Michael McGarrity - The Judas judge

Sara knew from firsthand experience what it took to run a major violent crime investigation, and how wearing it could be. Serving in an army where combat assignments were closed to women, she'd carefully selected intelligence and criminal investigations as a career path that would take her as close to the action as possible. Her postings had included tours as an executive officer of a MP company in Saudi Arabia during the Persian Gulf War, temporary duty as a tactical intelligence staff officer in Bosnia, supervising a Criminal Investigation Unit at White Sands Missile Range, and commanding allied ground reconnaissance and intelligence units in South Korea.

On a professional level, she would have enjoyed the opportunity to work with Kerney on the case. Spree murders were relatively rare events, and the hands-on experience would've been invaluable. So would some more time with Kerney, she thought, especially in the sack.

She wiped away a smile when a senior airman stuck his head in the door to say the bird was ready to fly.

When he woke, Kerney found Sara gone and a love note pinned to a pillow, containing a graphic suggestion of how they could spend their next weekend together, which made Kerney smile. He cleaned up and called Lee Sedillo.

"Any progress?"

"We've finished reviewing the user-fee pay envelopes for the past thirty days. We've identified seven people who visited all four parks in a one or two-day period. I've got agents checking every motel between Carrizozo and Alamogordo to see if any of them returned and registered as guests around the time of the murders."

"Can you link any of the seven to Langsford?"

"Negative, Chief."

"Have Langsford's children surfaced?"

"Also negative, Chief."

"Have the PIO release Langsford's name and the fact that we're seeking the whereabouts of his son and daughter to the media."

"Will do."

"Did you finish up at Langsford's house?"

"No way, Chief. There's a hell of a lot of stuff to go through. The judge was a total pack rat. I've got a man there now. Are you coming in?"

"Do you need me."

"Nothing's breaking."

"I'll be there this afternoon."

Kerney answered the knock at the door, and Dale Jennings stepped inside.

"Where's your bride?" Dale asked, eyeing the rumpled bed covers with a grin.

"Long gone," Kerney said. "She can only take me in small doses."

"That makes sense. She said I'm to keep you occupied all day."

"We've got the rest of the morning."

"That will do, if we get our butts in gear."

"Have you seen these ranches we're going to look at?" Kerney walked to the chair by the window to grab his jacket.

"Nope," Dale said, waiting for Kerney to turn away from the window.

"What do you think the chances are of getting four flat tires simultaneously?" Kerney asked, as he eyed his unit in the parking lot.

Dale stepped to the window "Somebody doesn't like you, would be my bet."

"Let's take a closer look."

The tires had been punctured, but there was no other damage to the car. Kerney took a quick tour of the other parked vehicles and found no additional evidence of vandalism. He called Lee Sedillo and told him what was up.

"I'll get the tires replaced and send an agent over to ask some questions," Lee said.

"Don't waste an agent's time on this," Kerney said. "Have a patrol officer take the call."

"Who did you piss off, Chief?"

"Good question," Kerney said. "Maybe one of Shockley's buddies."

"That's a thought that worries me," Lee said.

Dale Jennings took off his feed store baseball cap, scratched his head, and hoisted a foot on the truck's front bumper. "Finding land that equals what Erma left you isn't going to be easy," he said.

Kerney nodded in agreement. The two ranches they'd toured held no appeal for him. One, situated on the back side of the Jicarilla Mountains north of Carrizozo, looked promising until Kerney spoke with the owner, who was bailing out of the cattle business because the Forest Service had fenced off the live streams and greatly reduced his grazing allotment.

The other property was west of Carrizozo, a windswept, poorly managed stretch of land within sight of Chupadera Mesa. In the best of years, four hundred acres would be needed to support one cow-calf unit.

Kerney looked at the herd of scrawny Brangus cattle moving slowly across the dusty rangeland infested with broom snake-weed. Toxic to cattle and sheep, broom snakeweed caused abortions. What grasses there were-blue grama, silver beard grass and side oats grama-had been pretty much eaten down to the root.

"What?" Dale finally asked, as he studied the displeasure on Kerney's face.

"Why bother to put cattle on the land if you have to truck in feed to keep them alive?" Kerney said.

"Some ranchers don't feed much until it comes close to shipping time," Dale said.

"That's no way to treat animals," Kerney said.

"I know it. Maybe this isn't a good time for you to be looking for land."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kerney asked.

"Maybe better land will come on the market later down the road. Want to call it a day?"

"We've got one more to go?"

"Down by Three Rivers."

"Let's check it out."

Twenty sections south of Three Rivers were up for sale, running from the arid basin to the foothills that defined the western boundary of the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation. Once, it had been part of the Albert Bacon Fall holdings that consumed a million acres from the Sacramento Mountains to the westerly San Andres Mountains.

Fall had been a senator from New Mexico before becoming Warren Harding's Secretary of the Interior. His political career ended with the famous Teapot Dome scandal, amid charges that he had engaged in shady deals regarding national petroleum reserves set aside for the Navy.

Kerney asked Dale to take the old road to the ranch headquarters. He wanted to see the rodeo grounds that had once drawn ranching families from throughout the area for several days of friendly competition. As teenagers, he and Dale had won the team calf-roping event three years running.

All that remained under the grove of trees were some rotting boards from the judging stand and a few fence posts.

"Those were good times," Dale said, staring out the truck window as they drove slowly by.

"Yes, they were," Kerney answered.

They got permission from the ranch manager to tour the land, and took off on a dirt road that wound into the hills. Good rains over the summer had greened up the terrain, but the ground was rocky, with sparse topsoil, and only patches of bunch grass thrived.

Below them, the Tularosa Basin, once a broad savanna, spread out to the far off San Andres Mountains. Not even a half century of protection by the military had restored the fragile basin from years of drought and overgrazing. Where knee-high grasses once grew, now mesquite, saltbush, and creosote bush crowded out the more fragile native vegetation.

Inside an open gate high in the foothills, Kerney and Dale walked the land, neither of them happy with soil so poorly suited to retain moisture. In front of them, the twin peaks of Sierra Blanca on the Apache Reservation dominated the skyline.

"Not much you can do with this," Dale said with a shake of his head.

"It would take a full section to run one cow." The short wail of a siren cut off Kerney's response. A four-wheel-drive bore down upon them, emergency lights flashing, and ground to a halt next to Dale's truck.

The man who got out of the truck and moved toward them wore a tribal police uniform shirt. In his mid to late twenties, he was five-ten, with an olive brown complexion and dark hazel eyes.

"Let me see some ID," the officer said, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered weapon.