Everyone Dies kk-8 Page 7

  “How old is Ms. Manning?” Sara asked.

  “About my age,” Saul said. “In her late sixties, I’d say.”

  “Does Dora have health problems?” Sara asked.

  “Not that I know of. She’s very active.”

  “Does she work?” Kerney asked.

  “She’s an artist,” Saul replied, “and works at home. We have several of her watercolors.”

  “And before that?”

  “For many years, she was a clinical psychologist here in Santa Fe,” Saul said, looking closely at Kerney. What had brought the police chief and a very pregnant woman to his front door to question him about Dora?

  “You’re the police chief,” Saul said.

  “I am,” Kerney said quickly. “Have you had any problems with rats?”

  Saul shook his head. “The only rat I’ve ever seen around here is the one Dora found in her driveway several days ago. She came and told me about it before animal control took it away.”

  “Do you have a key to her house?” Kerney asked.

  “Yes, and a mailbox key as well. My wife picked up her mail this afternoon.”

  “Did you or your wife go inside her house?” Sara asked.

  “No, we only check inside when she’s on extended trips, just to make sure everything is okay.” Saul’s worried gaze shifted from Sara to Kerney and back again. “What’s going on?”

  Sara smiled reassuringly. “Probably nothing. Could we have the key?”

  Saul nodded and left them waiting in the doorway. They could hear him talking in a hushed voice. After a few minutes, he returned with his wife in tow, who handed Kerney a key.

  “Is there an alarm system?” Kerney asked.

  “No,” the woman said. “This is very disconcerting. Why are you concerned about Dora?”

  “We’re just checking on her welfare,” Kerney replied.

  He thanked the couple and asked them to remain in their house. They nodded in unison, eyes wide with misgiving.

  At the SUV, Kerney got a flashlight and led the way along the dark street to Manning’s house. He thought about asking Sara to remain behind while he looked around, but knew she’d have none of it.

  “So, do you know Manning?” Sara asked, as they approached the house.

  “Professionally, I did,” he said. “She did a good bit of forensic psychology work for the courts before she gave up her practice to become an artist. I’d forgotten all about her. It was a long time ago.”

  He knocked hard and rang the doorbell several times before handing Sara the key. “Stay here. I’ll scout the perimeter and look for any signs of forced entry,” he said, reaching for his sidearm. Sara already had the. 38 out of her purse and in her hand.

  He checked every door and window and returned to find Sara with her back against the wall, her weapon in the ready position, and the key in the lock.

  He shook his head. “Looks okay on the outside,” he whispered. “We’ll do a room search. Back me up.”

  Sara nodded and turned the key.

  Together, they swept the house. In the master bedroom they found Dora Manning stretched out on an ornate Victorian bed with her throat cut. Her pajama top and the bed sheet were soaked in blood. On the wall behind the bed, the killer had left a message in red. In block letters, it read:

  EVERYONE DIES

  They retreated from the house. Kerney turned on the ceiling lights with the butt of his flashlight as they went from room to room, illuminating walls covered with Manning’s framed egg tempera and watercolor paintings. There was no sign that the house had been burglarized or a struggle had occurred.

  Under the portal porch light, Kerney holstered his weapon, called in homicide on his cell phone, and told dispatch to roll units running a silent code three.

  “Get Chief Otero and Lieutenant Molina up here ASAP,” he added before disconnecting.

  “I don’t like this at all,” Sara said.

  Kerney thought about the two murder victims, Jack Potter, a former prosecutor, and now Dora Manning, an ex-forensic psychologist. He thought about the message on Manning’s bedroom wall, and the image of Soldier lying dead in the horse barn ran through his mind.

  “Maybe you should go up to Montana and stay with your parents until after the baby is born,” he said.

  “I am not having this baby without you there to greet him,” Sara said peevishly.

  “I’d feel better if you did.”

  “No way, Kerney,” Sara said.

  “Until we know what ‘everyone dies’ means, it would be the best thing to do.”

  Sara shook her head fiercely. “I’m staying. It isn’t negotiable.”

  “Fine. I’m sending you home with a patrol officer as soon as my people get here, with orders to sweep the house and remain with you until I return.”

  “Try to get home before morning,” Sara said.

  “We’ll see how it goes.”

  She wrapped her arms around her belly, cradling and protecting the baby. “This is an absolutely crappy thing to have happening right now.”

  He pulled her close. “We’ll get through it, I promise.”

  Slowly, her arms encircled his waist and she held him tight.

  The bald-headed man pulled to the shoulder of Hyde Park Road to let a line of police cars pass by. He followed and caught up in time to see the last unit turn off into the subdivision where Dora Manning lived.

  He nodded approvingly. According to his timetable, if Manning’s body hadn’t been discovered by midnight, he would make an anonymous call to the police. He decided to go back to the war room and confirm it on the scanner.

  Everything was working perfectly. He wondered where Kerney and his wife were. But it really didn’t matter. Part of the plan was designed to get Kerney scared and scrambling for answers, which he would then supply.

  So far, so good.

  After Kerney’s people arrived and were briefed, the patrol lieutenant and an officer in a second unit escorted Sara home. At the lieutenant’s request, Sara stayed in the squad car until the two men checked the grounds around the guesthouse and the main residence. She could see the beams of their flashlights as they moved back and forth through the trees and shrubs, until they disappeared behind the buildings. Finally they returned.

  “It’s clear,” the lieutenant said through the open driver’s side window, holding out his hand. “Your house key please, ma’am.”

  “There’s something tacked on the front door,” she said, handing him the key.

  The lieutenant turned on the unit’s spotlight and aimed it at the front door. “Manny, go see what that is,” he said to the patrol officer. “But don’t touch it.”

  The officer hurried to the front door and came back at a run. “It’s a typed note on white paper that says, ‘Everyone dies. Two down, two to go, and then you’re dead.’ There’s no signature, but there’s a dead rat on the portal.”

  Sara bit her lip and wondered if she and her unborn son counted as two in the killer’s mind. The odds were good that they did.

  The lieutenant reached in through the open window for the microphone and called Kerney’s unit number. It took him a minute to respond.

  The baby moved, and Sara leaned back against the headrest wondering if she was about to give birth. She held her breath, hoping it was a false alarm. She wanted this madness over before Patrick Brannon Kerney came into the world. She listened as the lieutenant gave Kerney the news.

  “Have you searched the house?” Kerney asked, his voice clear on the radio speaker.

  “Not yet.”

  “Bring in another officer to assist,” Kerney said. “I doubt whoever left the message is around, but play it safe anyway. Call me when you’ve finished the house search, and I’ll send a detective to fetch the note. Is everything else ten-four?”

  “Affirmative.” After requesting another unit, the lieutenant dropped the microphone on the seat. “This won’t take all that long, ma’am,” he said.

  “Good,”
Sara replied, trying not to wiggle, “because I have to pee.”

  Kerney sat in Sara’s new car with Larry Otero and watched as a group of detectives huddled in the middle of the street while Sal Molina gave them the word that the scope of the investigation now included a serious threat to the chief and his pregnant wife.

  The emergency lights from the police units, an ambulance, and the crime scene van blinked lollipop colors into the night, bouncing off the trees and the front of Manning’s house. A cluster of neighbors, including the Sauls, stood behind the police line watching techs lug equipment into Dora Manning’s house.

  The killer’s note and the explicit symbolism of a second dead rat on his doorstep ate like a worm in Kerney’s gut, and assigning officers to protect Sara didn’t ease his anxiety. Until he knew who the perp was and why this was happening, none of them was safe.

  An unmarked unit passed through the checkpoint and pulled to the side of the street. Ramona Pino came over with a shut-down look on her face and handed Kerney the note retrieved from his front door. It was protected in a clear plastic bag.

  He read it, turned it over to the back side, which was blank, and passed it along to Larry, who did the same before handing it back.

  “I think the neighborhood knows that we’ve arrived in force,” Kerney said, as he returned the note to Pino. “Except for the patrol officer at the checkpoint, ask the officers and detectives to kill their emergency lights.”

  Kerney knew his orders sounded picky. But it was a lot better than cursing the nameless son of a bitch who wanted to kill his family.

  Ramona nodded stiffly and walked away.

  “She’s not a happy camper right now,” Larry said.

  “She’ll get over it,” Kerney said, not in the least interested in Pino’s emotional state. “What’s happening with the IA investigation?”

  “Lieutenant Casados has personally interviewed Pino, Tafoya, Molina, all on-duty commanders in the operations division, and the SWAT supervisor. I’m next on the list. I’m meeting with him in the morning. He’ll want to see you after that.”

  One by one, the emergency lights went dark. Kerney nodded. Unless directed otherwise, Casados reported to the chief and no one else.

  “We’ll see what shakes out,” he said. “Have Molina put Tafoya and Pino on desk duty starting tomorrow. I want a comprehensive search made to locate every case file and court record that involved Jack Potter, Dora Manning, and me. I don’t care how many archives they have to dig through to get the information. It’s time to start connecting the dots.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “Also have the ME give us his best estimate of the time of Manning’s death. To me, it looks like she’s been dead for at least twenty-four hours, perhaps longer. That would mean the perp cut her throat before he shot Jack Potter.”

  “Why the different MOs?” Larry asked.

  “We don’t know yet if they’re different,” Kerney replied.

  “He used a knife on Manning and a pistol on Potter.”

  “Because each circumstance and setting was unique. Potter was killed early in the morning on an empty street. I doubt our perp wanted to risk attacking him with a knife. It was far better to shoot him and then get the hell out of there in a hurry. On the other hand, Manning died in her bed, so I’m assuming she was killed at night. A gunshot could have alerted the neighbors. In that instance, it was better to use a blade.”

  “But there’s no indication the perp played any mind games with Potter before he killed him,” Larry said.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Kerney said as he started the engine.

  “Going home?” Larry asked, as he opened the passenger door.

  “Not yet. There are a few things I want to do first. Is the ADA on his way?”

  “Yeah, Foyt should be here soon. I’ll bring him up to speed.”

  On late rounds, Dr. Rand Collier read the admission report, the medication chart, and the nursing notes in Mary Beth Patterson’s chart. After an hour of observation in the ER, Patterson’s catatonic stupor had lifted, replaced by a moderate psychotic reaction stemming from the death of her boyfriend. The ER physician who’d examined Patterson cited nihilistic delusions, verbal requests to be punished, and a flat affect. An antidepressant had been prescribed and Patterson had been sent up to the psych unit for further observation and evaluation.

  The nursing notes from the afternoon shift reported that upon arrival, Mary Beth had been placed on a close watch. She had remained passive and verbally unresponsive until early evening, when she had requested some juice at the nursing station. Since then, she’d been observed in her room watching television, and had partially eaten her dinner meal-all good signs.

  He reviewed summaries of Patterson’s prior admissions which detailed her self-destructive behavior, depressive episodes, and her sex-change operation, and read through the intake note prepared by the hospital social worker who’d interviewed Joyce Barbero, Patterson’s counselor at the independent living center.

  Collier, who was covering for the mental health clinic’s psychiatrist, walked into Mary Beth’s room and introduced himself.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, as he approached the bed.

  Mary Beth pushed herself to a sitting position. “I need to go home. My Kurt will be worried about me. He doesn’t know where I am.”

  “Would you like to talk about what happened to Kurt today?”

  “Nothing happened to him,” Mary Beth replied.

  “Do you remember why you were brought to the hospital?” Collier asked.

  “Why was I?” Mary Beth replied. “I wasn’t sick or anything.”

  “You were upset,” Collier said.

  “No, I don’t let things upset me anymore.” She tugged at the collar of her hospital gown. “I want my own clothes. I can’t let Kurt see me like this.”

  Collier asked Mary Beth to tell him the day, month, and year. Her answers were way off.

  “Do you know Joyce Barbero?” Collier asked.

  “Is she one of the nurses?” Mary Beth replied, looking confused.

  “I’m going to have the nurse bring you something to help you sleep,” Collier said, as he scribbled a prescription note on the chart and a remark that Mary Beth was disoriented, possibly due to emotional trauma. “Rest tonight and we can talk again in the morning.”

  “I don’t want to stay here.”

  “We’ll see how you feel in the morning,” Collier replied as he smiled and left the room.

  Mary Beth sank back against the pillow and started scratching her arm with her long fingernails, drawing blood as she went.

  At police headquarters, Kerney asked dispatch to pull all the logs for animal control calls that had occurred on nights and weekends over the past sixty days. During normal weekday hours calls went directly to animal control, which was housed on the grounds of the humane society shelter but under the control and supervision of the police department.

  Kerney knew Jack Potter’s house was inside the city limits. But he didn’t know if Potter and his partner, Norman Kaplan, owned a pet. Still, it was worth checking out. Dispatch called and reported no contact by Potter to animal control. He contacted the animal control supervisor at home and asked him to go to the office right away and search the phone logs for Kaplan’s or Potter’s name. The supervisor said he’d call back in thirty minutes.

  Kerney used his time making a list of what else needed to be done to start identifying candidates who might reasonably be suspected to hold a grudge against Potter, Manning, and himself. Checking court records and case files only started the paper search. Data from the sex offender registration files, intelligence reports, jail and prison release reports, and confidential files needed to be pulled to see if any red flags popped up. He ended his list with the names of a dozen or so of the most violent offenders he’d busted during his career who were mostly likely to seek revenge.

  He looked at the names on the list. The men were all hardco
re felons with extensive criminal records. It would be foolish to assume the killer’s motivation could be tied to a single case that involved all three primary targets. A separate search would need to be done for threats against each one.

  He scratched out a note amending the order he’d told Larry Otero to pass on to Sal Molina, and called Helen Muiz, his office manager. He asked to have her staff get all in-house documents gathered and on Sal Molina’s desk by mid-morning with instructions to conduct both a combined and separate assessment of perps who might have reason to seek revenge against any one of the targets.

  Molina wouldn’t like getting Kerney’s orders through Helen Muiz, but right now he didn’t give a dead rat’s ass about Sal’s feelings. The SWAT screw-up still stuck in his craw and the jeopardy to Sara and the baby was too great to waste time worrying about protocol.

  “I’ll call my staff and have them get to work early,” Helen said. “You’ve got me worried about you and your family, Kevin. Is Sara all right?”

  Kerney smiled at her rare use of his given name. “She’s doing okay.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to have Larry Otero pass on your orders to Lieutenant Molina?”

  “Larry’s got enough to do, and there isn’t time for niceties,” Kerney replied. “I’ll leave my note on your desk. Wave it at Molina if he gets uppity.”

  “What a terrible day you’ve had,” Helen said.

  “It hasn’t been a good one. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”

  Soon after he hung up, the animal control supervisor called.

  “We haven’t had any calls to that address, Chief,” he said. “But I just checked the animal shelter’s lost dog reports. Three days ago Jack Potter called asking if a five-year-old, mixed-breed, female Border collie named Mandy had been picked up or brought into the shelter. He said she’d gotten out of his backyard. She’s still active on the lost animal list.”

  “You’ve been very helpful,” Kerney said, pushing back his chair.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, Chief, first I get a call from your wife about a dead rat, and now you want to know about a lost dog. Does all this have something to do with Potter’s murder?”