The Big Gamble (24 page)

If the author of the letters had been Anna Marie Montoya—and Kerney was virtually convinced that she was—he would never know why she had chosen to deal with her cousin’s situation so obliquely. At this point it didn’t really matter.

“Who were Norvell’s pals in this enterprise?” he asked.

“Luis Rojas, a football jock from El Paso; Adam Tully, a high school buddy from Lincoln County; and Gene Barrett and Leo Silva, both from Albuquerque. Tully was part of the campus brat pack. That’s how Norvell and the others got accepted into the clique.”

“Barrett and Silva are state legislators, right?”

“That’s right,” Shuler replied.

“I heard they got behind Norvell’s political ambitions big-time after he moved back from Colorado.”

“Right again.”

“Any old rumors about them?”

“Just what I’ve already told you,” Shuler replied. “They were rarely on campus, except to attend classes. I don’t really know how large a role they played in what went on.”

“How do they make their money?”

“Silva has a successful law practice, and Barrett owns a management consulting and CPA firm.”

“What about Cassie Bedlow, Norvell’s sister?”

“I never heard anything bad about her. She had her own circle of friends, mostly sorority types and fine-arts majors.”

“And Rojas?”

“A lady’s man who cut a wide swath. But not your average dumb jock. Along with Tully, he was Norvell’s off-campus roommate. They shared a large house in the North Valley. People thought that maybe some rich alum was subsidizing Rojas. He dressed nice, drove a new car, always had money to spend.”

Kerney held up the handwritten notes. “I’m going to need to hold on to these for a while.”

“Just as long as I get them back,” Shuler said.

Kerney nodded. “Of course. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Maybe I’ll read something about this in the newspaper someday,” Shuler said with a slight smile.

“Maybe you will.”

 

Kerney found George Montoya outside, planting bare-root rosebushes in a flower bed. He wanted to know why Kerney needed a sample of his Anna Marie’s handwriting. Trying not to raise false hopes, Kerney explained that he’d been given some letters which might have been written by Anna Marie. But he wouldn’t be sure until he could have her handwriting compared and analyzed.

A bright eagerness lit up Montoya’s eyes. “What do these letters say?”

“It won’t matter what they say if Anna Marie didn’t write them,” Kerney replied.

“But you think maybe she did,” Montoya said.

“It’s worth checking into.”

“Why do you tell me so little?”

“Because I want to give you facts when I have them, not unfairly raise your expectations with speculation.”

Montoya’s eyes shifted away and his shoulders sagged a bit. “We want so much for there to be justice.”

“It can happen,” Kerney said. “Always believe that.”

Montoya nodded, pulled himself together, gave Kerney a weak smile, and gestured at his house. “Come inside and take what you need.”

With a handwriting sample and the letters in hand, Kerney met with the state-police-lab documents specialist and asked for a quick turnaround. In Kerney’s case, it paid to be a former deputy state police chief. The man said he’d have a preliminary comparison done in an hour.

Kerney spent his time waiting by questioning Nick Salas, a fifteen-year veteran who now served as a lieutenant in the district headquarters housed next door to the Department of Public Safety. Salas remembered the Norvell DWI incident that had been swept under the rug by the sheriff’s department.

“How did you hear about it?” Salas asked, cocking an eye at Kerney.

“Ellsworth Miller,” Kerney answered.

“You got something going on Norvell, Chief?”

“Maybe.”

Salas laughed. “What do you need to know?”

“Date, time, place, name of the woman with Norvell—if you’ve got it—name of the deputy who made the DWI stop.”

Salas snorted. “You think I can remember all of that?”

“No, but I bet you’ve got the information stashed somewhere. You’re one of the biggest pack rats in the department.”

Salas grinned and got up from his desk. “That’s affirmative, Chief. Like I tell the rookies, hold on to everything. You never know when you might need stuff you once thought was useless. Give me a few minutes to search through my old paperwork.”

Salas was back in fifteen minutes with a dog-eared pocket notebook in hand. He rattled off the day, time, and place. “The deputy was Ron Underwood. He’s still with the sheriff’s department. He got bumped up to patrol sergeant about the same time I made lieutenant. We tipped a few together at the FOP to celebrate. I’ve been catching his radio traffic lately so he’s back on day shift. I didn’t ID the woman.”

“Did you see Norvell?” Kerney asked.

“Yeah. I watched Underwood put him through field sobriety tests. He was almost falling-down drunk.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

“No problem,” Salas said, reaching for the phone. “Where are you going from here, Chief?”

“I should be back in my office in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll give Underwood a call. Maybe he can dig out his report and get it to you today.”

“That would be a big help,” Kerney said.

Kerney returned to the crime lab to wait for the document specialist’s report, and spent his time chatting with the officers and civilian staff who passed him in the small waiting area. During his tenure as deputy state police chief, he’d worked with all of them, so even though he cooled his heels longer than expected, he enjoyed catching up and making small talk.

Stan Kalsen, the document specialist, a burly man with a raspy voice, finally appeared and led him back to his office.

“Sorry to make you wait,” Stan said as he spread out the documents, which had been placed in clear plastic sleeves. “I took a quick look at slant, connection, formation of letters, size of letters, punctuation, and embellishments on the questioned documents.” He pointed out each element he’d reviewed with a pair of tweezers. “Comparing the two samples, I’d say they were written by the same individual. If you can get the subject to write out the complete texts of the documents again, I’ll probably be able to make an unqualified judgment to that effect.”

“I can’t do that,” Kerney replied. “The subject was murdered.”

Kalsen nodded. “I thought so. The note written to her mother was signed Anna Marie, so I figured it had to do with the Montoya homicide. I took photographs of the anonymous documents under oblique light to pull up any indentations on the paper. That’s what slowed me down. Take a look at this one.”

Kalsen held up a photograph of the second unsigned note. Down at the bottom were the indentations of Anna Marie’s signature. “It’s identical to the standard you gave me,” he said.

For the first time, Kerney had a bonafide suspect. Surely, as a newly elected state senator, Tyler Norvell might have had reason to silence a woman who had knowledge of his prior criminal activities. But proving that would be a whole different matter.

Still the information made Kerney smile. “Excellent,” he said. “Thanks, Stan.”

“Anytime, Chief.”

His cell phone rang as he left the lab. Helen Muiz reported that Detective Piño was on her way back to Santa Fe with an APD vice sergeant in tow, Sal Molina had just returned to the office looking to speak with him, and a sheriff’s sergeant had dropped off an envelope for him.

“I’m on my way,” Kerney said. “Anything else?”

“As always, we’re in complete disarray without you,” Helen said. She hung up before Kerney could think of a comeback.

 

 

 

 

T
o save money, a new police headquarters had been built some years before on city-owned land near the outskirts of Santa Fe, which of course made it inconvenient for everybody except south-side and some west-side residents.

During the prior administration, two community policing substations—one in a closet-size space in the downtown library, the other in a building that looked like a large tool shed in a city park—had been established.

Kerney had shut them both down. The city needed a real substation to serve the north and east sides, not cops on duty standing behind a counter fielding chamber-of-commerce-type questions, Monday through Friday, nine to five.

He was hoping that if the city ever got around to demolishing the old downtown high school gym next to city hall—it now served as a woefully inadequate convention center—he could put a real substation on the site in at least part of the space. That would alleviate the cramped conditions at headquarters and reduce patrol response times on the east and north sides of the city.

Kerney doubted it would happen on his watch, but he’d started the planning process anyway in hopes that the concept would survive and eventually come to fruition.

In the first-floor headquarters conference room, he met with Sal Molina, Ramona Piño, and Jeff Vialpando, the APD sergeant, and Helen Muiz, who was present to take notes. Detective Piño summarized the information she’d gained about Cassie Bedlow, Sally Greer, Thomas Deacon, and Adam Tully.

Vialpando explained why Tully’s club was a target of investigation, and made a pitch to let him use Piño on a temporary undercover assignment. Kerney tabled the request until later in the meeting.

Molina added some preliminary information about Norvell’s Colorado business dealings. Then Kerney went over what he’d learned from Mark Shuler and the anonymous letters.

“Maybe we’ve got a hard target,” Molina said.

“Maybe that and a whole lot more,” Kerney said.

“Let’s back up and outline everything we now know.” He moved to the easel at the end of the table and flipped open a newsprint pad. He wrote:

Kerney stopped writing and turned to Sal Molina. “Fill us in a bit more on Norvell’s Colorado years.”

“Like I said, Norvell’s company supplied cars and drivers for celebrities who were in town for concerts, book signings, media events, and movie and television productions. He also provided private security for them, as well as for concert promoters and film companies shooting on location.”

Molina pulled a piece of paper out of a file. “It was incorporated in Colorado as Five Partners Enterprises, solely owned by Norvell. That’s all I have, so far.”

“That doesn’t sound like a way to make a fortune,” Kerney said.

“But the company name is interesting,” Ramona said. “Tully’s business in Albuquerque is incorporated as Five Players.”

“A coincidence, I’m sure,” Kerney said.

“Add one more,” Jeff Vialpando said. “Cassie Bedlow’s agency is on the books as Five Stars Enterprises.”

“Hold on,” Sal Molina said as he quickly flipped through his notes from the Denver PD. “Here it is. Belinda Louise Nieto was murdered outside The Players Club in Denver.”

“Surely, it’s just an unrelated circumstance,” Kerney said, writing it down.

 

“Three different companies incorporated as Five Players, Five Stars, and Five Partners,” Kerney said. He tore off the sheet of newsprint and taped it to the wall. “Tully, Bedlow, and Norvell. Who are the other two?”

“Silva and Barrett attended Tully’s grand opening in Albuquerque,” Vialpando said.

“Okay, they’re possibles,” Kerney said.

“And what about Luis Rojas, the ex-college jock?” Ramona asked.

“We know nothing about him yet,” Kerney said, shifting his gaze to Helen Muiz. “Let’s start a things-to-do list, Helen. Personal and business background checks on Silva and Barrett. Locate Rojas and do the same.”

He returned to his chair while the officers stared at the list on the wall.

“If Norvell killed Montoya to keep her from exposing him, you’ve got motive, Chief,” Vialpando said. “But what about opportunity? Can you place him in Santa Fe at the time of the murder?”

“Or at Tully’s Denver club, the night Belinda Nieto was killed?” Ramona added.

“That’s two more things to do,” Kerney said, nodding at Helen, who was already writing them down.

“I’ll ask Denver PD for their crime-scene witness list,” Molina said.

“I’ll check Norvell’s travel reimbursement records with the state,” Kerney said. “Can you free up a detective to run down information on Barrett’s and Silva’s businesses?” he asked Molina.

“Can do,” Molina replied, “and I’ll cover Luis Rojas.”

“Okay,” Kerney said. “From what Detective Piño and Sergeant Vialpando have said, I’m inclined to assume that Norvell, Tully, and Bedlow have been operating a vice ring for the last twenty years. It’s likely they have at least two more partners. We’ve got potential informants in the Greer woman and the photographer, Deacon.”

Kerney stared at Piño and Vialpando. “How do you two want to proceed with them?” he asked.

“I’ve made a date with Greer for tonight through her Web site,” Vialpando said. “We’ve got a room booked at an expensive hotel. We’ll videotape the transaction, bust her, and see where it takes us.”

“Don’t have too much fun before the bust,” Ramona said.

Vialpando leaned close to Piño and gave her a big smile. “I wouldn’t think of it.”