Under the close watch of a surveillance officer, Linda Langsford was at a funeral parlor making arrangements for her father’s services. Eric answered Kerney’s knock, looking scrawny and undernourished in what appeared to be some of Drew Randolph’s clothes. His eyebrows twitched as he stared at Kerney.
“I’m not talking to you,” he said from behind the screen door.
“You’d rather go back to jail,” Kerney countered.
“For what?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“I didn’t murder my father or any of those other people.”
“That should make talking to me a whole lot easier.”
“Okay, come in.”
Kerney stepped through the door. “Now, you’re absolutely sure you didn’t kill your father?”
Eric nodded as he padded barefoot into the living room and sat on the couch. “That’s right. Do you know my bitch sister doesn’t have any uppers or downers in the house? Not even a Valium prescription. There’s not a damn thing to get high on except booze.”
“You don’t seem to like your sister very much.”
“We’re not that close. Never have been.”
“She had Randolph bail you out.”
“That was for appearances, man. We’ve got to grieve together publicly now that the old man’s been iced. Linda’s big on shit like that.”
“Four years ago, you ripped your father off.”
Eric smiled gleefully. “You heard about that? I held him up at gunpoint, man. It gave me a big charge. What a rush.”
“Why didn’t you just take his money?”
“I wanted things that mattered to him. Stuff he wouldn’t want to give me. Money would’ve been too easy. That’s all he ever offered.”
“You took Arthur’s coin collection, your mother’s jewelry, and your own stamp album.”
“That’s right.”
“Things with a sentimental value.”
“Bullshit, sentimental,” Eric snorted. “He was a control freak. Nothing ever really belonged to us. He picked out every coin, stamp, and piece of expensive jewelry and kept it all locked in his safe. My mother had to ask him when she wanted to wear any of the good jewelry he bought for her. Can you believe that crap?”
“What did he buy for Linda?”
“Daddy’s darling girl got money.”
“What for?”
“Anything she wanted. Clothes, shoes, trips to Europe, dancing lessons, shopping sprees, cars—whatever.”
“When I talked to Dr. Joyce she said the whole family needed therapy.”
“Family therapy was her thing, man. To hear her talk, everybody needed it. Seeing her was a total waste of time.”
“She must have had her reasons.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What did you do with the guns you took from your father?”
“I sold them, along with everything else.”
“You didn’t keep any?”
“Nope.”
“What kind of gun did you take to your father’s house?”
“It was a Saturday night special.” Eric spread his thumb and forefinger. “A .25 caliber semiautomatic.”
“Kay Murray said it was a revolver.”
“She’s wrong.”
“Where is the gun now?”
“I traded it to get high. Is that the kind of gun that was used to kill my father?”
“No.”
“Have you checked out my alibi yet?”
“You lied to me, Eric.”
“About what?”
“You said you hadn’t seen or visited your father in six years.”
“I forget a lot of things when I’m stoned.”
“You weren’t high when you said it.”
“So I lied.”
“Did you use pay phones to telephone Linda last week?”
“What for?”
“You tell me.”
“No, I didn’t call her.”
“Did you see your father last week?”
“No.”
“Talk to him on the phone?”
“No.”
“Hire someone to kill him?”
Eric grinned. “That’s always been my favorite fantasy.”
“Did you?”
Eric shook his head.
“Why did you hate him so?”
There were footsteps on the porch, and a voice snapped out, “That’s enough!”
Linda Langsford stormed up to Kerney, her face crimson red. “Why are you here again?” she demanded.
“To return your receipts,” Kerney answered calmly, holding out the credit card slips. “I made copies.”
She disregarded the papers and gave her brother a scathing look. “What has he been asking you?”
“If I robbed the Judas Judge,” Eric said.
Kerney dropped the credit card slips on the coffee table.
“Don’t call him that,” Linda snapped.
“Fuck you. I can say what I want.”
Linda’s body tensed. “You’re a mess, Eric.” She swung to face Kerney. “Don’t come back here without calling in advance, and don’t talk to Eric again until he has legal counsel.”
“As you wish,” Kerney said.
“Go,” she said flatly.
“We’ll need to talk again, Ms. Langsford.”
Linda smiled belligerently. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Crammed into the command trailer with Lee Sedillo and the agents working the case, Kerney listened to progress reports. Days of intense legwork without any headway had dampened everyone’s spirits. Kerney masked his own disappointment by focusing on the details of each agent’s assignment.
After the last agent’s briefing, Kerney met with Lee in the small office. “What’s pending?” he asked.
Sedillo sat at the desk and rubbed the back of his neck. “Two things: Eric Langsford’s whereabouts at the time of the murders, and the verification of his sister’s vacation itinerary. I had to pull Duran off the vandalism investigation to do the legwork on Eric.”
“Where is he?” Kerney asked.
“El Paso. He hasn’t checked in yet, so I’m assuming he hasn’t got anything, and the bed and breakfast where Linda Langsford spent the first two nights of her vacation has shut down for the season.”
“Where’s that?” Kerney asked.
“Creede, Colorado, in Mineral County—wherever that is. I’ve got a call in to the sheriff, asking him to locate the owners and have them contact us. A husband and wife run the place.”
“I’ve been there,” Kerney said. “It’s a small old mining town in the Rockies, northeast of Alamosa. There are a lot of summer vacation homes but not too many year-round residents. It shouldn’t be hard to run down the B and B owners.”
Lee nodded. “I hope so. About the only thing we’ve done so far is wipe out the overtime budget for the year.”
“I want the team to go back over everything again one more time. All of it—the parks, motels, eateries, gas stations, convenience stores—the works. This time, have them concentrate on Penelope Gibben, Kay Murray, Eric Langsford, and his sister. They are the only ones who stand to profit from Langsford’s murder.”
“Gibben and Murray have solid alibis, Chief,” Lee said.
“ Seemingly solid alibis,” Kerney replied.
“We’ll work it again,” Lee said without much enthusiasm.
“Let’s take a closer look at the Langsford family.” Kerney handed Lee a copy of the names Colby Trumble, the high school principal, had provided. “Friends, neighbors, school chums, relatives, teachers, business associates—whoever knew them. Let’s see if we can turn up any more private family scandals. You know the routine.”
“You still think this wasn’t a spree killing?” Lee asked.
“Give me the killer’s motive that triggered the event,” Kerney said. “Was it simple robbery? If we had one confirmed report that a victim’s credit card had been used, any stolen items had been pawned or sold, or a check had been forged, maybe I’d buy it. But even that wouldn’t explain why the perp used two bullets on Langsford and one with everybody else.
“Aside from all of that,” Kerney continued, “we may have a murderer who is systematically wiping out the Langsford family. Changing his MO with each crime. Up to now, the killings have been widely spaced apart. But that could change.”
“You think he’s going after Linda Langsford?”
“The phone calls made to her residence on the night of the murders bother me. Spree killers get off on bloodletting, so why stop to make the phone calls unless there’s a reason? With this type of killer, you’d expect him to be spraying bullets around, pumping round after round into his victims. That didn’t happen.”
“Good points,” Lee said.
“Let’s assume the killer had some firearms training. Contact every gun dealer, weapons instructor, and shooting range in the state. Find out if any of our possible suspects have experience with handguns.”
“Including Linda Langsford?” Lee asked.
Kerney shrugged. “Why not?”
“You want gun sales records searched also?”
“You bet. Start with Brady Bill felony checks.”
The phone rang and Lee grabbed the receiver. He listened, gave a terse thanks, and hung up.
“That was the Roswell district commander. Eric Langsford took five hundred dollars out of his sister’s purse and split. Surveillance didn’t even know he was gone. He left out the back door.”
“When?” Kerney asked.
“No more than an hour ago. Linda Langsford just called it in.”
“Find him.”
The message light on the motel telephone blinked at Kerney. He called the front desk, and the clerk told him Kay Murray was in the lobby waiting to speak to him.
She rose quickly from the chair when Kerney entered the lobby. Her long brown hair fell in soft curls around her face, and she wore tight-fitting, faded blue jeans and expensive high-heeled boots that made her look alluring and provocative.
With apprehensive eyes, she smiled shyly as Kerney approached. “I’ve treated you badly and I’ve come to apologize,” she said.
“There’s no need for that.”
“At least let me buy you a drink to make amends.”
Kerney nodded in the direction of the motel restaurant, and her expression lightened.
They settled at a table in the almost empty lounge, where the smell of alcohol and cigarettes blended with the aroma of greasy restaurant food. With cheap paneling, mass-produced seafaring prints on the walls, a fishing net hung from the ceiling, and low-end captain’s chairs and tables, the decor matched the menu.
“I know you have a job to do,” Kay said, after the bartender brought the drinks. “But I’m very protective of my personal life.”
Kerney said nothing.
“Does that make any sense?”
“Of course it does.”
“I’m a private person. It’s the way I survive.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Ms. Murray,” Kerney said, hoping she would.
“Please, call me Kay. I know I’ve been impossible with you, and I want you to understand why. I’m not conventional in the way I live, and I stay away from those who are quick to judge.”
She reached out and touched Kerney’s hand. “I know you weren’t doing that. But your questions made me feel that way. I had to settle myself down and get it clear in my mind that you were just doing your job. Will you forgive me?”
Kerney felt an unexpected arousal at her touch. He pulled his hand back and picked up his drink. “Of course.”
“So now what?”
“Excuse me?”
“Now that you know all my secrets, are they safe with you?”
“I doubt I know all of your secrets,” Kerney said.
Murray laughed. “No, you don’t.”
Kerney switched the wineglass to his left hand so she could clearly see his wedding band. She didn’t seem to notice. “Would you mind a few questions?” he asked.
“About?”
“Judge Langsford.”
“Go ahead.”
“Eric characterized his father as cruel, heartless, and controlling.”
“That’s unfair. Eric and his father were as different as night and day. Vernon was vigorous and virile—very charming with women. Eric has almost no sexuality at all. There’s no spark to him. He’s virtually a eunuch. At the most, sexually amorphous.”
“Did Vernon favor Linda?”
“He doted on her. She was his only daughter.”
“Why did you become Vernon’s lover?” Kerney asked.
The question brought an amused smile to Kay’s face. “You change subjects neatly. He always interested me sexually. I particularly liked the way he treated Penelope. I got to see them together a lot when I lived with her.”
“What drew him to you?”
“I was his type.”
“What type is that?”
“You could say a younger version of Penelope.” Kay smiled as she leaned forward. “See? Now you know another secret about me. I like men. Do you know what a single woman really needs?”
“What’s that?”
“A good mechanic and a great lover.”
Kerney smiled. “I hope you’ve found both.”
“I keep my antennae up for likely prospects,” she said with a lilt.
“Did you get to know the judge’s family while you lived with Penelope?”
“Only through her. Vernon was very good at compartmentalizing his life, if you know what I mean. And Penelope was, in some ways, a throwback.”
“How so?”
“She was more a courtesan than a mistress, and very honest about her needs. She had all the freedom she wanted, none of the burdens of a wife, and a reliable lover who wasn’t overly intrusive. I came to appreciate her view of life.”
“So did Vernon, apparently.”
Kay leaned back and searched Kerney’s face with her eyes. “You mean the money he left us in his will. You make it sound almost immoral. Would you be more approving of us if Vernon hadn’t been a rich, generous man?”
“I only note it.”
“Why bring it up at all? You know I am clearly not a suspect.”
“You do have a good alibi. I wasn’t accusing you.”
“There isn’t one person you’re investigating who had a dire need for Vernon’s money.”
“Except Eric.”
“Vernon would have provided for him even more than he did. All Eric needed to do was get off drugs and clean himself up.”
“Which, if my reading of Eric is correct, would have meant caving in to his father’s wishes. That’s something I don’t think he was willing to do.”
Kay gave Kerney a weighty look. “That’s an interesting concept.”
“Maybe the family liked having Eric be the oddball, to keep things in a crazy kind of balance.”
“What benefit would Eric possibly get out of that?”
“Attention.”
“Did you come up with this theory all by yourself?” Her tone was playfully mocking, as though she was talking to a misinformed child.
“No. Eric’s former therapist reminded me of the concept.” Kerney switched gears. “No one seems to want to talk about Arthur. Penelope told me his death devastated Marsha Langsford, and that Vernon was about to leave her when she was killed.”
“Arthur was her firstborn.”
“A hard loss, certainly. New Mexico is a community property state. Would Vernon have been willing to give her half of his considerable assets in a divorce settlement?”
“Are you suggesting Vernon may have killed his wife?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Do you think everyone is capable of such evil?” Censure crept into her voice.
“I think under certain circumstances people can and will do anything imaginable. Did you know Arthur at all?”
“No. That’s not to say I didn’t know who he was. Why is he important to you?”
“Three members of one family are dead. That raises my interest.”
“All died years apart under different circumstances. You won’t let this drop, will you?”
“Did you come here to probe my intentions?” Kerney asked.
“You think I have a conniving purpose,” she said slowly, watching for a reaction.
Kerney smiled broadly. “Do you?”
The softness on Kay’s face vanished, replaced by a icy, shut-down stare. She opened her purse and dropped some bills on the table. “I’ve made a serious mistake. I thought you were someone who could understand.”
“I’d like to.”
“You play word games, Mr. Kerney,” she said, as she stood up. “I think you’re a cold man.”
Kerney couldn’t resist. “Not at all what a single woman needs.”
Her eyes ate into him, venomous. “Screw you.”
Kerney stayed at the table after Kay Murray left and ordered a chicken salad sandwich from the bar menu. Only the mayonnaise made it palatable, but he ate it anyway.
What had brought Kay Murray down to Alamogordo to see him? He didn’t think for a minute her motives were spurred by genuine attraction, although she tried to play it that way until the tactic broke down. Did she just need to confirm that she wasn’t under suspicion?
Kerney doubted it.
He was no moralist when it came to other people’s lives. Experience had taught him never to trust the shibboleths of conventional morals and ethics. They often sugar-coated unpleasant truths.
He could buy the idea that Murray was a lusty woman, but why was it important for her to make him aware of that fact? It went way beyond a casual come-on, Kerney decided, or a simple need to be understood. Which meant she was either protecting herself or hiding something she didn’t want uncovered.
The more he learned about the people in the judge’s life, the more it seemed that Langsford’s personal relationships went way beyond unconventional. Where that might take him, Kerney couldn’t begin to guess.
He put some bills on the table to cover the tip, and a hand touched him on the shoulder. He looked up as Barbara Jennings leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.
“I hope that isn’t your supper, Kerney,” Barbara said.
Dale, Kerney, and Barbara had been best friends in high school, and Dale liked to tell the story of how he fell in love with her the first time he saw her barrel racing at a county fair rodeo.
No more than five foot three, Barbara’s light brown hair framed her widely spaced eyes and full mouth. Her face, now creased with the fine lines of middle age, held a perpetual look of curiosity about life, which she matched with a wide range of personal interests.
Years of ranching hadn’t erased her sweet features, and in some ways she was prettier than ever.
Kerney smiled broadly and stood up to hug her. “It’s good to see a friendly face for a change. How are you?”
“Just fine,” Barbara said, as she motioned Kerney back to his chair and joined him at the table. “I’m in town for a daylong seminar on bull fertility tomorrow. Dale has me doing all the breeding stock buying. He says I’m better at it than he is, and he’s right.”
“Where is Dale?”
“Tending to the ranch.”
“And the girls?”
“They’re staying at our apartment in Truth or Consequences, and going to school.”
“Are you still living in town with them during the school year?”
Barbara nodded. “I’m there most weeknights. But we’re all at the ranch on the weekends. I was hoping to buy you dinner, Kerney, but not here. Can you stand to pick your way through another meal while you keep a woman company?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Kerney said, gesturing for the bartender. “But first let me buy you a drink.”
Barbara told him a glass of wine would do nicely, and Kerney placed their order.
“Are you really going back to ranching?” Barbara asked, after toasting Kerney with her glass.
“That’s the current plan.”
“Dale would like that.”
“And what do you think?” Kerney asked.
“I love the ranching life, but I could do with a little more security. It’s an iffy business at best, especially for us small producers. But you’ll have a fair chance at success since you’ll own your land outright.”
“What would you do in my shoes?”
“Ten years ago, I would have said get into breeding stock. But now even that niche is crowded. Some ranchers have switched to elk ranching.”
“I’ve heard about that.”
“They harvest bull antler velvet, sell private hunting permits, slaughter for the market, or breed for other producers.”
“Is it profitable?” Kerney asked.
“It can be. One bull elk hunting permit costs on average nine thousand dollars, and on the private game parks there’s no state restriction on the number of permits.”
“It sure can’t be the same as raising cows,” Kerney said.
“It’s not. A few other ranchers have switched to buffalo. The Livestock Board treats them as domestic animals, if they’re not from a wild herd,” Barbara said. “Several large outfits here and in Montana are trying to develop a national market for buffalo meat.”
“Sounds like folks are looking for a way to get by.”
“As long as beef consumption and slaughter prices stay down, they’ve got to do something.”
“Not a rosy picture.”
Barbara laughed. “And you want to put yourself into it. I swear, Kerney, you haven’t changed: still bullheaded stubborn.”
“Maybe not so much anymore.”
“That would be different.” Barbara scooted her chair closer. “Now, enough of this ranch talk. How is Sara?”
“Stunned by the recent revelation that I’m a grandfather.”
“Say that again,” Barbara said, lowering the glass from her lips.
“It’s true,” Kerney said, launching into the story of Isabel and Clayton.
About the only thing Robert Duran felt good about after a day of pounding the Juárez streets was the overtime pay he was earning. Night along the Juárez tourist strip made the city look even more dirty and vulgar. After hoofing around the city from one sleazy hotel to the other, Robert crossed the Rio Grande into El Paso. Technically back in the States, he saw little difference between Juárez and the dilapidated neighborhood that bordered the river. Like Juárez, the area smelled of stale booze, urine, automobile fumes, and garbage. All the retail businesses sold the same cut-rate crap featured in the Juárez tourist traps.
He walked toward the old downtown El Paso plaza, noting an absence of whores on the street, fewer gaudy neon signs, almost no street vendors, more vacant commercial buildings, and a number of cheap hotels.
Canvassing the Juárez strip hotels had yielded no confirmation of Eric Langsford’s supposed stay in the city. But that didn’t mean anything; most of the hotel clerks had been totally disinterested in assisting a norteamericano cop, even if he looked like one of la gente and spoke good Spanish—of the northern New Mexico variety.
To reduce the possibility of vandalism to his unmarked unit, Robert had parked in the underground lot of the one decent hotel near the El Paso plaza. He was halfway there when he stopped and looked up at a flickering, humming neon hotel sign. Maybe Langsford had stayed on the Texas side of the border, and not in Juárez at all.
He looked back down the dingy street. There were at least six more hotels within sight and another half dozen up ahead. He ducked into the nearest one, flashed his ID and a photo of Langsford, asked his question, and checked the guest register. Nada, but at least he got cooperation from the clerk. He worked each hotel down the block, changed direction, and finished up at the new high-rise hotel near the plaza where his unit was parked.
He stood in front of the lit-up building with its Spanish accent decor and glass front lobby and decided to make one more inquiry before calling it a night.
Robert showed the woman at the registration desk Langsford’s photograph and she recognized him immediately.
“When did he check in?” Robert asked.
The woman clicked away at her computer keyboard. “Last Wednesday.”
“When did he check out?”
“Late Saturday morning.”
“Method of payment?” Robert asked.
“Cash.”
“Did he make any phone calls?”
“Only one, on Wednesday night, to an escort service called California Coeds.”
“Let me have the phone number,” Robert said, “and a copy of his room bill, if it’s no bother.”
“Certainly, Officer,” the clerk said, returning her attention to the computer.
The printer cranked out the bill. Eric Langsford had rented a suite for two hundred dollars a night—pricey for El Paso, where wages were low, unemployment high, and not too many high rollers had any reason to stay. On top of that, he’d booked the room before arriving.
Supposedly Langsford had been too drunk to remember what he’d done after leaving the band in Marfa, Texas. The room bill proved otherwise. Plus, it was solid evidence that put Langsford within easy striking distance of the crime scenes just prior to the murders.
“Where is the El Paso Police Department located?” Robert asked.
The registration clerk spread out a tourist map on the counter and circled the location.
According to the phone book advertisement, California Coeds offered a discreet dating service and accepted all major credit cards. Robert ran down his investigation to Oscar Olivares, the El Paso PD vice detective on desk duty, and learned that California Coeds provided in-room lap dancing, erotic massages, lingerie modeling, and whatever else the client privately negotiated with his date.
“For El Paso, it’s a high-class operation,” Olivares said. “The girls are mostly Anglo babes—fair-skinned blondes. They cater to businessmen up from Chihuahua and Mexico City who stay at the hotel. It’s owned by a Mexican consortium.”
“The hotel or the call service?” Robert asked.
“The hotel.”
“Any prostitution or racketeering busts on the call service?” Robert asked, eyeing the vice cop, who looked like a kid trying to pass for a grown-up. His dark curly hair covered his shirt collar, and a pencil-thin mustache adorned his upper lip.
“Not yet.”
“How do I make contact with the owner or whoever runs the operation?”
“I’ll take you to him.”
“It’s your turf, detective,” Robert said with a smile.
Mario Lopez Humberto operated the California Coeds Escort Service out of an expensive foothills residence with excellent views of the El Paso city lights. A white stretch limousine and several luxury cars were parked in the well-lit semicircular driveway.
Humberto opened the front door talking Spanish into a cordless phone, promising that Bambi would be somewhere at ten o’clock. He nodded nonchalantly when Olivares flashed his shield and kept talking.
Humberto looked like retired Mexican mafia muscle. Stocky, with a body slightly gone to seed, he wore three gold chains around his neck, fully revealed by his mostly unbuttoned white linen shirt.
He punched the phone button and smiled at Olivares. “Are you looking for a date?” he asked in Spanish.
“We need to talk to the girl you sent out to Eric Langsford’s hotel room last Wednesday night,” Robert said, speaking in English.
“What about?”
“Langsford is a murder suspect,” Robert said.
“Here?” Humberto asked.
“In New Mexico.”
“This has nothing to do with me?”
“Nothing.”
“Brandy was his escort. She’s in the green room,” Humberto said, motioning the men inside.
“What’s that?” Robert asked.
“It’s a room where my girls check in before going out on a date. I gotta make sure they look good.”
“And you call it the green room,” Robert said, following Humberto through the house.
“Yeah, and it’s not even green. I heard that actors stay in green rooms before a performance. I don’t know why. Since my girls are like actors, I call it the same thing.”
In a den filled with comfortable easy chairs and a big-screen television, Humberto took them through a side door to where Brandy stood in front of a full-length mirror adjusting the straps on a skimpy mini dress that barely covered her butt. In her early twenties, Brandy had long blond hair, baby-blue eyes, and a drop-dead body that would fulfill any man’s fantasy of a California coed.
“Cops need to talk to you, babe,” Humberto said.
“About?” Brandy said, turning around. Whatever she wore under the dress pushed her breasts up like round melons.
“Eric Langsford,” Robert said.
“What a flake,” Brandy said.
“He was your date last Wednesday night.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you go anywhere?”
“No, it was a room date. Lingerie modeling and lotion massage only.”
“Did he do any talking about himself?”
“Not really.”
“Or his immediate plans?”
“No.”
“Why do you say he was a flake?”
“He liked the fact that I looked like his sister. Called me Linda. Wanted me to call him ‘Daddy.’ That’s all. It wasn’t scary or anything like that. Just flaky.”
“Did he get physical with you?” Robert asked.
“No.”
“Did you see him again, after Wednesday night?”
“No.”
“How did he pay?”
“Cash,” Brandy replied.
“Did he give you any gifts?”
Brandy hesitated and cast a furtive glance at Humberto before answering. “Why are you asking me about him?”
“He’s a possible murder suspect,” Robert replied, reading her uneasiness. “Six people were killed and robbed. What did he give you, Brandy?”
Her voice lowered to a whisper as Humberto scowled at her. “Nothing.”
“Let’s go down to the police station.”
“You can’t do that,” Humberto said. “She’s working.”
“Why do I have to go with you?” Brandy asked, keeping her gaze on Humberto.
“Because I think you’re lying, and we need to get this straightened out.”
Brandy’s pretty face lost color. “He didn’t give me anything the night I was with him. But he sent me something in the mail. It came two days ago.”
She got her purse from the makeup table and handed Robert a ruby ring surrounded by a cluster of diamonds in a gold setting.
Humberto’s scowl turned mean.
“I have to take this into evidence,” Robert said. “If it was stolen, you won’t get it back.”
“Give her a receipt,” Humberto said, eyeing the treasure.
“Sure thing. Did a note come with the ring?”
“Yeah,” Brandy said.
“Do you have it?”
“No.”
“What did it say?”
Brandy thought about her answer before replying. “Something like thanks for a nice time.”
Doubting Langsford’s note had been so prosaic, Robert scribbled a receipt for the ring. The two cops left Humberto and Brandy in the green room—which was really soft peach in color—and walked outside.
“Brandy’s in some deep shit with Humberto,” Olivares said.
“It’s not smart to hold goodies back from your boss,” Robert said.
“No sympathy?”
“I doubt Humberto is going to damage his merchandise.”
“Not so it shows, anyway,” Olivares said. “You think the ring is real?”
“It sure looks it to me. Can I use your office phone?”
“You bet,” Olivares said.
When Robert Duran reached him by phone in his Alamogordo motel room, Lee Sedillo immediately started taking notes.
“Get up here as soon as you can with that ring,” Lee said. “I need to get it photographed and faxed to all the victims’ families for an ID. You may have busted this case wide open.”
“We can drive a tank through the holes in Langsford’s alibi,” Robert noted. “Tell Chief Kerney he’s got probable cause to book him on multiple murder-one counts.”
“I’m sure the chief will do that, as soon as we find Eric Langsford,” Lee replied.
“Langsford’s not in jail?”
“He got bailed out by his sister and ran off,” Lee explained.
“That sucks,” Robert said.
“Did Langsford use a credit card to book his hotel room?” Sedillo asked.
“Nope.”
“Too bad. We would have a tighter case if he’d used one of the victims’ charge cards.”
“I’ll see you in a little while, LT,” Robert said.
“Good job, Bobby.”
Lee walked down the corridor and knocked on Kerney’s door. “We’ve got some good news, Chief,” he said, when Kerney opened up.
Kerney heard Sedillo out and shook his head. “I’m losing my touch, Lee. I didn’t think Eric Langsford had the chutzpah to pull off the murders, let alone the capacity to do it.”
“It’s looking more likely all the time,” Lee said.
“Did Duran tell you everything he learned?”
“Just the highlights. I told him to get back here fast.”
“Do you have a good description of the ruby ring?”
“Yep. It’s an oval ruby lady’s ring, about a carat in size, surrounded by diamonds, with a gold band.”
“That will do. Let’s call the victims’ families. You take three, and I’ll do the others.”
Lee went back to his room to make his calls while Kerney pulled out a list of phone numbers and started dialing. He struck out on the first two and punched in Linda Langsford’s number.
“Did you find Eric?” she asked, after he identified himself.
“No, but we may have recovered a piece of jewelry taken during the crime spree.”
He described the ring and listened to Linda’s sudden intake of breath.
“My father gave my mother a ring just like that on their twentieth wedding anniversary.”
“Do you have a fax machine at home?”
“I do.” She gave Kerney the number.
“I’ll fax a photo of the ring to you for confirmation.”
On the way to Lee Sedillo’s room, Kerney thought about Eric’s rip-off of his father four years ago. He wondered if Kay Murray would be able to ID the ring as one of the items Vernon had turned over to Eric. If not, a reasonable assumption would be that Eric had taken the ring from the motor coach after the murder.
That would simplify Kerney’s life, let him pull the pin on his shield, and finally get out of the cop game for good.
He stopped at Lee’s door. He was good at his job and he liked the work. Did he really want to quit just because he was about to become rich enough to buy a ranch? Or was the Shockley shooting making him feel like he had to bail out?