I've got the name of the Santa Fe hotel where she's booked a room, and we're running a license-plate check on her vehicle. I'll fax the information to you when it comes in."
"That's all?" Andy asked.
"I don't want to telegraph my suspicions."
"Why not use one of your people?"
"Not a good idea."
Andy thought about the mess Kerney had inherited from his predecessors: an understaffed department known for petty politics, poor morale, and vicious infighting.
"You're probably right," he said.
"I'll get back to you."
"Thanks, Andy."
"Keep your head down, Kevin."
Kerney heard the distant sound of an aircraft and looked up at the clear night sky. Against a backdrop of stars he saw the flashing lights of a plane ten miles out, on a straight gradual descent to the Santa Fe Airport.
Because large commercial jets flew into Albuquerque, less than an hour away by car, the airport terminal-a small, rather charming, old-fashioned pueblo-revival building-was quiet at night.
He got out of his unit, walked through the terminal, with its viga ceiling, tile floor, and mission-style benches and chairs, and waited at the outside gate that led to the tarmac. The night air, still and cold, chilled his face, and a quarter moon shed enough light to kindle a shivery glow on the snow-covered ground beyond the runway.
Kerney watched the corporate jet touch down and taxi to the terminal, thinking the chances were slim Terrell would remember him from their brief service together in Vietnam. He preferred it that way and had no intention of raising the old connection.
The outside terminal lights were bright enough to give Kerney a good look at Terrell as he came down the ramp. He wore an expensive wool coat that covered a chunky frame. His face had a tanned, healthy color and his expression looked subdued. There didn't seem to be any sadness in his eyes, though. He came forward without any hint of recognition.
For a man in his mid seventies Terrell appeared vigorous and lively. He carried a leather overnight bag.
"Are you the police chief?" Terrell asked, barely slowing his pace as he approached.
"Yes, I am, Ambassador."
Terrell didn't stop moving. He nodded his head and pointed a gloved hand at the terminal entrance as a signal for Kerney to follow along.
Kerney complied.
"No press," Terrell observed as they passed through the empty terminal.
"That's good. Where's your car?"
Kerney guided Terrell to his unit and drove him away. On the road to town Terrell relaxed against the passenger seat, took off his gloves, and rubbed his face with large, heavy hands.
"Tell me what happened," he said.
"Your wife was stabbed once in the chest with a pair of scissors, probably by an intruder," Kerney said.
"Have you caught the son of a bitch?" A touch of emotion colored his voice.
"We're talking to Santiago Terjo about the crime."
"That's a waste of time," Terrell said.
"You think so?"
Terrell stared out the window and said nothing.
"Can you tell me anything that might be helpful?" Kerney asked.
"Phyllis was never a cautious woman when it came to her personal safety."
"Any enemies?"
"My wife didn't make enemies," Terrell said, swiveling slightly to face Kerney.
"She prided herself on being gracious to everyone, and she was. Please tell me what you've learned so far." Kerney did as Terrell asked, saving for last-without revealing his source-Applewhite's imputations about Phyllis Terrell's moral character. It brought a sigh from the ambassador.
"I didn't realize it was such common knowledge in Santa Fe," Terrell said.
"You were aware that your wife had lovers?" Kerney asked.
"She made that very clear to me after we began to grow apart. My wife and I have been married in name only for the last two years. She built a house here so we could have totally separate lives. I came infrequently to visit and only on family business. We were moving amicably toward a divorce settlement."
"Do you know any of the men who have been involved with your wife?"
Terrell shook his head.
"I've been asked not to discuss anything of substance with you or your detectives until it is determined if my wife's murder has any connection to my official capacity."
"What can you tell me about the trade mission?" Kerney asked.
"Very little. It is a confidential, joint enterprise of various federal departments that has operated quietly with White House approval for the past eighteen months. Our existence, who we're dealing with, and why, haven't been publicly disclosed, and will not be unless an accord is reached."
"The FBI has claimed case jurisdiction for national-security reasons,"
Kerney said, checking the rearview mirror.
"They'll be here in full force tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, the two men who got off the plane after we entered the terminal have been behind us since we left the airport."
"Yes, I know. I'm staying at the Hotel San Marcos."
"And your traveling companions?" Kerney asked.
"Where will they be staying?"
"I have no idea, Chief Kerney. But they will be at my wife's house shortly on official business. Please have your people give them full access. You do understand that my conversation with you is strictly off the record."
Kerney made a turn onto a narrow street that led to the downtown plaza and the nearby hotel. The car behind continued on, out of sight.
"Under pain of federal prosecution?" he asked.
Terrell's hand was on the door latch as Kerney pulled to a stop in front of the hotel.
"I'm sure it won't come to that. Thank you for the briefing. I'll be in town for a few days. There are people to notify and arrangements to be made. Perhaps we'll talk again."
"I'll be available," Kerney said.
As Terrell passed through the lobby door, Andy Baca called on Kerney's cell phone and requested a quick meeting in the Wal-Mart parking lot.
He wouldn't say why but sounded a little peeved. Kerney gave him a five-minute ETA and drove hurriedly through the empty downtown streets, wondering what was up.
As he cruised through light traffic on Cerrillos Road, Lieutenant Molina made radio contact, asking for clearance to allow two FBI agents access to the crime scene.
"Let them in," Kerney said, "and meet me in my office in twenty minutes so I can bring you up to speed."
"Ten-four," Molina grumbled after a slight hesitation.
At Wal-Mart, Kerney spotted Andy's unmarked unit at the side of the building away from the parking lot lights and got in beside him.
"I got a telephone call right after I spoke with you," Andy said.
"Applewhite?" Kerney asked.
Andy shook his head.
"The U. S. attorney. Supposedly he wanted to let me know about the task force and make sure the resources of my department would be made available to the FBI."
"How polite."
Andy grunted.
"Yeah, right. When was the last time you ever heard of the FBI using a U. S. attorney as a front man for a task force investigation?"
"Never. What did he really want?"
"After he chatted briefly about national security implications and the need for discretion, he gave me Applewhite's name as the FBI contact person and asked me to call her at her hotel. So I did. She basically gave me the same line that she fed you, minus any aspersions about Mrs.
Terrell's sexual escapades."
"So, you get a reassuring call from the U. S. attorney within minutes of our conversation. What a coincidence."
"Your phone is tapped," Andy said.
"Either that or they're using a telecommunications-intercept system through the National Security Agency, which means they probably know we're meeting right now."