Kerney checked by phone with Linda Langsford after faxing a picture of the ring to her. She positively identified it as once belonging to her mother, said it had been promised to her, and wanted it returned as soon as possible. She hung up without waiting for a response.
The agent who’d showed a photograph of the ring to Kay Murray reported back that Eric had taken the item from his father during his staged robbery. That cooled Kerney’s hopes for conclusive evidence needed to link Eric to the murders.
Eric still remained the only viable suspect in the case, so Kerney decided an early morning trip to El Paso was in order to meet with Brandy Wine and see what more he could learn about Langsford.
Agent Duran’s report had included a fact sheet on Ronda Shields, aka Brandy Wine. She was twenty-four years old, a native of Nebraska, and had been runner-up in a statewide beauty pageant during her senior year in high school. She had two solicitation convictions out of southern California and a drug possession bust in Phoenix. No arrests had been made since her arrival in El Paso six months ago.
Before leaving, Kerney made sure Lee Sedillo had the team looking for Eric Langsford, working background investigations on the Langsfords, Murray and Gibben, and canvassing all businesses along the murder route one more time.
Ronda lived in an apartment on the west side of El Paso within striking distance of a major shopping mall and the Interstate. Her limp blond hair was pinned carelessly behind her ears, and her red-rimmed eyes looked wide and vulnerable.
Agent Duran’s report noted that Eric had commented on Ronda’s resemblance to his sister. Kerney saw the similarities: she was the same height and weight as Linda, and her blond hair was a perfect match.
Ronda led Kerney into a cove kitchen where two large birdcages on the floor held a noisy cockatoo and a squawking parakeet. Birdseed crunched under Kerney’s feet as he joined her at a counter that separated the kitchen from a dining area. She sat stiffly on a stool and winced, and while there were no visible signs Ronda had been beaten, Kerney guessed she’d been punished in some unpleasant way by her pimp for withholding the ring.
“You called Eric Langsford kinky,” Kerney said. “What did you mean by that?”
Ronda lit a cigarette and blew smoke in Kerney’s face. “I said he was flaky. Kinky has a whole different meaning. I don’t do kinky. If a client wants that, I walk.”
“Okay, flaky. How so?”
“Guys get off on different things. He wanted me to pretend like I was, like, a Lolita. All innocent and seductive, if you know what I mean. So, I baby-talked him and acted all coy.”
“And he wanted you to call him Daddy.”
“Yeah.”
“Any spanking?”
Ronda shook her head. “That’s not what I do.”
“Did he ask?”
“No.”
“Any sex?”
“No. He was into watching. I’m a pretty good actress. He just sat on the bed drinking whiskey from a bottle. I’d say something to him like did he want to see my panties, then I’d do it, and he’d call me a bitch or a slut.”
“It went no further than that?”
“He asked me to take a bath, and he watched through a crack in the door.”
“Just watched?”
“Well, no. When I got out of the tub, he dried me off with a towel.”
“Was he aroused at any time?”
“Yeah, in the bathroom. He jacked off, and then I got dressed and left.”
“Did you lend him a hand?”
Ronda made a face at Kerney’s word play. “That’s real cute. No, he just wanted me to watch, and believe me, it didn’t take long.”
“Was he free with his money?”
“He gave me a nice tip.”
“How much?”
“A hundred dollars.”
Eric had given Kerney the impression he’d been short on cash during his drinking binge. Yet he’d not only paid for an expensive hotel room, but also an expensive woman, whom he’d tipped heavily. “What denomination were the bills?”
“Five twenties.”
“Did he flash a bankroll?”
“No, he kinda snuck the bills out of his wallet.”
“You told the other officer Eric wanted you to act the part of his sister.”
“That’s what I meant about the Lolita thing. He was real excited about that.”
“Excited?”
“Like animated, if you know what I mean—ready to get started right away.”
“Did he talk to you about it in any detail?”
“No, he just told me what he wanted me to do.”
“What did you do to get him to send you the ring?”
“Nothing, I swear. I thought he was just acting like a big shot and trying to impress me.”
“Did he tell you what he was going to give you as a present?”
“No, he said it would be a surprise, something pretty, and I’d like it.”
“Had Langsford ever been your client before?”
“No, but Crystal saw him once.”
“Who is Crystal?”
“Betty Cook is her real name. She works with me. I can give you her phone number.”
Kerney left and used a public phone to speak to Crystal, who reported that Eric had asked her to undress and masturbate while he watched from the bathroom door.
“Did he make any other requests?” Kerney asked.
“When he called for the date he asked for a blonde. But there wasn’t one available. So Mario had me wear a wig. He wasn’t too happy when he found out I was a redhead.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. But he didn’t tip me, and I put on a really good show.”
He stopped at the hotel and asked the reservation clerk to check if Langsford had any prior stays at the hotel. She came up with four overnight registrations and calls to three additional dating services in the last year, all occurring around the time Eric received his quarterly checks for serving as a corporate board member for one of his father’s companies.
Working a lobby phone, Kerney tracked down the women who’d been sent to Langsford’s room, and got basically the same story: Eric liked to play Peeping Tom, wanted to be called “Daddy,” avoided any actual sexual contact, and always asked for blondes.
Other than Ronda, none had received any surprise gifts in the mail. Or if they had, weren’t admitting to it.
Eric’s disappearance from Roswell, the inconsistencies in his alibi, his hatred of his father, and his proximity to the crime scenes added up to strong circumstantial evidence against him. But Kerney wanted some tangible proof of Eric’s guilt, either in the form of physical evidence or a voluntary confession. He preferred both if possible.
Through the hotel lobby window he watched a parking attendant wheel a new Jaguar to the curb, where a slightly pudgy man in an expensive suit stood waiting. The car had Mexican license plates. That was the third luxury car in a row the attendant had parked, all with Mexican tags, all for men in expensive suits.
Business in the border city was obviously profitable, and Kerney didn’t think for a second that all of it was legitimate.
As the most junior agent on the team, Mary Margaret Lovato got the drudge work assignments. Ordered back to Carrizozo, she’d spent the morning on a door-to-door canvass of every business and government office in town, showing photographs, asking questions, and trying to find one witness who could put any of the possible suspects in the area before the first homicide at the Valley of Fires campground.
No one Mary Margaret spoke to was able to ID Kay Murray, Penelope Gibben, or Linda and Eric Langsford.
Situated at the north end of the Tularosa Basin, Carrizozo was bracketed by mountain ranges, some near and some distant. While the landscape was lovely to look at, the winds were constant, swirling out of the mountains from all directions.
After a few minutes of small talk with the county sheriff outside the county administration building, Mary Margaret went to her unit, ran a comb through her hair, and wrote up her field notes. Her next scheduled stop was the village of Tularosa, fifty miles south.
She doubled-checked her list against the local phone book to make sure every possible contact had been made, crossed out the names of businesses no longer in existence, and noted down for later follow-up the few places where she’d been unable to speak to anyone.
The phone book included listings for the village of Capitan, a short twenty-mile drive southeast into the mountains. Famous as the birthplace of Smokey Bear, Capitan had not been canvassed. Mary Margaret cranked the engine. It was worth a shot.
She arrived in the village and made a quick tour. Nestled in a valley with mountains to the south and rolling hills to the north rising to a high range that extended in an easterly direction, it took its name from the peak that dominated the skyline. Businesses were concentrated along the highway and on several short blocks of side streets.
In the town center was the Smokey Bear Historical State Park, which celebrated the rescue fifty years ago of the famous Forest Service icon from a nearby wildfire.
Behind the somewhat quaint main drag, residential streets crisscrossed a narrow flat area for a few blocks before giving way to open grassland. Mary Margaret swung back on the main drag, stopped at a mom-and-pop motel, placed photographs on the office counter, and showed them to a slow-moving overweight woman who had emerged from the apartment behind the office.
The woman jabbed a finger at Eric Langsford’s photo. “He stays here.”
“When was the last time?” Mary Margaret asked.
The woman paged through her register. “Last month.”
“Was he alone?”
“He checked in as a single.” She picked up Kay Murray’s picture. “But this woman meets him here,” she said, waving the photo at Mary Margaret.
“You’re sure?” Mary Margaret asked.
“Uh-huh. I’ve seen them both before. They just stay in his room for a while and then go to the restaurant next door.”
“How often do they meet here?”
“Three, four times a year. It’s been going on for a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“At least four years.”
“Does the room get used?”
“You mean for sex? Not unless they do it in the shower. The bed is never mussy.”
“They arrived in separate cars?”
“Yes.”
“How long do they stay?”
“No more than an hour or two,” the woman said, nodding at the office window. “I can see all the vehicles in the parking lot from here.”
“What name does he use when he checks in?”
The woman put the photo down and studied the register. “Eric Langsford. He pays in cash.”
Mary Margaret tapped Kay Murray’s photo. “Has he ever met with anyone else besides this woman?”
“Not so far as I know.”
Mary Margaret passed her hand over Penelope Gibben’s and Linda Langsford’s photographs. “What about these two?”
“I’ve never seen either of them.”
“I need the dates of all his previous stays,” Mary Margaret said.
“For this year, that’s easy. Anything before that, I’ll have to dig out the guest books. It will take some time.”
“I’ll wait.”
The woman huffed in frustration about the inconvenience and retreated into her apartment. A smile lit up Mary Margaret’s face and she clapped her hands together in delight.
The uniformed officer sent to Ruidoso to find Kay Murray and bring her to Alamogordo called in a five-minute ETA. Kerney complimented Mary Margaret for a job well done, left the command trailer, and waited for Murray in the district captain’s office.
His decision to have Murray picked up and escorted to him was calculated to make her feel vulnerable and at risk.
Murray knocked at the open door, and Kerney studied the papers on the desk for a minute before looking up. She glared at him when he motioned for her to enter, and stalked in with her back straight, her chin set, and a cutting look in her eyes.
“What is this all about?” she demanded.
“Sit down,” Kerney said.
“I will not.”
“You refuse to cooperate?”
“Why did you drag me down here?”
“Are you willing to cooperate?” Kerney said.
“I’ve done that already.”
Kerney pushed the phone across the desk. “Call a lawyer, Ms. Murray.”
“What for?”
“I may be filing conspiracy charges against you.”
“Conspiracy to do what?”
“Colluding with Eric Langsford to kill his father and five other innocent people.”
“That’s ludicrous.”
Kerney nodded curtly at the empty chair. “Sit down and cooperate.”
Murray sat in cold silence, her expression frozen in restrained anger. He decided to change tactics.
He moved his chair to the side of the desk, closer to Murray, and smiled. “This doesn’t have to be that difficult.”
“What, exactly, do you want me to confess to?”
“Let’s back up a bit. You were seen with Eric Langsford at a motel in Capitan less than a month before the murders. What was that all about?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“You’ve met with him eleven times over the past four years in the same motel.”
“Is that a crime?”
“Not necessarily.”
Murray’s laugh was brittle. “You think I’m a slut, don’t you?”
“I’m not assuming your meetings with Eric had anything to do with sex.”
“How generous of you.”
“But I do believe the killings were planned and executed to conceal the fact that Vernon Langsford was the principal target. Your rendezvous with Eric, so close to the time of the murders, brings the possibility of your participation into question.”
“I did not meet with Eric to help him plan a murder.”
Kerney’s skepticism rose. People who denied accusations quickly always made him more leery. “I’d like to believe that.”
“Then by all means do.”
“Why are you protecting Eric?”
“I’m not. Eric can take care of himself. I’m protecting my right to privacy.”
“I know that’s important to you.”
“Very.”
“Is it also important to those you care about?”
“Of course.”
“Including Dr. Joel Cushman?”
“Since you know about my relationship with Joel, why do you bother to ask?”
“He’s been your therapist, lover, and friend.”
“Yes, all of those things.”
“And you care about him.”
“That doesn’t deserve an answer. I know you threatened him with exposure to the Board of Psychological Examiners. But I would have to file a complaint against him, and I have no intention to do so.”
“That doesn’t necessarily protect him from an arrest.”
“Of course it does.”
“I’ve researched the law, Ms. Murray. Under the statutes, psychotherapists who have sex with current or past patients, even if the consent is mutual, can be charged with criminal sexual penetration through the use of force or coercion. It’s a third-degree felony.”
“That’s a stupid, intrusive law.”
“I have your statement and Cushman’s admission. That’s all I need to ask the DA to press charges.”
Murray’s voice wavered when she spoke. “And of course you’ll do it if I don’t cooperate. You really are a son of a bitch.”
“You can keep Cushman out of jail. What was the reason for your meeting with Eric?”
“I brought him money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“It wasn’t your money?”
“No.”
“Whose money was it?”
“His sister’s. All of my meetings with Eric were to take him money. Linda would send me a sealed envelope with a note asking me to pass it along to Eric. I’d call Eric and arrange to meet him in Capitan.”
“Why Capitan?”
“Because Linda didn’t want her father to know that she was helping Eric financially.”
“How did you know it was money you delivered?”
“Eric told me. He gets a kick out of the fact that the sister he despises gives him money.”
“And what did you get for your trouble?”
“Nothing.”
Kerney waited a beat. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Why would Eric rent a motel room if all he had to do was wait for you to show up with an envelope?”
“You can’t stay away from the sex thing, can you?” Kay said.
“I can’t see you spending an hour or two in a motel room with Eric on eleven different occasions without a good reason.”
“We would talk for a time, that’s all.”
“Do you always tell the truth, Ms. Murray?”
“The one thing I can’t stand is a liar.”
Kerney tapped a finger against his lips. “I wonder what a search of your car and house would turn up.”
“You have no cause to do that,” Kay said. She brushed an imaginary hair away from her forehead and broke eye contact. “I want to speak to a lawyer.”
Kerney leaned forward. “I think I know what’s happening here. There is always at least one thing a person would rather not have the police know about. It doesn’t have to be a big thing. What is it for you, Ms. Murray? Do you smoke a little pot?”
Kay Murray raised her eyes to the ceiling and sighed.
“What is it you’d rather not have the police know?”
“Nothing.”
“What would I find in your house, Ms. Murray? In your purse? In your car? If you’re arrested, we’ll take a very close look. You’ll be strip-searched as well.”
Murray’s hand tightened on her purse, and her eyes snapped back to Kerney’s face. “You’d find grass, okay? I smoke grass, and I buy it from Eric.”
“He deals?”
“Only to friends and people he knows well. He’s a doper, not a dealer.”
“How much money does his sister give him?”
“It depends; between five and ten thousand dollars each time.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“I believe you,” Kerney said, getting to his feet. “Do you know where Eric is right now?”
Murray shook her head and stood. “I haven’t seen him since we met in Capitan.”
“When you meet with Eric in Capitan, do you wear a blond wig?”
Murray looked bewildered. “I’ve never worn a wig in my life.”
“You can go, Ms. Murray, but we may need to talk again.”
“Are you going to arrest Joel?”
“That will depend on how truthful you’ve been with me.”
Kay protectively tucked her purse under an arm, her eyes narrow and hostile. “You really enjoy shattering people’s lives, don’t you?”
“That usually happens long before I ever get involved,” Kerney said.
“I don’t like you at all, Mr. Kerney, and I doubt there are many people who do.”
Her cutting condemnation said, she hurried out the door, avoiding Kerney’s hard-eyed scrutiny of her purse. She’d revealed her use of marijuana too easily, Kerney thought, and he wondered what still-undisclosed secret went with her.
Unnoticed, Andy Baca stood in the open office doorway watching Kerney as he scribbled notes on a pad. Kerney looked up, and the troubled expression on his face smoothed out.
“What are you doing here?” Kerney asked, forcing a smile as he dropped the pen on the desk.
“I see you haven’t lost your touch with women, Kerney,” Andy replied. “That was one pissed-off lady who flew by me in the hall. Who was she?”
“I’m not sure. A suspect, a witness, a victim of some sort. Maybe all of the above. Her name is Kay Murray.”
Andy eased himself into a chair. “I haven’t heard much from you in the last couple of days.”
“There hasn’t been much to tell. You could have called from Santa Fe if you wanted a progress report.”
“I’m not here to check up on you. I came down to put Captain Catanach and Lieutenant Vanhorn back on the job.”
“You’re not going to terminate them?”
Andy shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fair. Nate’s Internal Affairs people tell me Catanach and Vanhorn aren’t the only district supervisors who were lax about evidence protection. Seems my predecessor didn’t pay it much attention, so things got sloppy. That’s changing fast.”
“I bet it is. How is Nate doing on the job?”
Andy grinned. “I should have made him my deputy chief a long time ago. He doesn’t give me half the grief you do.”
“How about I turn in my shield now so you can make Nate’s appointment permanent?”
Andy cocked his head and studied his old friend. “Feeling a bit grumpy?”
“Stymied is more like it.”
“Bring me up to speed.”
Kerney took Andy through the high points of the investigation, the subsequent dead ends, and the circumstantial evidence that implicated Eric Langsford.
“Motive and opportunity sound like sufficient probable cause to me,” Andy said, when Kerney finished up. “Find Eric Langsford and arrest him. Let the district attorney decide if he’s got enough to file murder-one charges.”
“Are we trying to make ourselves look good here?” Kerney asked.
“Making an arrest in a multiple-murder case always looks good,” Andy replied.
“You sound like a careerist protecting the department’s reputation, Andy.”
Andy absorbed Kerney’s words like a slap. “This has nothing to do with maintaining the self-interest of the department. You’ve got a viable suspect and enough cause to arrest him, so do it.”
“Is that an order?”
“If you want it to be,” Andy replied evenly.
Kerney’s deep-set eyes became almost invisible, and anger darkened his face. “Fine,” he said without emotion.
“What in the hell is the matter with you?”
Kerney swallowed his anger. “I want this case wrapped up right.”
“That’s not what’s eating at you,” Andy said.
“Maybe not.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Killing Shockley and discovering Clayton to be his son had unsettled Kerney in ways he’d never imagined possible. For the past two days he’d been questioning everything. He could talk to Andy about any one of his worries, but not all of them at once. It would sound like babble.
“No,” he said, breaking into a rueful smile as he stood. “Let me get out of here and do my job. I guess I do give you grief, Andy. Sorry.”
Andy got to his feet and smiled back. “No sweat.”
As Kerney came out from behind the desk, Andy gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Kerney squeezed Andy’s arm in response and continued out the door.
* * *
Kerney’s shot-up gut didn’t handle coffee very well, and he rarely drank it. He sipped water while Lee Sedillo waved his empty coffee cup at the waitress. She stepped over to the table, poured a refill, and moved on, looking for more customers wanting top-offs.
The restaurant catered to the German military personnel and families stationed at Holloman Air Force Base a few miles outside of Alamogordo. Most of the menu items Kerney had never encountered before, nor did he want to. Every plate the waitress carried past the table was loaded with dumplings and overcooked meat covered with a sludgelike gravy. He wondered if stomach pumps were offered as a courtesy after the final course.
“I’ll get everybody looking for Eric Langsford,” Lee said.
“Let’s hope he hasn’t left the state,” Kerney said. “Put out a national APB, just in case. What have we missed, Lee?”
“I don’t know, Chief. We haven’t found any handgun sales made to the suspects, or any record of firearms training. Our interviews with people who knew the Langsfords turned up squat. On the surface, they look like the all-American family.”
“We know better,” Kerney said. “Go over every agent’s field notes, investigation reports, and activity log. Look for undeveloped leads, incomplete witness statements, or possible hard evidence that might have been missed.”
Lee nodded. “The owners of the bed and breakfast in Creede confirmed that Linda Langsford was a guest the night her father was killed. That leaves only Eric as a primary suspect.”
Kerney put a few dollar bills on the table to cover the coffee and the tip. “I’m going to Roswell for a couple of days. You run things here.”
“What’s up with that, Chief?”
Kerney shrugged. “A fishing expedition.”
“You’re not convinced Eric is our boy, are you?”
“I won’t be until we get either a voluntary confession or hard evidence that confirms his guilt.”
Sedillo bit his lip.
“What’s on your mind, Lee?” Kerney asked.
“Remember that rape case we worked together in Santa Fe when you were with the PD? Those three punks who got the victim loaded and raped her in a hot tub? The DA wouldn’t prosecute because the girl voluntarily got into the tub wearing her bra and panties.”
“I remember. He didn’t want to risk losing the case in court; it would make his yearly conviction rate look bad. What’s your point, Lee?”
“Maybe you’re expecting too much.”
“Meaning?”
“I know you’d like to nail down an ironclad conviction. But cases don’t always break the way you want them to, especially after prosecutors and judges get their hands on them.”
“You think my ego is too wrapped up in this?”
“Mine would be, if I was in your shoes.”
“Did Andy Baca ask you to have a little chat with me?” Kerney asked.
A pained look crossed Lee’s face. “You know me better than that.”
Kerney got up from the table. “I take it back, Lee. Forget I said anything. You’re right; we can only take it as far as it goes. But I’m still heading out to Roswell.”
“I wasn’t trying to change your mind, Chief.”
A knock at the motel room door came just as Kerney finished packing. He opened it to find Isabel Istee looking up at him with sober eyes, her hands clasped together primly at her waist. A dark skirt, demure white blouse, and sensible shoes accented the reserved look on her face.
“Do you have some time to talk?” she asked.
“Come in,” Kerney replied.
Isabel hesitated before cautiously stepping into the room. “Please leave the door open,” she asked.
Kerney grabbed a travel bag from the bed and used it as a doorstop. He turned to find Isabel standing stiffly in the center of the room.
“What would you like to talk about?” he asked.
“Although he appreciates the fact that you are his father, Clayton sees no purpose in establishing a relationship with you,” Isabel said.
Her words sounded rehearsed. Kerney took a crack at breaking through the formality. “In other words, he thinks I’m a racist.”
“That isn’t the issue.”
“That’s the impression I get from him,” Kerney countered.
Isabel shrugged a shoulder slightly in concession. “I know he tested you. He’s cautious when it comes to prejudicial attitudes. All of us are.”
“I’ve tried not to be intrusive. Has that been misunderstood as a lack of interest on my part?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
Isabel measured Kerney with unsmiling eyes that seemed to be asking an unspoken question.
He waited for a long minute and said, “Tell me why you’re here, Isabel.”
“Clayton will become a tribal leader someday, Kevin. He will be our next chief of police, and when his career in law enforcement ends he’ll serve on the tribal council. He has much to offer, and he is highly regarded by the elders.”
“I can see that potential in him,” Kerney said. “But it still doesn’t answer my question.”
“We have a strong tradition of tolerance when it comes to relationships outside the tribe,” Isabel said, coloring slightly. “Having you as a father is not a barrier to him.”
“So, it’s politics,” Kerney said, thinking that Clayton’s tribal ambitions would be a good reason to keep his distance from a gringo parent.
“You could say that.”
“Whose politics are we talking about?” Kerney asked.
“Partially mine, partially his, partially the tribal elders.”
“I see,” Kerney said. “Was Clayton’s assistance in my murder investigation politically motivated?”
“The tribal administrator and police chief asked him to informally give you the information. Otherwise, you never would have been allowed to question any tribal members. We wanted you to understand that no Mescalero had a part in either the murder of Judge Langsford or his wife.”
“We?”
“I played a role in that decision. I serve on the tribal council.”
“Have I been given all the facts, Isabel?”
“Nothing was withheld from you.”
“So why all the game playing?”
“Allowing the state police to conduct an official investigation was unacceptable. Your department has no authority on our land, and we have no desire to set a dangerous precedent. Another way had to be found to give you the information you wanted. That’s where I played a role. I’ve always believed you to be fair-minded, and I argued that you would not act in a way that would be detrimental to the tribe.”
“That’s nice to hear.” Kerney flashed back on the laughing, spontaneous, lusty, spirited Isabel of his youth. “The world has certainly changed us since we were in college together.”
“Not really, Kevin. I never had a desire to make you a part of my world, or be part of yours.”
“Obviously.”
“Do we have an understanding?”
“It was good of you to come and see me. I know this wasn’t an easy thing to do. I won’t be a bother.”
“Thank you.” Isabel smiled, her eyes searching Kerney’s face with a hint of warmth. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know that,” Kerney said with a smile.
“When Clayton was a child, I often wondered what you would do if you’d learned of his existence.”
“I would have exercised my rights as a parent.”
“I thought so,” Isabel said. “Even against my wishes?”
“Probably.”
“It would have meant that much to you?”
“Yes.”
“And now?” Isabel asked.
“I have an empty feeling that I’ve missed out on something important.”
“Yes, I can see that. It speaks well of you. Are you angry with me?”
“No, just disappointed by the circumstances. What would you have done if I’d showed up, way back when?”
“I’m not sure. I never was sure. It was always a question.” For a split second Isabel’s dark eyes turned playful. “Maybe I would have changed my mind about letting you into my life.”
“We’ll never know,” Kerney said. “But if that were the case, I would have had a hard time walking away from such an opportunity.”
She flushed, her eyes brightened, and a small smile crossed her lips. She extended her hand and Kerney shook it, said good-bye, and walked her to the door.
He waited a few minutes before grabbing his bags and heading to the parking lot. Isabel’s life was far different from his own, and he respected her decisions, her traditions, and her heritage. He had unwittingly become a father, and feeling bad about the situation wouldn’t change anything. Maybe it was time to get out of his Clayton funk.
Kerney smiled as he thought about Isabel, Sara, Erma Fergurson, his mother, and one or two other women who’d been important to him throughout the years. Each was fiercely independent, smart as a whip, and an extraordinarily interesting person in her own unique way.
The smile vanished when he reached his unit. Someone had scrawled COP KILLER in paint on the windshield, in broad daylight.
The lot was almost empty of cars, and there were no people around. Careful not to touch anything outside the vehicle except the door latch, he unlocked it and made radio contact with Agent Duran.
“Come take a look at my unit,” he said. “I’m at the motel.”
“I’ll be there in a few, Chief. Is the damage bad?”
“No damage, just the words ‘Cop Killer’ painted on the windshield.”
It took the better part of an hour for Duran to dust for prints, lift some paint samples, and take photographs. As he worked, Kerney questioned him about his investigation and learned there were no suspects and no leads.
“But I’m thinking now that maybe it’s somebody close by,” Duran said. “Or a motel employee. This happened in broad daylight, which means that whoever did it saw you drive up.”
“Nobody followed me,” Kerney said.
“I’m gonna canvass the neighborhood as soon as I finish here,” Robert said.
After scraping off the paint and cleaning the windshield, Kerney fired up the unit and rolled onto the street, thinking that whoever was sending him a message needed to be taken very seriously.