Slow Kill (30 page)

He went inside and got Claudia, who didn’t say a word until they were in his car.

“Well done,” she said as she buckled her seat belt.

“I don’t think you’ll be free for very long,” Warren said as he pulled onto the highway, the two unmarked police cars close behind. He explained the situation. “Perhaps no more than a matter of hours.”

“I understand,” Claudia said softly.

Warren glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. The hem of her black dress rode up an inch above her knees, showing sleek, smooth calves. Her hips were nicely rounded, her neck long and flawless.

She turned her head and smiled warmly at him. “Could you hurry a bit, please?”

Claudia Spalding’s allure was subtle yet powerful, and Warren found himself obediently hurrying along.

At the gate to the estate, the two unmarked police cars pulled to the curb as he turned into the driveway and entered the code Claudia provided on the keypad. He drove up the lane not knowing what to expect. But he’d represented many celebrity clients, was familiar with their extravagant lifestyles, and figured the estate had to be top of the line. When the mansion came into view it matched anything he’d seen in Beverly Hills.

He parked and looked at Claudia Spalding. “There’s a slight chance the judge will reconsider granting bail if you’re here when the police show up with a new warrant. I’ll certainly make a strong argument for it.”

“That’s something to look forward to,” Claudia said.

“Would you like me to stay with you until they arrive?”

Claudia shook her head, her hand on the door latch. “No, Mr. Warren, that won’t be necessary.”

“It would be in your best interest to have me stick around,” he said, fully aware his motives were mixed.

Claudia flashed him a knowing smile and stepped out of the car. “Yes, I’m sure it would. Good night, Mr. Warren.”

He watched her walk to the house, her posture perfect, body moving in a lithesome rhythm, as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

Lieutenant Dante Macy found it no easy matter to have a warrant for Claudia Spalding’s arrest issued by a Santa Fe district court judge. Since it was after normal working hours on a Friday, he first had to go through a Santa Fe PD dispatcher, who put him in touch with the highest ranking officer on duty, a patrol captain, who in turn referred him to the lieutenant in charge of special investigations.

Macy called the lieutenant at home, who contacted an off-duty detective named Matt Chacon. Detective Chacon got on the stick in a hurry and talked to the ADA on duty. He reported back promptly to Macy that the original arrest affidavit prepared by Sergeant Pino had been turned down by the DA and would have to be reworked and re-submitted.

Macy knew Pino was on her way to California, bringing with her all the case materials. “Do you have the information you need to do it?”

“We have copies of everything,” Chacon replied.

“How long will it take you?”

“I’ll use what the sergeant wrote, add in the Dean confession, and that should do it.”

“How long?” Macy repeated.

“An hour to do the paperwork,” Chacon replied. “I’ll hand-carry it to the ADA, who has the judge who signed the warrant for Dean standing by.”

“My sheriff, who’s not a happy camper, is hovering over my shoulder on this, Detective. When will I get a faxed copy?”

“Give it two or three hours, Lieutenant,” Chacon said, “barring any unforeseen delays.”

“Like what?” Macy asked.

“The district attorney wants to sign off on it. I think he’s talking to your DA as we speak.”

“Are there any political issues regarding Claudia Spalding I should know about?” Macy asked.

Chacon chuckled. “I don’t think Claudia Spalding has any political clout at all in Santa Fe. From what I know about her, she didn’t come here to engage in civic affairs, if you get my meaning.”

In spite of himself, Macy laughed. “Okay. Thanks for pushing it along, Detective.”

“No problem. I’ll have it to you as fast as I can.”

Macy called Bill Price, who had a team of officers on stakeout at the Spalding mansion. “Is everything quiet?”

“No problem, LT. She hasn’t moved, and no one’s been to visit since the lawyer dropped her off.”

“We should have a warrant from New Mexico in two or three hours. I’ll let you know as soon as it comes through.”

“Ten-four,” Price said.

Because Ramona’s tickets had been booked a day before her departure, she wasn’t able to fly directly to San Luis Obispo and had to lay over at the Phoenix airport and catch the last flight to Santa Barbara.

For a time, she sat in the busy concourse oblivious to the people around her and read through the chief’s case notes on George Spalding.

Kerney had put everything in chronological sequence, and his narrative style was crisp, clear, thoroughly detailed, and filled with solid observations. The notes read like a compelling mystery, and by the time Ramona finished she was caught up in the case, eager to know where George Spalding was and why he’d faked his own death.

Ramona wasn’t surprised by Kerney’s investigative skills. She’d watched him work several major crimes, and knew he’d spent most of his career in the major felony crime unit as he rose through the ranks.

Because of his background in investigations, Kerney paid a bit more attention to the unit than most chiefs normally would. But he didn’t shirk his larger responsibilities, and Ramona hadn’t heard any complaints of favoritism from members of the other divisions.

She put the case notes away and did some people watching. Businessmen and -women in rumpled suits traveling home for the weekend wandered back and forth pulling their wheeled carry-on bags and talking on cell phones. Weary parents chased after hyperactive children. Electric carts with flashing red warning lights passed by carrying senior citizens, frail and disabled people, and young mothers holding infants. Teenage girls in tight jeans showing bare midriffs clattered along. There were middle-aged men in baggy shorts and T-shirts, and an abundance of overweight people.

Her flight left on time and the small turbojet flew west into the sun, with Phoenix and its suburbs below spreading out for miles across the desert floor. Not yet immune to the fun of flying, Ramona passed the time looking out the window. When the plane banked and turned on its final approach to Santa Barbara the ocean came into view, shimmering like an enormous undulating sheet, each wave tufted in white as it broke against the shore.

The Santa Barbara airport was much like the one in Santa Fe, which also served only commuter jets and private aircraft. Portable stairs were rolled up to the plane to unload the passengers, and the terminal, a quaint, tidy California mission-style building, was just a few steps away. Inside, the passenger area was empty, and a small cluster of people waited behind the security barrier, manned by a bored-looking guard sitting on a stool next to the baggage screening machine.

A pretty woman, perhaps two inches taller than Ramona, with short, dark hair and a dimple in her cheek, stepped forward and waved in her direction.

“Ramona?” the woman asked with an easy smile.

“You must be Ellie.” Impulsively, she stepped forward and gave Lowrey a hug.

“Welcome to California,” Ellie said. “Let’s get your bags and hit the road.”

As they waited at the covered baggage stall next to the terminal, Ellie’s cell phone rang.

“Is Sergeant Pino with you?” Lieutenant Macy asked.

“Yes, she just arrived,” Ellie said.

“Good. I need you both here now,” Macy said. “Claudia Spalding is out of jail.”

“What happened?”

“The judge threw out the arrest on a technicality and released her. She’s home, but I’ve got people there making sure she stays put.”

“Do you want us at Montecito?” Ellie asked.

“No, the sheriff and the DA want you and Pino here to vet the new arrest affidavit before it’s served. They want everything in perfect order.”

“Does it need vetting?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Are they just covering their butts?”

“I didn’t say that either,” Macy replied.

“We’re on our way.”

“Problems?” Ramona asked as she picked up her luggage.

Ellie smiled. “We’ve been called into work. I’ll tell you about it on the drive.”

“Another Friday evening shot to hell,” Ramona said cheerfully as she followed Ellie to her unit.

Much more than three hours passed while Detective Bill Price waited in his unit with all the windows down so that no outside sound would go unnoticed. Every ten minutes he checked in with his team by radio. All the entrances were covered, two detectives were constantly circling the estate perimeter in units looking for any sign of movement, and an officer was on station at the bottom of the hill ready to stop, ID, and question the destination of any drivers entering the street.

Price checked the time as he unwrapped a stick of gum and folded it into his mouth. The night breeze whispered through the trees, soft and soothing, and a full moon flung tangled webs of shadows from the branches across the roadway.

The distant sound of rotors made Price stiffen, listen intently, and look up at the empty sky through the windshield.

He got out and did a three-sixty scan. Tall trees blocked his line of sight in every direction.

The sound grew closer and a helicopter broke into view, traveling fast, descending quickly, veering toward the estate.

Price decided he couldn’t wait for Macy’s call. He reached into the car and grabbed the microphone. “Go, go, go,” he yelled. “Stop that chopper.”

Car engines roared to life, entrance gates opened, and police cars barreled onto the grounds from three directions, converging on the house. Price swerved around the lead car and braked hard by the front door just in time to see the chopper rise above the rooftop, displaying only the tail boom and rear fins as it flew away.

His cell phone rang. He took a deep breath to swallow his frustration and answered.

“You’re good to go,” Macy said.

Price watched the flashing anticollision beacon on the upper fin of the chopper recede in the sky. “It’s too late. A helicopter just picked her up.”

“Dammit,” Macy said. “You’re sure of that?”

“It just left, Lieutenant. We’re at the house now, but we haven’t searched it yet.”

“Do it,” Macy snapped. “I’ll notify all the area airports and local police departments.”

Price thought about LAX and Burbank, which weren’t that far by air, Santa Barbara just minutes away, and all the other, smaller fields Spalding could land at before any cops could get there in time. It seemed hopeless.

“Ten-four,” he said.

“Did you ID the chopper?” Macy asked.

“Negative, I couldn’t read the markings.”

“Dammit,” Macy said, this time with more feeling. “Seal that place off and search every inch of it. I’ll take care of the warrant affidavit. I want to know exactly what Spalding took with her.”

“Roger that.” Price put the cell phone away, gathered his team, and began the search.

The only person they found on the premises was Glenn Davitt, the estate manager, waiting for them in his quarters. He cheerfully admitted that he’d seen Claudia fly away.

“Did she say where she was going?” Price asked.

“No,” Davitt replied, “just that her arrest had all been a big mistake.”

“Were you with her when she arranged for the helicopter?”

Davitt shook his head. “I didn’t even know about it until it landed.”

“But you saw her leave.”

“Yeah.”

“What air charter company did she use?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“What was she carrying?”

“Two bags and a briefcase.”

“Did you see her pack?”

“No.”

“Where’s the housekeeper?” Price asked.

“She gave herself the night off.”

“But you stayed here. Why?”

“Look, I didn’t help Claudia, if that’s what you mean. And even if I had, like I said, she told me everything was cool and you guys had fucked up.”

Price didn’t believe one word of it. Pissed beyond belief, Price told Davitt he would be held as a material witness.

“What does that mean?” Davitt asked.

“You’re going to jail, and you’ll stay there until you’re called to appear at Spalding’s trial.”

“When will that be?”

Price smiled wickedly. “Who knows? Months, maybe. It depends on how long it takes to find her. What air charter company did she use?”

“Valley Air, out of Burbank.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard,” Price said as he dialed Lieutenant Macy’s number.

“Do I still have to go to jail?” Davitt asked.

“Maybe not.”

The full moon Kerney left behind in Santa Fe was hidden by a bleak night sky and a light wind that carried a mist of rain across the river into Arlington. A warm glow came through the windows of the house, and the exterior light was on in anticipation of his arrival.

He paid the cabbie and carried his bags inside just as Sara stepped out of the kitchen. He could feel the grin on his face spread the moment he saw her. Barefoot, dressed in shorts and a halter top that showed the flat muscles of her stomach, her long, slender legs, and the rise of her breasts, she hurried to him and he held her tight, smelling her scent.

After a long look at Patrick, sound asleep in his crib, they sat in the kitchen, Sara sipping wine and Kerney a glass of iced tea. They talked idly, comfortably, about small matters.

Kerney told her of his faulty attempt to build the rock retaining wall at the ranch, and described in detail the horses he’d bought. Sara told him Patrick was about to start teething, and that she was planning to have the old-fashioned radiators enclosed to protect him from accidental burns.