It was what computer gee ks called a packet sniffer, which sounded innocuous, but the implications gave Kerney the shivers. If Sloan was right, they were truly on the verge of a big-brother world. Had Carnivore opened the door on a digital world where private information about citizens would be routinely collected, whether they were suspects in a crime or not?
Kerney looked up. An unsmiling Demora stood in his open doorway.
Kerney stepped inside and sat down. A new plaque pronouncing Demora a valued member of another civic organization had been added to the wall.
Face time came cheap in Santa Fe.
Demora eased into his desk chair and quickly read Kerney out, using all the politically correct buzzwords and catch phrases of the enabling, empowering administrator. But it boiled down to this: He wanted his chief to be available when he called; he wanted his chief full-time at police headquarters running the department; he wanted closure on the Herrera reassignment, which meant Kerney was to meet with Officer Herrera's lawyer ASAP; he wanted weekly updates on Larry Otero's performance as deputy chief; he wanted to be kept fully informed, not blindsided by phone calls from unnamed sources complaining about things.
Kerney kept his cool by busily scribbling notes. He stopped and said,
"How have you been blindsided, Bill?"
Demora pursed his lips, sat up straight in his chair, and adjusted the drape of his sport coat.
"I'll give you an example: I've been told you're playing favorites, that you personally selected two senior officers for a special training seminar at the law-enforcement academy without going through the proper departmental channels. That kind of behavior doesn't engender confidence in your management style."
"I see. Anything else?"
Demora rocked back in his chair and forced a smile.
"Actually, there is. Over the past several days persistent comments have been made to me about your continuing probe into the successfully concluded FBI investigation of Mrs. Terrell's murder. It seems to me your time could be much better spent ensuring that your detectives bring Father Mitchell's murderer to justice. If I were you, that would be my first priority."
Kerney felt screwed. If the rumor mill had fed Demora information about his end run around the Bureau, that meant his finesse moves had surely failed. He was more vulnerable than he'd realized.
"Who's telling you this?" he asked.
Demora put his hands up to block the question.
"That's not the issue. I told you when you came on board as chief that I make myself available to any and every city employee as well as all the members of this community. My policy works because employees understand that they can speak freely without fear of reprisal, and citizens know their grievances and concerns will receive a fair and quick hearing."
"Tell me, are those voices of concern from inside or outside the department?" Kerney asked, trying to keep sarcasm out of his voice.
"Don't turn this into a witch hunt, Chief Kerney."
"That's not my style."
"Very well. To this point the concerns are internal." Demora's expression softened.
"We're both in the early stages of sorting out our working relationship, Chief. All I'm suggesting here is that we don't let small matters turn into big problems. Both of us need to stay alert and keep each other fully in the loop. Open, free-flowing communication is the key to good management."
Tired of Demora's control-freak bullshit, Kerney stood up.
"I agree with you wholeheartedly, Bill. I'll get everything back on track."
Demora flashed an approving smile.
"That's what I wanted to hear."
Lights were on in Kerney's bedroom and the only vehicle outside the cottage was his truck. He slid out of his unit at the front of the driveway, pulled his handgun, and used the shadows to approach the cottage. He went low under the living room window, flattened himself against the wall, and turned the knob to the front door. It was unlocked.
He quietly pushed the door open, listened, and caught the sound of movement in the bedroom. He eased his way inside, weapon in the ready position, let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and did a visual sweep of the living room. Clear. He took a quick glance into the galley kitchen.
Clear.
He backed into the kitchen, where he had a direct line of sight down the hallway leading to the closed bedroom door. He heard a hinge squeak on the bedroom closet door, followed by a thud as something hit the carpeted floor.
The door opened and light washed down the hallway. Kerney said, "Freeze.
Don't move, or I'll blow you away."
Sara stood backlit in the doorway.
"For God's sake, it's me, Kerney." She hit the hall light switch in time to see Kerney holstering his handgun.
"What are you doing here?"
"It's nice to see you too," Sara snapped.
"Didn't you get my message? I asked you not to come this weekend."
"That's exactly why I'm here. What is going on with you?"
"I'm sorry." Kerney walked to Sara and took her hands.
"I am glad you're here."
She pulled away and gave Kerney a blistering look.
"I don't believe you. Answer my question. Except for a short conversation and some confusing phone messages, I haven't heard from you all week."
"I've been busy, that's all."
"You've never been too busy not to call before. Are we going down the tubes, Kerney? Does the prospect of fatherhood have you scared?"
Kerney shook his head.
"That's not it at all."
"Then talk to me."
"Let's go out, get something to eat, and talk over dinner."
"I'm not hungry. Talk to me now, Kerney. What's going on with you?"
"Sara, its work. Just the job. It's not you, there isn't anything strange going on in my head, and it's not us. Believe me."
"I don't need reassurances, I need conversation. Something's wrong and I want to know what it is."
Kerney put a finger to his lips and pulled Sara into the bedroom. He showed her the telephone tap and the bug in the floor vent.
"Can we talk about it over dinner?" he asked again.
"I haven't eaten all day."
Sara's distressed expression lightened. Her green eyes scanned Kerney's face.
"If we must," she said.
"But you'd better really talk to me, Kerney, otherwise I'm getting a hotel room for the night."
They ordered a light meal at a restaurant favored by locals. Gray headed couples danced to bland renditions of soft-rock tunes played by a trio of old men wedged together on a small platform near the entrance. Muted televisions above the long bar entertained a row of blue-collar workers drinking their way deep into a Friday night. Area politicos sat at the back of the tiny dance floor, talking loudly, and waving to any constituents they knew by sight. Civil servants and their families out for a Friday-night dinner filled circular dining tables adjacent to the bar and ordered up the specials of the day.
Sara listened as Kerney described the chain of events starting with the Terrell murder. He gave her the facts and his carefully thought-out suppositions about the case, and listed the reasons why he believed that military intelligence was heavily involved.
Sara's head swam. She knew Kerney to be an exceptional investigator and not one to exaggerate. But she didn't like what she was hearing.
Everything she knew about the regulations that governed army intelligence activities argued against his hypothesis.
On the one hand, she knew nothing about SWAMI or a secret training base in Colombia. On the other hand, she'd heard about Carnivore through her own contacts and a few brief news stories, and she knew about the controversy surrounding the School of the Americas. She also knew about how army intelligence kept an eye on its own, especially soldiers and civilians in sensitive, highly classified positions.