," Applewhite said, closing the laptop cover.
"Neither of us knows the who, what, or the why of the matter."
"Look, if I have to cover your ass, I want to know now."
"All you have to do right now is throw your weight around a little, Charlie.
Scoop up Stewart's body and make sure only a trusted forensic pathologist does the autopsy."
"What trustworthy doctor do you have in mind?"
Applewhite wrote out a name and number and waved the slip of paper under Charlie's nose.
"Call this number in Albuquerque. The man who answers the phone will be a doctor who holds a Q clearance. Get the body to him."
Perry snatched the paper.
"What about Kerney? He's got to know by now that we've been feeding him pure bullshit."
"But can he prove anything?" Applewhite said.
"I doubt it. If it becomes necessary, Chief Kerney will be dealt with."
"How?"
Applewhite knew it wouldn't be her call to make, but she loved thinking about the possibilities if a sanction removal was authorized. The anticipation of it made her smile.
"Firmly but gently, Charlie," she said, getting to her feet. She steered Perry out the door, returned to the desk, and dialed a Washington number.
With the phone cradled against his ear, Hamilton Lowell Terrell made notes while listening to Applewhite's report. She finished speaking and he lapsed into a long silence.
"Your instructions, sir?" Applewhite finally asked, unable to repress her apprehension. If she was due for a butt-chewing, she wanted it over and done with.
Terrell let the silence grind deeper into Applewhite, then said, "This isn't the containment we had in mind."
"I'm aware of that, sir."
"I've heard nothing about your plans to help our third friend reach his destination."
"I've got the itinerary finalized, Ambassador."
"Make sure his trip is uneventful," Terrell said, consulting his notes.
"Are you quite sure that the local police chief has nothing more than suppositions to go on?"
"At this point, yes. But that could change."
"Do you have reason to believe it will change?"
"He's much more resourceful than I was led to believe."
"Did the materials he reviewed give him an advantage?"
"Not really, but they did provide a connection we were hoping to avoid."
"If we manage the situation correctly from here on out, that shouldn't be a problem. Since truth, in this instance, is heavily mingled with falsehood, I doubt he'll be able to probe too deeply."
"Take no action?" Applewhite inquired.
"Let me see what I can learn about him that might be useful for future planning, if the situation warrants."
"And Agent Perry?"
"I know you wish to be rid of him, and you have my sympathy. But ask yourself this question: Where would you like the burden of guilt to fall if all does not go well?"
"I understand, sir."
"Henceforth, there are to be no more contingencies," Terrell said.
"Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly, sir."
Terrell disconnected and dialed a DOD number.
The phone rang once and a voice said, "Yes, Ambassador."
"Santa Fe, New Mexico, Police Chief Kevin Kerney. Best-case scenario for sanctioned removal. All particulars to me, eyes only, by twenty-three hundred hours."