for questioning. The information had to come from within the department."
"You want Internal Affairs to handle it?"
"No, you do it. Concentrate on the detectives, officers, and technicians who were at the crime scene."
Molina inclined his head toward the door.
"What in the hell was going on in there with you and Agent Perry?"
"It's old business," Kerney said.
"Make sure you put Applewhite and her partner under constant observation during the house search. I don't want anything else disappearing from the residence. Take photographs while you're there.
If Applewhite questions it, say it's department policy. Get me a few good shots of her."
Applewhite came out the door with another agent before Molina could ask what in the hell was going on.
"We're ready to roll, Chief," she said, with a nod and a smile in Molina's direction.
"Lieutenant Molina will guide you to the house," Kerney said as he stepped away to his unit.
After World War Two the College of Santa Fe, an independent institution founded by four Christian Brothers in 1859, had relocated from a site near the plaza to the surplus Fort Burns Army Hospital at the edge of town. Now besieged by urban sprawl and bordered by major roads, the campus was more or less tucked away from view except for the main entrance off St. Michael's Drive.
Over the past twenty years the college had built a reputation for its liberal arts, performance, and fine arts programs.
Kerney drove past the flashy new garnet-red Visual Arts Center, an ultramodern building of exceedingly sharp angles, rows of geometrically square and rectangular windows, stiff jutting cornices, and pyramid domes, to the old army barracks, where two squad cars, an unmarked unit, a crime-tech vehicle, and an ambulance were parked.
Officer Herrera once again stood guard, positioned at the gate to the courtyard entrance with clipboard in hand next to a sign that read,
"Christian Brothers Residence."
Kerney wondered if Herrera was good at anything other than checking people in and out of crime scenes. He had his doubts.
He sat in his car for a long minute looking at the barracks, which sported new roofs and siding, but clearly proclaimed a wartime heritage.
Although brown and dormant, the courtyard was a showcase of ardent gardening and careful landscaping, with curving walkways, carefully pruned shrubs, a grass lawn, mulched flower-beds, and ornamental trees.
Around the perimeter of the buildings mature pine and cedar trees over arched the roofs and provided screening.
Kerney wondered how long it would be before the college tore the barracks down, and hoped it never happened. Not every structure worth saving had to be an architectural marvel, and there was something to be said for preserving a few reminders of a time when the country had been defended by millions of citizen soldiers.
"Did you see the body?" Kerney asked as he signed in with Herrera.
"Just for a minute," Cloudy answered.
"Then Sergeant Catanach arrived and stationed me out here."
"Did you detain any witnesses?"
"Like I said, Chief, the sergeant took over."
Kerney looked into Herrera's dull gray eyes and decided to trust the hunch that popped up.
"Did anyone from outside the department come by the Terrell crime scene yesterday?"
"Yeah, an FBI agent stopped by just before I was relieved. Some woman.
I don't remember her name. Applegate, or something like that."
"What did she want?"
"Just to know what was happening with the case."
"And?" Kerney prodded, trying to keep a scolding tone out of his voice.
"I filled her in."
"What did you tell her?"
"That we had a suspect, the Mexican guy."
"Did she ask permission to inspect the crime scene?"
"No."
"Did you document the conversation?" Kerney asked.
"What for?" Herrera said with a shrug.
Kerney forced a smile.
"Contact Lieutenant Molina, tell him what you told me, and write up a supplemental report. Have it ready for me before I leave."
Herrera shrugged again.
"Okay."
Sergeant
"You want Internal Affairs to handle it?"
"No, you do it. Concentrate on the detectives, officers, and technicians who were at the crime scene."
Molina inclined his head toward the door.
"What in the hell was going on in there with you and Agent Perry?"
"It's old business," Kerney said.
"Make sure you put Applewhite and her partner under constant observation during the house search. I don't want anything else disappearing from the residence. Take photographs while you're there.
If Applewhite questions it, say it's department policy. Get me a few good shots of her."
Applewhite came out the door with another agent before Molina could ask what in the hell was going on.
"We're ready to roll, Chief," she said, with a nod and a smile in Molina's direction.
"Lieutenant Molina will guide you to the house," Kerney said as he stepped away to his unit.
After World War Two the College of Santa Fe, an independent institution founded by four Christian Brothers in 1859, had relocated from a site near the plaza to the surplus Fort Burns Army Hospital at the edge of town. Now besieged by urban sprawl and bordered by major roads, the campus was more or less tucked away from view except for the main entrance off St. Michael's Drive.
Over the past twenty years the college had built a reputation for its liberal arts, performance, and fine arts programs.
Kerney drove past the flashy new garnet-red Visual Arts Center, an ultramodern building of exceedingly sharp angles, rows of geometrically square and rectangular windows, stiff jutting cornices, and pyramid domes, to the old army barracks, where two squad cars, an unmarked unit, a crime-tech vehicle, and an ambulance were parked.
Officer Herrera once again stood guard, positioned at the gate to the courtyard entrance with clipboard in hand next to a sign that read,
"Christian Brothers Residence."
Kerney wondered if Herrera was good at anything other than checking people in and out of crime scenes. He had his doubts.
He sat in his car for a long minute looking at the barracks, which sported new roofs and siding, but clearly proclaimed a wartime heritage.
Although brown and dormant, the courtyard was a showcase of ardent gardening and careful landscaping, with curving walkways, carefully pruned shrubs, a grass lawn, mulched flower-beds, and ornamental trees.
Around the perimeter of the buildings mature pine and cedar trees over arched the roofs and provided screening.
Kerney wondered how long it would be before the college tore the barracks down, and hoped it never happened. Not every structure worth saving had to be an architectural marvel, and there was something to be said for preserving a few reminders of a time when the country had been defended by millions of citizen soldiers.
"Did you see the body?" Kerney asked as he signed in with Herrera.
"Just for a minute," Cloudy answered.
"Then Sergeant Catanach arrived and stationed me out here."
"Did you detain any witnesses?"
"Like I said, Chief, the sergeant took over."
Kerney looked into Herrera's dull gray eyes and decided to trust the hunch that popped up.
"Did anyone from outside the department come by the Terrell crime scene yesterday?"
"Yeah, an FBI agent stopped by just before I was relieved. Some woman.
I don't remember her name. Applegate, or something like that."
"What did she want?"
"Just to know what was happening with the case."
"And?" Kerney prodded, trying to keep a scolding tone out of his voice.
"I filled her in."
"What did you tell her?"
"That we had a suspect, the Mexican guy."
"Did she ask permission to inspect the crime scene?"
"No."
"Did you document the conversation?" Kerney asked.
"What for?" Herrera said with a shrug.
Kerney forced a smile.
"Contact Lieutenant Molina, tell him what you told me, and write up a supplemental report. Have it ready for me before I leave."
Herrera shrugged again.
"Okay."
Sergeant
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