Michael McGarrity - The Judas judge

"Judge Langsford appreciated my services," Murray said with a cold smile. "Haven't we already talked about this?"

"Sometimes elderly people can be taken advantage of."

"I resent that remark. Judge Langsford was sound in mind and body. I doubt anyone could have taken advantage of him."

"Do you have a boyfriend, Ms. Murray?"

"I see someone."

"Here in town?"

"Yes."

"Tell me who he is."

Murray shook her head. "That's none of your business. I refuse to let you treat me as a suspect. You already know that I had nothing to do with Judge Langsford's murder."

"I still need to speak with your boyfriend."

"So, I am a suspect after all."

"Not necessarily."

"I don't like having my privacy invaded."

Kerney shrugged. "If you don't cooperate now, I'll just keep coming back until you tell me, or find a more public way to identify him. Would you like that?"

"That's harassment."

"Why are you hiding his identity?"

Hostility seeped from Murray's eyes. "Because he's married."

"I'm sure you'd like to have me go away and never come back, Ms. Murray. Talking to your boyfriend just may make that happen."

"The man I'm seeing isn't a murderer."

"I'm sure you're right. But, one way or the other, I need to confirm that."

"His name is Joel Cushman. He's a psychologist in private practice."

"Thank you for cooperating."

"This is utterly insane."

Joel Cushman had his practice in a small office complex on Mechem Road.

When Kerney arrived, Cushman had just finished a session with a client. Kerney showed his credentials to the receptionist, who quickly buzzed Cushman and directed Kerney through the appropriate door.

Cushman was standing when Kerney entered. Of average height, he had a bit of a potbelly, a soft handshake, and an inquisitive look on his face. On his desk was a photograph of a kneeling woman with her arms wrapped around the waist of a young boy.

Cushman's look turned worried when Kerney started talking about Kay Murray.

"Why on earth would you be investigating Kay?" Cushman asked.

"I understand you're her lover," Kerney said. "Who told you that?"

"Ms. Murray."

Cushman slumped into his chair. "Yes, we're lovers."

"For how long?"

"Three, almost four years."

"How did you meet?"

"Socially, at a party," Cushman said, looking away.

"And she was never one of your patients?"

"For a time she was. But our personal relationship started after she left therapy."

"Does your wife know about Ms. Murray?"

"Listen, I don't want any trouble."

"What brought Kay to see you?"

"You know I can't be compelled to reveal that information."

"What can you tell me?"

"She's a remarkable, talented, intelligent woman. I care for her very much."

"Is your practice successful, Dr. Cushman?"

The question startled Cushman. "Yes, it's well established, and my wife is an OB/GYN."

"No money problems?"

"We live comfortably and within our means."

"Has Ms. Murray ever asked you for money or a loan?"

"Never."

"Has she ever mentioned having money problems?"

"Kay also lives within her means."

"Are you her only lover?"

"Only Kay can answer that question."

"Does that mean you don't know?"

Cushman pulled himself erect in his chair. "That's the best answer I can give you."

Kerney gazed at the framed certificates and diplomas on the office wall. "Aren't there ethical rules against sleeping with clients?"

Cushman squirmed in his chair. "I've already explained that I was not involved with Kay while she was my patient."

"If you answer my question I might be willing to forget we had this conversation," Kerney said.

"Yes, she has had another lover."

"Who?"

"Vernon Langsford."

"You've been sharing Ms. Murray with Langsford?" Color rose on Cushman's cheeks and he said nothing. "It must have made you jealous."

"No, it did not."

"It doesn't bother you that Langsford was elderly, rich, and sleeping with your lover?" Kerney asked.

"I have no control over Kay's decisions."

"Where were you last Friday night?" Kerney asked.

Cushman's face lost color. "Attending a Christian men's fellowship convention in Albuquerque."

"Did you travel alone?"

"Yes."

"You saw Kay there, didn't you?"

"For a while," Cushman said. "Where did you stay?"

"We stayed at the same hotel, in separate rooms."

"How long were you with Kay?"

"From about eleven-thirty Friday night until the next morning. I had to wait for her to arrive. She'd gone out with friends for a late dinner and drinks."

"Did anyone see you together?"

"We ordered breakfast in the room."

"At what time was it delivered?"

"Seven-thirty."

"I'll need the names of the people you were with at the convention."

Cushman started scribbling down names, the pen shaking in his hand. "This is unbelievable."

"I also need addresses and phone numbers, if you have them," Kerney added.

Cushman reached for his address book.

After leaving Cushman's office, Kerney got on the horn to Lee Sedillo.

"Where are you?"

"Heading your way, Chief. ETA ten minutes."

"Let's meet for coffee."

"Roger."

The cafe on Sudderth Avenue had horse-racing posters tacked on the walls and cheap cafeteria-style tables and chairs scattered throughout the room. Aside from Kerney and Lee Sedillo, the only other customers were two city cops on a break and a table of four men, all dressed in jeans and work boots, who were busy discussing a set of construction plans. A slow-moving waitress worked her way across the room, wiping down and setting up tables.

"San Francisco PD reports Eric Langsford was busted twice on two misdemeanor cocaine possession charges while he was living in the Bay Area," Lee said. "No other arrests in California. He's had one drunk and disorderly charge and a DWI since moving back."

"Nothing more serious?" Kerney asked.

"Nope. Langsford plays the guitar. When he's not high, he's supposedly a real good musician. He was a member of a country and western band that had a steady weekend gig at a Cloudcroft bar. When the summer tourist season ended the band got booked to do a west Texas tour. That's when Langsford left his day job. Or was fired, I should say."

"Where's the band now?" Kerney asked.

"In Van Horn, Texas, playing a small club and working their way back to El Paso. But Langsford dumped the group in a town named Maria. He got drunk and started a fight with the band's drummer two days before his father was murdered."

"Do you have a line on him?"

Lee shook his head. "He could be crawling through every border town booze joint. I've got an all points bulletin out on his camper van."

"And his sister?" Kerney asked.

"No sightings, no contact, no nothing. A neighbor said he ran into Linda Langsford at a Roswell supermarket the day before she started her vacation. Langsford told the neighbor she was planning to camp out and do some high-country backpacking in the Rockies. I've asked Colorado and Federal park rangers to canvas campsites and check all their backcountry hiking permits."

"Have you finished the background investigation on Kay Murray?"

"Murray was born in Carlsbad, the daughter of Jean and Richard Murray. The father abandoned the family, and she was raised by the mother, who died of cancer when Murray was twenty-one years old. She moved to Roswell, took art courses at the junior college, and then went to the university in Albuquerque, where she finished a degree in fine arts.

"Starting out, she couldn't make a living as a weaver, so she got into the housekeeping business, working for yuppies and well-to-do retired couples. She's been doing it now for about ten years."