After meeting again with Tim Dwyer, Kerney stood outside the Roswell district headquarters, his thoughts fixed on the officer’s assessment of Arthur Langsford’s death. Knowing that three members of one family had been murdered in a nine-year span still didn’t answer the fundamental questions of who and why. Were the murders linked or unrelated? If they were linked, one killer might well have murdered eight people, and was targeting Linda Langsford as his next victim. If not, three killers were at large, all with different motives.
Each crime had a unique signature, which made the likelihood of distinct killers a strong possibility. Add in the nine years separating Arthur’s death from Vernon’s murder, and the argument for different perpetrators gained even more credibility.
Kerney wasn’t willing to lay aside the equally plausible notion of a vendetta against the Langsfords. What could have caused it remained obscure. In whatever direction he chose to look, no clear-cut motives emerged. All he had was a very rich, highly respected judge with a not-so-secret love life, a dead wife who may have been murdered by mistake, and a son killed for reasons unknown.
As for suspects, there was only Eric Langsford, who still hadn’t been found, according to the latest update from Lee Sedillo.
Commuter traffic rumbled along the highway and a faint sunset put an anemic yellow glow on the western horizon. Kerney stepped toward his unit just as Clayton Istee drove up and cut him off.
Kerney nodded a greeting.
“My mother doesn’t speak for me,” Clayton said bluntly through the open car window. He got out and slammed the door.
“I never assumed that she did.”
“How would you know what my mother does or doesn’t do?”
“I don’t,” Kerney replied.
“Then don’t try to bullshit me about something you know nothing about.”
“That wasn’t my intent,” Kerney said.
Clayton stared hard at Kerney and took a deep breath. “Forget it,” he said, turning on his heel.
“Wait a minute,” Kerney said.
“What for?” Clayton said, as he swung back around. “You’re too damn hard to talk to. I keep thinking I should try to get to know you better. But every time I see you, you just shut me down.”
“I’m not very good at opening up to people.”
Clayton paused. “I hear the same thing from my wife.” The harshness in his voice eased a bit.
“There you go,” Kerney said with a smile. “Maybe it’s both of us.”
Clayton’s shoulders tightened. “I’m not like you.”
“Would that be so terrible?” Kerney asked.
Clayton didn’t answer.
“Let’s find a better place to talk,” Kerney said. “I’ll buy you a drink or a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee will do,” Clayton said. “I don’t drink.”
At a strip-mall diner, where most of the stores sold antiques, used books, old furniture, and knickknacks put on consignment by the sons and daughters of parents who had retired to Roswell before passing on, Kerney tried to break the ice by telling Clayton the story of how, as a boy, he’d helped his father deliver cattle to the Mescalero village where the resort and casino now stood.
“My mother grew up in that village,” Clayton said.
Kerney nodded. “My father sold those cattle to her father. We used to joke about it in college.”
“Joke about what?”
“About how we might have met a lot sooner.”
“Why did you walk out on her?”
“Excuse me?”
“She was carrying your baby.”
“Isabel never told me about you.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Is that what’s been troubling you about me?” Kerney asked.
“You couldn’t see that she was pregnant?”
“She broke off the relationship six weeks before our graduation. I went into the army and she went home to Mescalero. Count back from your birthday and do the math. She wasn’t showing.”
“And she never said anything to you about being pregnant?”
“That’s right. You haven’t heard this before?”
“No,” Clayton replied, dropping his gaze from Kerney’s face.
“So, as far as you were concerned, I was just some jerk who took advantage of your mother.”
“What else was I supposed to think?”
“You never questioned Isabel about me?”
“You don’t question my mother.” Clayton paused and raised his eyes to Kerney’s face. “Are you being straight with me on this?”
“I’d be a fool to bullshit you. Maybe you need to have a talk with Isabel.”
“Maybe I do. Were you serious about feeling bad about missing out on being my father?”
“It would have meant a lot to me.”
“Having a lot of uncles around is one thing,” Clayton said, letting the thought fade away.
“But it’s not the same as having a father,” Kerney said.
All Clayton could do was nod. “Did you like my mother, Kerney? I mean, really care about her, back in college?”
“I more than liked her. I thought we had a good chance to make it as a couple. I tried to get back together with her.”
Clayton’s expression hardened. “Now I know you’re fucking with me. My mother never heard from you again.”
“I wrote her letters for the next six months, before I shipped out to Vietnam,” Kerney said. “She never answered any of them.”
Clayton stared at the wall. “She never told me about that.”
“There’s a lot neither of us know about your mother’s decisions.”
“Maybe so.” Clayton stood and dropped some bills on the table. “I’ve got to go.”
“Clayton.”
“What?”
Kerney got to his feet. “Have you told your children about me?”
Clayton blushed slightly before answering. “Not yet.”
“Do what you think is best.”
“This whole thing is a mess,” Clayton grumbled.
“Give it some time.”
“I’m a grown man. I don’t need a father.”
“Maybe we could be friends,” Kerney said.
“I don’t make friends easily.”
“You could give it a try.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Clayton said, as he turned and left.
* * *
From his motel room, Kerney tried several times to reach Danny Hobeck at his sister’s house. All he got was Margie’s answering machine. He left his number, asked Hobeck to call, and started unpacking. He was down to one set of clean clothes and needed to find a Laundromat. The phone rang as he was about to leave with a bag full of dirty laundry, and the Roswell dispatcher patched through a call from Clark Beck, the trucker who’d broken down at the Three Rivers turnoff.
“My wife said you needed to talk to me,” Beck said. “What can I do for you?”
“You lost your water pump at Three Rivers and had to get towed to Alamogordo.”
“That’s right. Cost me eight hours of down time,” Beck said.
“Did you see any cars coming or going on the Three Rivers road?”
“Yeah, I saw one come out and make the turn heading for Tularosa.”
“What time was that?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes after I broke down.”
“Did you get a look at the vehicle?”
“Just the back end,” Beck replied. “It was one of those Japanese import sport-utility vehicles. A Honda.”
“You’re sure of that?” Kerney asked.
“Mister, I’m sure. I look at the ass-end of cars six days a week, all day long. Honda SUVs have vertical taillights that run along the sides of the rear window. It’s real distinctive.”
“It wasn’t a minivan?”
“Minivans have a rounded roofline; not boxy like the Honda SUV.”
“You just saw the Honda?” Kerney asked.
“A few cars passed me on the highway. But the Honda was the only one I saw on the Three Rivers road.”
“Thanks.”
“No sweat, officer. Hope it helps.”
Kerney grabbed his dirty laundry and headed out. As far as he knew, no one on the suspect list drove or owned a Honda SUV. He called Lee Sedillo from his unit, gave him the vehicle information, and asked for a canvass of car-rental companies in the state.
“Will do, Chief,” Lee said.
“Give Tim Dwyer a call at the Roswell district office.”
“What’s he got?”
“Evidence that says Vernon’s oldest son, Arthur, was murdered.”
“So somebody is systematically wiping out the family,” Lee said.
“Possibly,” Kerney replied. “Or we’ve got three different killers who need to be caught. Is anything happening with Eric’s sister?”
“Nada. She’s home. Family and friends have been dropping by.”
“Keep a close watch on her.”
“Ten-four.”
The fast-food hamburger Kerney bought after leaving the Laundromat didn’t sit well in his gut. He sat in the unit across from Margie Hobeck’s house with binoculars and watched her walk back and forth in front of her living room window. He dialed her number on his cell phone and Margie froze in front of the telephone but didn’t pick up. The answering machine clicked on and he left another message for Danny Hobeck. Margie punched a button on the machine, and Kerney figured she’d deleted it.
She bent down out of view for a moment and came up holding one of the cats. She cradled it like a baby in her arms and started pacing back and forth in front of the window. She finally left the living room and Kerney settled in to wait.
After two hours, a car made a wide turn onto the street and came to a messy stop in front of Margie’s house. A man pulled himself out and wobbled slowly up the front walk.
Kerney intercepted him at the porch step. “Danny Hobeck?”
The man lurched to a stop. “Who are you?”
Kerney flipped open his badge case. “State police. I have a few questions.”
Hobeck pulled his shoulders back, straightened up, and squinted at the shield. His breath smelled of alcohol. “If this is about Vernon, I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Have you been drinking, Mr. Hobeck?”
“I’ve had a few.”
“More than a few, I’d guess.”
Hobeck adjusted his tie and said nothing.
“Would you like to spend the night in jail?” Kerney asked.
“For what?”
“Driving drunk,” Kerney answered.
Hobeck snorted and gestured at his parked car. “I’m not driving. I’m standing in my sister’s front yard, on private property, minding my own business.”
The porch light came on, revealing Hobeck’s tanned face, thinning gray hair, and watery brown eyes. Margie Hobeck stared fearfully at Kerney through the front window, stroking the cat she held in her arms. The animal twisted its torso and clawed Margie’s arm. She released it and remained motionless.
“Let’s do a field sobriety test,” Kerney said, turning his attention back to Danny.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hobeck said, as he tried to push his way past Kerney.
Kerney held him up. “Do you know what a lawful order is, Mr. Hobeck?”
Hobeck nodded his head in disgust. “Yeah, it’s something a cop tells you that you have to do. Ask your damn questions.”
“You were Vernon’s boyhood chum.”
“That’s right. I’ve been his friend all my life.”
“What was Vernon like?”
“As a kid? Starting out, he was just like all the rest of us, until his father started making big money in the oil and gas fields.”
“That changed him?”
“He got spoiled.”
“How so?”
“By the money, what else? His father gave him everything, and Vernon got used to it real fast.”
“Did he make any enemies?”
“I wouldn’t say he made enemies; mostly kids were envious of him.”
“What about later in life?”
“Vernon won folks’ respect as a lawyer and a judge. He had a good marriage and a good family life. He never acted high and mighty because he had money. Hell, he took what his daddy left him and built on it. People admired that.”
“Your sister doesn’t seem to think much of Vernon.”
Danny chuckled sourly. “My old maid sister? She doesn’t like anybody much.”
“Why doesn’t she like Vernon?”
“Because she’s strange in the head,” Hobeck replied. “Hates men. Hell, she barely tolerates me. She’s not gay or anything like that. She’s just a dried-up old maid.”
“Has she always been that way?”
“Forever.”
“Is she under any kind of special care?”
“You mean like a shrink? No, since she retired she just lives in her own dreamworld. Collects these ugly salt and pepper shakers, dotes on her cats, gardens, refuses to go out except to run errands or shop.”
Kerney glanced at the living room window. Margie was gone. “She has no particular grievance against Vernon?”
“Like I said, Margie is strange. What is all this bullshit?” Hobeck asked, suddenly suspicious. “You can’t be thinking she had anything to do with Vernon’s death.”
“Has she said anything to you about his death?”
“Not a word.”
“Why would she tell me Vernon wasn’t a nice boy?”
“Who knows what gets into her head? I don’t see her much, and we rarely talk. Mostly I just send her money now and then. She’s my kid sister, so I feel a sense of responsibility. But if you do anything she doesn’t like, she shuts you down and won’t talk about it. That’s just the way she is.”
Hobeck forced a friendly smile and continued, “Look, I’d really appreciate it if you’d just leave her alone. There’s no sense upsetting her. The way it is, she’ll probably spend the night walking up and down the stairs. She does that when she gets agitated.”
“Talking to you has been sufficient, Mr. Hobeck.”
Relief flooded across Hobeck’s face. “Thanks. Sorry I sounded so abrupt.” He smiled sheepishly. “I guess I did raise a few too many glasses in Vernon’s memory.”
“That happens. Don’t drive any more tonight.”
Hobeck reached for the porch rail, steadied himself, and planted a foot on the step. “I don’t plan to. Can’t hold my liquor like in the old days. I’m going to bed.”
“Good idea.”
Margie was back at the window again. She smiled as Kerney stepped off the porch and waved bye-bye, folding her fingers over the palm of her hand.
In the morning, before the funeral services for Vernon, Kerney stationed three agents inconspicuously outside the church: two with video cameras to record everyone in attendance, and one to keep watch in case Eric made an appearance. A fourth agent stayed on Linda Langsford.
He left after the mourners arrived and drove to Margie Hobeck’s house. Danny’s car was gone, the front curtains were drawn, and his knock went unanswered. An older sedan was parked in the detached garage, so Kerney went to the backyard to see if Margie was in her garden. Only Margie’s cats greeted him.
When he came around the side of the house he found Agent Duran waiting for him.
“What brings you to Roswell?” Kerney asked.
“Last night I arrested the guy who trashed your unit, Chief. Lieutenant Sedillo sent me over to fill you in.”
“Was it a cop who did it?”
“Nope. He’s a civilian by the name of Henry Waters. He’s forty-three and has a steel plate in his head from an automobile accident that happened when he was in high school. He’s got an IQ that puts him in the mildly retarded range, and a fixation about law enforcement. He made a voluntary confession, and I’ve got some solid physical evidence to go with it. He’s locked up.”
“Did he act alone?”
“Yeah. You should’ve seen his apartment, Chief. The walls are plastered with photos and newspaper articles about cops, he has a collection of patches and caps from about a hundred different law enforcement agencies, and he keeps a police scanner going full time when he’s home. He has study guides for police officer examinations, dozens of law enforcement equipment catalogs, and an outdated set of criminal statutes the local library discarded. He met me at the door wearing a city PD shirt with a security guard badge pinned on it. He filched the shirt from an unlocked cruiser a couple of years ago.”
“Did he give you a reason for his actions?”
“He said you shouldn’t have shot Sergeant Shockley.”
“He’s right about that. Is he crazy, dangerous, or both?”
Robert didn’t agree with Kerney’s self-criticism, but knew better than to comment. “According to his doctor, because of the head wound he’s got organic brain syndrome, which screws up his thinking. But he’s stable and not dangerous.”
“Any priors?” Kerney asked.
“He’s got a clean sheet, and everybody I talked to said he never caused any trouble. It’s kinda sad, Chief. He was a normal kid until the accident. After that, his mental functioning went downhill. His sister told me that he’s always wanted to be a cop.”
“Did he give you any problems?”
“Just the opposite. He talked freely about what he’d done. After I finished taking his statement, I told him a few things about Shockley. He got real apologetic. Said he was sorry. Wanted me to be sure and tell you. Then he asked if I could help him join the department as a recruit.”
“That is sad,” Kerney said.
“His public defender wants him to cop a plea. She’s asked for a psychiatric evaluation. I don’t see Henry getting anything more than some county jail time out of this.”
“Thanks, Robert,” Kerney said.
“Anytime, Chief. Lieutenant Sedillo asked me to tell you there’s no record of any of the suspects renting a Honda SUV around the time of the murders.”
“I’m not surprised,” Kerney said.
One family had been out of town during the door-to-door canvass of Penelope Gibben’s neighbors. Kerney stood on a lovely wraparound porch of a Queen Anne Victorian one street over from Penelope’s house, and rang the bell. The woman who answered stood six feet tall and looked to be in her mid-thirties. Dressed in workout sweats, she was breathing hard and had a sheen of perspiration on her face.
“Mrs. Peters,” Kerney asked, holding up his shield.
“I’m Dr. Peters.”
“Are you a medical doctor?”
Peters ran a hand towel across her face and nodded. “I work in the ER at the hospital. So does my husband. What can I do for you?”
“Do you know Penelope Gibben?”
“Of course. I’ve known her almost all my life.”
“How long have you lived in the neighborhood?”
“I grew up in this house. Has something happened to Penelope?”
“No, she’s fine. I’m investigating Judge Langsford’s murder. Did you know the judge at all?”
“I knew he was a frequent visitor at Penelope’s. His car was parked there quite often when I was a child.”
“What did you think of Judge Langsford?”
“As a kid? To me he was just another adult.”
“Did you know Penelope and Langsford were lovers?”
“That was the common assumption among some of the neighbors.”
“Was it yours?”
Peters laughed. “Not at the time. I was too young to pay any attention to that kind of thing. I used to play occasionally with Linda and Penelope’s niece. It was all very ordinary and innocent.”
“Kay Murray?”
“Yes. Kay stayed with Penelope during summer vacations for three or four years. Judge Langsford often brought Linda with him when he came to visit. Except he wasn’t a judge then.”
“Did Mrs. Langsford ever bring Linda over to play with Kay?”
“I never saw or met Mrs. Langsford. It was always Linda’s father who brought her to Penelope’s.”
“How old were you at the time?”
“Eight.”
“Were you good friends with Linda and Kay?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I was much more interested in sports than either of them, and we traveled in different circles. We played together once in a while. We’d ride our bikes to the park or I would visit with them if they were out in Penelope’s front yard.”
“Would you say that Linda and Kay were good friends?”
“They got along well.”
“But they weren’t close?”
“I got the feeling they tolerated each other.”
“What gave you that feeling?”
“They would argue a lot.”
“About?” Kerney asked.
“They liked to play with dolls, and I wasn’t really into that. They’d bicker about which doll would be the bride, or the mother, or the daughter. They liked to play dress-up and pretend they were adults. Then they’d argue about who would be the wife or the child.”
“Did you get to know Kay better later on, when she moved in with Penelope?” Kerney asked.
“No, I was away at college, and I didn’t see her much. We’d wave to each other when I was home. That was about it.”
“Thanks. I won’t keep you any longer,” Kerney said.
Kerney walked to his unit wondering why Gibben had failed to mention that Kay spent several summer vacations with her as a child. Did it matter?
He wasn’t sure, but decided to follow up anyway. He checked the time. It was too soon to expect Penelope to be home from the funeral services. He would swing by later.
Deedee Hall lived in an upscale Roswell neighborhood near the country club, where the streets were named for trees, and the houses were mostly two-story affairs with garish touches such as towering entryways supported by faux Greek revival columns.
Kerney sat with Mrs. Hall in her spotless country kitchen and asked her about Linda Langsford.
Deedee gave him an immaculate smile. Her blond hair was perfect, her face was perky and cute, and her figure looked trimmed and toned. Except for the first touch of age lines at the corners of her mouth, she didn’t look much different from the picture taken of her as a member of the high school cheerleading squad almost twenty years ago. She even sounded like a cheerleader.
Just back from the services for Langsford, she was wearing a conservative dark gray dress.
“Linda and I were best friends,” she said, “from kindergarten on.”
“Tell me about her as a child,” Kerney asked.
“She was always at my house. Always.”
“She didn’t like it at home?”
“Her mother was usually sick with allergies, headaches, and such. It just wasn’t any fun to play there. We had to be so quiet. Mrs. Langsford wasn’t a well person.”
“Did Linda get along with her brothers?”
“Not with Eric. He’s always been weird. She was much closer to Arthur and her father.”
“What about her mother?”
“Linda never minded her.”
“Never?”
“Well, hardly ever. Sometimes they would argue.”
“About what?”
“Where Linda could go, what she could do, who she could play with. Normal stuff. If Linda really wanted her own way, she’d just go to her father.”
“And Judge Langsford would cave in?”
“Almost always. He couldn’t deny Linda anything. It invariably threw her mother into a tizzy.”
“Were there parental arguments about the children?”
Deedee shook her head. “Mrs. Langsford would just stop talking. She would barely speak to anybody. When that happened, the judge would take Linda and Arthur camping, or on a trip to Albuquerque, or some other outing.”
“But not Eric?”
“He was included until he was about six years old.”
“What changed?”
“He started to act like his mother, really sullen and angry all the time in a shut-down sort of way. It was like the two of them were the family outcasts.”
“Did Linda and Arthur remain close?”
“Until Linda started high school and Arthur went to college. After that, they didn’t see much of each other.”
“What did you think of Arthur?”
“He was okay. Big man on campus type. Real popular.”
Her cautious reply caught Kerney’s attention. “You had reservations about him?”
Deedee nodded. “He was real randy, if you know what I mean. He thought he could have any girl he wanted.”
“Did that include you?”
Deedee laughed. “He tried.”
“How did Linda get along with boys?”
“She was a real Miss Goody Two-shoes.”
“She dated?”
“Sure, and had boyfriends. But none of them got anywhere, if you know what I mean. I don’t think she’s met the right man. Either that, or she’s just not interested in getting married again.”
“Tell me about Linda’s ex-husband.”
“Bill? He’s a sweet guy. He dated Linda in high school and then started seeing her again after she came home from law school. It was a whirlwind romance: they got married within a few months. Bill’s father is the pastor of the biggest Baptist church in town.”
“What happened to the marriage?”
“I guess they just weren’t compatible. It didn’t last a year. Bill left his job with the bank and moved up to Albuquerque before the divorce was final. Linda wouldn’t talk about what happened, although I heard rumors that she was having an affair.”
“Did Bill talk to you about it?” Kerney asked.
“Not really. I saw him in Albuquerque about a year after he’d moved. All he said was it had been a big mistake and that Linda wasn’t the person she appeared to be. I thought that was really strange.”
“Why?”
“Because they seemed like such lovebirds before the wedding.”
“Have you kept in touch with Bill?”
“Sometimes I see him when he brings his family down for a visit. He remarried, has a nice wife and a cute son.”
“I take it Linda doesn’t like to talk about family or personal problems.”
“Not ever.”
“Was that true when she was younger?”
“Oh, yes. Whatever went on in the family stayed in the family. About all anybody knew was that Mrs. Langsford was sick most of the time and Eric was a problem child. That, they couldn’t hide.”
“Thanks.”
“How can any of this possibly be helpful to you?” Deedee asked.
“It may not be.”
On his way out of the neighborhood, Kerney noticed golfers in their carts puttering along on the paved pathways adjacent to the street, cruising toward the links. He noted the absence of parked cars, the clean gutters and curbs, the groomed lawns that showed no sign of the first kiss of autumn leaves, the uniform placement of mailboxes in front of each house.
Such a tidy little neighborhood, he thought, with nothing out of place. Just right for all those people who find comfort and safety in a world of uncluttered sameness.
Parked a block down from Penelope Gibben’s house, Kerney watched Kay Murray’s Explorer coast to a stop in the driveway. The women talked for a considerable time before Gibben got out of the car and Murray drove away. He gave it a good five minutes before approaching the house.
Penelope greeted Kerney with a haughty look, ushered him into the living room, and immediately made her feelings known.
“This is hardly the time to be bothering people with your pointless investigation,” she said.
She wore a simple black mourning dress with a single strand of pearls. No grief showed on her face, only displeasure.
“I understand Kay Murray spent several childhood summer vacations with you.”
“What a perplexing man you are, Chief Kerney. You come up with all these little tidbits and wave them around like important facts. Yes, she did. My sister and her husband had very little money, and it was my idea to have Kay stay with me. I wanted to expose Kay to a better way of life. Was I remiss in not telling you?”
“Vernon would bring Linda over to play with Kay.”
“Yes, he would, upon occasion. Looking back on it now, surely, it must have been a capital offense.”
“Were you sexually involved with Vernon at the time?”
Penelope smiled with tight lips. “Looking for more little tidbits, Chief Kerney? I was not.”
“Have you heard from Eric since he left Linda’s house?”
“I have not. Good day, Chief Kerney.”
Frustrated by meaningless tidbits, Kerney left, thinking that Gibben’s sarcasm might well be right on the mark.
It was lunch hour and the executives had not yet returned from the funeral services when Kerney arrived at the corporate offices of Ranchers’ Exploration and Development. The only employee on duty, a young secretary seated at the reception desk, greeted him as though his arrival was a relief from absolute boredom.
Kerney explained that he needed to compile a list of all past and present employees as part of the investigation into the judge’s murder.
The young woman nodded gravely, escorted him to the personnel director’s office, showed him how to access files on the computer, and returned to the reception area to answer phones. While the printer reeled off names, addresses, and phone numbers, Kerney read through Penelope Gibben’s personnel file.
She’d begun her rise up the corporate ladder long before she’d become Vernon’s lover. After that, the promotions came more quickly and the salary increases were more substantial. Presently, Gibben was drawing a hefty six-figure income and held a nice chunk of corporate stock options.
For Roswell, Gibben was doing very well indeed.
Kerney shut down the computer, thanked the secretary on his way out, and went looking for Eleanor Beyer, a retired employee who’d joined Ranchers’ about the same time as Gibben.
She lived in an older two-story apartment complex that had been converted into an assisted living center for senior citizens. Four rectangular buildings were sited around a central courtyard. One had been transformed into a community center consisting of a visitor’s lobby, recreation area, dining room, infirmary, and offices for the administrator and medical staff.
Kerney got directions to Beyer’s living unit and walked down the pathway. Mature shade trees and freshly painted park benches graced the landscaped commons, but the effort to soften the stark facades of the concrete block buildings failed. It looked like a way station for low-income seniors slated to eventually move on to equally depressing nursing homes.
It made the prospect of growing old—an idea Kerney had never found particularly appealing—even less inviting.
Eleanor Beyer opened the door to her first-floor apartment and looked at Kerney’s shield.
“Ms. Beyer?” Kerney asked.
Considerably older than Penelope Gibben, she was small in stature and suffered from osteoporosis that bent her almost in half. She looked up at Kerney through thick, heavily scratched glasses that were taped together at the nose piece.
“Why are the police here?” she asked in a frail voice. “Has someone died?”
“Nothing like that. I’d like you to tell me about Penelope Gibben and Vernon Langsford.”
“I haven’t seen either of them for several years.”
“You worked at Ranchers’ Exploration and Development.”
“I was the senior billing clerk until my eyesight got bad and I had to retire,” Eleanor said.
“You do know Judge Langsford was murdered.”
“I heard it on the evening news.”
“Did you know of Penelope Gibben’s relationship with the judge?”
“Everyone in the office knew about it. But if you wanted to keep your job, you never mentioned it.”
“When did the affair start?”
“Some years after Penelope joined the company. I can’t say exactly when. I never understood why Vernon took up with her.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She was so standoffish and cold. But I suppose every man has a type of woman he’s attracted to.”
“Did you know Vernon’s wife?”
“Oh, yes. I saw her quite often until the children were born. She was a local girl, so I knew her even before she married Vernon. He really shocked everybody when he proposed to Marsha.”
“Why is that?”
“She wasn’t his type at all. Vernon had a reputation as a man who only dated the best-looking women in town. Marsha wasn’t particularly popular or exceptionally pretty. She was more the homemaker type. Few people expected the marriage to last. I don’t think it was a happy marriage, especially after Linda and Eric were born. The children held them together.”
“Did Penelope ever talk about her affair with Vernon?”
“Not that I know of. Certainly not with me. But you can’t hide that sort of thing in a small town.”
“Marsha never learned about it?”
“I don’t think she cared to know.”
“Did the judge have any enemies?”
“I really couldn’t say.”
“Who would know?”
“Talk to Bud and Jean McNew. He had some business dealings with Vernon that went sour, and she was about Marsha’s only friend for a time.”
Kerney spent an interesting hour with Bud and Jean McNew at their small ranch east of Roswell. The adobe home McNew had built on his two sections of land looked out over a sweep of sand hills that changed color from warm yellow to dull brown as passing clouds cut the sunlight.
Bud McNew, who once owned an oil drilling supply company, had been screwed by Langsford on a couple of equipment contracts back when crude prices made drilling new wells unprofitable. McNew had sued, and Langsford settled with him before the civil case went to trial.
Bud didn’t think Langsford had any serious enemies, just a number of jobbers and suppliers who got rubbed the wrong way by his habit of not paying the corporate bills on time. All that changed when Langsford became a judge and corporate management was assumed by a blind trust set up to ensure that he would have no conflict of interest in any legal matters involving his companies. During Langsford’s tenure on the bench, the companies had cut back on gas and oil drilling and expanded into land development, which increased his wealth several times over.
Kerney got Bud talking about Langsford and his associates and learned that Vernon had used Danny Hobeck as a contract geologist to assess state trust lands and bid on gas and oil leases for his company.
Jean McNew talked about the early days of Marsha’s marriage, and how happy Marsha had seemed at the time. She never knew what soured the relationship, but always suspected it was Vernon’s womanizing. According to Mrs. McNew, Vernon had a string of extramarital affairs before he “settled down” into a relationship with Penelope Gibben.
When Kerney asked her to describe Marsha Langsford’s personality, Jean said that she was a submissive person who never asserted herself. She characterized most of Marsha’s illness as psychosomatic. Although she couldn’t say for sure, Jean felt that Marsha knew about Vernon’s philandering and had simply retreated in the face of it. Arthur’s tragic death had pushed her over the brink into an almost total self-imposed isolation.
After leaving Bud and Jean McNew, Kerney tried a second visit to Margie Hobeck. His knock at the door was answered by the three cats and a woman Kerney didn’t know.
“Margie has gone away with her brother,” the woman said. “I’m watching the cats for her.” She nodded at the adjacent house. “I live next door.”
“Where did she go with Danny?”
“Albuquerque. That’s where he lives.”
“How long will she be gone?” Kerney asked.
“Three or four days.”
“Has she ever asked you to watch her cats before?”
“No, but I’m delighted to do it,” the woman said with a smile. “It’s about time she did something more than just stay at home.”
“Did you see her or speak to her before she left?”
“No, her brother called and then brought the house key over before they left.”
Kerney decided it was time to talk to Leonora Wister, Vernon’s first cousin, again.
The afternoon sky had clouded over when Kerney arrived at the Bitter Lake Bed and Breakfast where Leonora Wister was staying. Her Cadillac was parked outside and a light was on in the cottage. She answered the door dressed in traveling clothes.
“Danny wasn’t very happy with me for telling you where to find him,” she said.
“I don’t see why,” Kerney said, again trying hard not to stare at Leonora’s blue gray hair. “We had a pleasant conversation.”
“You threatened to arrest him on the night before his best friend’s funeral.”
“But I didn’t.”
“That’s true.”
“I came here to ask you for your help. I know you must want Vernon’s killer found.”
“Of course I do, but everyone is saying that Eric killed his father.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Kerney said.
“How can I be of any help?”
“The more I know about Judge Langsford, his family, friends, and associates, the more I can narrow down my investigation. I know it’s an uncomfortable time for me to be interviewing people, but I have no alternative.”
Leonora’s expression softened. “You do have a job to do, don’t you? What would you like to know?”
“Tell me about Danny.”
“Danny couldn’t kill Vernon. Vernon meant everything to him. Vernon’s father gave Danny’s father a job—the best job he ever had—and paid Danny’s way through college. He was Vernon’s roommate. He’s had a contract with Vernon’s company ever since he became a registered geologist. Without the support he got from Vernon and his father starting out, Danny would have probably been a roughneck oil worker, living in a trailer park, drawing unemployment six months out of the year.”
“Did Vernon’s father help any of Danny’s other friends with their schooling?”
“Not that I know of. It was a special situation. Danny and Vernon were inseparable—almost like brothers. Vernon told his dad that he wouldn’t go to college unless Danny went with him. And when Vernon took over the companies, he made sure that Danny had a chance to build his reputation as a petroleum geologist. He’s considered one of the best in the Southwest.”
“That makes a lot of things clearer. Did you know he took Margie with him to Albuquerque?”
Leonora’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing. I’ve never known Margie to budge from her house for anything other than work and necessary errands. Good for her. It’s about time Margie did something besides stay at home.”
“She doesn’t speak highly of Vernon.”
“She never got over feeling that Vernon stole her brother away from her. She used to adore Danny; followed him everywhere until Vernon took over Danny’s life.”
“Took over, how?”
Leonora shrugged a shoulder. It made her thick upper arm jiggle. “You know how boys are, one always has to be the leader. Vernon led and Danny followed.”
On his way back to town, Kerney called Lee Sedillo and asked if any correspondence from Danny Hobeck had been found during the search of Judge Langsford’s house.
“Nothing, Chief,” Lee said, after checking the inventory of reviewed documents. “And no long-distance telephone calls, either.”
From the parking lot of a family-owned grocery store near his motel, he called Penelope Gibben.
“Does Ranchers’ have a current consulting contract with Danny Hobeck?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How much do you pay him?”
“It’s in the hundred-thousand range.”
“Annually?”
“Yes.”
“How long has he been under contract?”
“For many years.”
“What does he do to earn the money?” Kerney asked.
“I’d have to pull the contract for the specifics.”
“I’d like a copy of every contract.”
“I can’t do that without our lawyer’s permission.”
“I’ll have an officer at your house within an hour with a court order,” Kerney said. He disconnected and dialed up the district office.
In the grocery store Kerney picked through the fresh produce section and got what he needed to make a good salad.
His motel, close to the New Mexico Military Institute, was an improvement over his room in Alamogordo. He had a suite that came with a kitchenette, a sitting room, and a separate sleeping area.
At the checkout counter he stood behind a woman who had also shopped for an evening meal. Only she would be cooking for two and serving a nice bottle of red wine with dinner.
Kerney looked down at the few items in his hands and started missing Sara. He watched the woman swing her way out the automatic doors and bit back on the feeling of loneliness that nipped at him.
He walked into the motel lobby carrying his groceries and saw Clayton sitting on a couch with a woman and two small children. They stood in unison when Kerney approached.
“You wanted to meet my family,” Clayton said, rubbing the head of the little boy at his side. “This is Wendell.” He pointed to the child in the woman’s arms. “That’s Hannah. And this is my wife, Grace.”
Wendell stepped forward and with a serious look extended his hand.
Kerney bent down and shook it.
“Hello, Grandfather,” Wendell said.
“Hello, Wendell. It’s nice to meet you.”
Wendell nodded and, well coached for the occasion, stepped back to his father’s side.
“Mrs. Istee,” Kerney said, as he stood upright. She was a small-boned pretty woman with a narrow face and even features that gave her a classy look.
“Chief Kerney,” Grace replied, nodding her head as she scooped up Hannah, who had started to toddle away.
Kerney looked from face to face. Clayton and his family had dressed for the occasion: father and son wore pressed jeans and fresh shirts, and mother and daughter each wore white blouses and dark skirts.
His eyes settled on Clayton. “Please be my guests for dinner,” he said.
Clayton shook his head. “We can’t, but thank you anyway. We just stopped by a few minutes ago so you could meet my family. We have a lot of errands to run before we go home.”
“Some other time then,” Kerney said, smiling at Grace.
“I’d like that,” Grace said, giving Kerney a small smile in return.
“So would I,” Kerney replied, switching his gaze back to Clayton. “Thank you for doing this.”
“My mother kept your letters,” Clayton said. “But she wouldn’t let me read them.”
“Thank her for saving me from the embarrassment,” Kerney said.
“Were they that mushy?”
“Yeah, I guess they were.”
Clayton nodded a good-bye and led his family through the lobby doors. Looking at Kerney over her mother’s shoulder, Hannah waved.
Kerney waited a beat until they were out of sight, then approached the registration clerk and asked how long Clayton and his family had been waiting.
“Way over an hour,” the woman said, glancing at the wall clock.