Michael McGarrity - The Judas judge

"Tell me about him," Kerney said.

"That says it all."

"Give me an example."

"Okay. Let me think." Langsford raised his eyes to the ceiling. "You know what his favorite game was when I was a little kid?"

"What was that?"

"He'd chase me around the house pretending to be a vampire, or Dracula, or some weird Frankenstein, until I totally lost it and freaked." Eric smiled dolefully. "He'd always do it when we were alone in the house. Doesn't that suck?"

"Some game," Kerney replied. "Did he play it with all his children?"

"Just me. Arthur was macho, could do no wrong. Sports and all that shit. Linda was his angel, the apple of his eye. I was the oddball who liked to draw pictures, play records, watch television, and get high."

"Did he abuse you in other ways?"

"When he wasn't terrorizing me, he ignored me. I was invisible to him. If it hadn't been for music, smoking pot, and my mother, I never would have survived past the age of twelve. She saved my fucking life, man. She was the only one who cared about me in that whole fucking family. I guess she wanted to save one of us kids, at least."

"Save you from what?" Kerney asked.

"Whatever."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the best one you're going to get."

"It must have been hard on you when she died."

"She's dead because of him." Langsford reached for an empty beer can and flicked a cigarette ash into it with a shaky hand.

"You were about twenty-six when your mother died. Still living at home?"

"No, I had my own place. I was playing in a shitkicker band and snorting a lot of coke."

"Were you spending much time with your mother before the letter-bomb incident?"

"Nah, I was too stoned to go anywhere, do anything, or see any one. I stayed away from everybody except the guys in the band and my dealer."

"You never got busted?"

Langsford shook his head. "Not in Roswell. The only good things my old man ever did for me was give me money to feed my habit and keep me out of jail. He did it for himself, to keep his reputation from being sullied by his fucked-up kid."

"He also paid for your rehab treatment."

Langsford laughed, dropped his cigarette butt in the direction of the beer can, missed, and ground it out with the toe of his shoe. "Oh, yeah, more than once. Top-of-the-line detox centers, man, far away from home where nobody knew me or the family."

"He gave you money after your mother was killed."

"He didn't want me hanging around."

"He offered you the money?"

"No, I asked for it. I had to get away from there. I went to San Francisco and stayed loaded until the cash ran out. I haven't been back to Roswell since."

"But he kept sending you money."

"Sure. It was the only thing he had to give."

"I need to know where you were from the time you quit the band until the time you got back to New Mexico."

"I sobered up in a whorehouse in Juarez on Sunday. That's all I can remember. I black out when I binge drink."

"Have you been drinking since then?"

"Just some beers to keep me steady."

"Are you using anything else besides booze?"

"Downers when I need to mellow out. Uppers when I need a rush. I try to stay high one way or the other as much as I can."

"What drugs have you taken today?" Kerney asked. "A couple amphetamines."

"How many?"

"Four. Six. Eight. I forget."

"Come with me," Kerney said.

"Why?"

"I'm placing you in protective custody."

"Jail?"

"Yep. I'll have a doctor check you out when we get there."

"That's raw, man. I don't need that shit."

"I want you safe."

"You think I killed my old man?"

"Did you?"

Langsford looked puzzled, then shook his head. "For as long as I could remember, I've wanted that son of a bitch dead. But I usually wind up thinking of killing myself instead." Langsford closed his eyes and rocked his head back and forth. "Just nod off on a nice overdose and never wake up."

"Let's go," Kerney said, reaching for his handcuffs.

"Are those things necessary?"

"Stand up, turn around, and place your hands at the small of your back."

A pat-down search yielded enough prescription tranquilizers for Langsford to use to overdose several times over. Kerney booked him into the Otero County Jail on a protective custody hold. If he needed to, he'd use the possession charge later as leverage.

He walked into the command trailer office where Lee Sedillo was parked behind the desk. Lee looked up and started to scramble to his feet.

"Stay put, Lieutenant. Are you making any progress?"

"We still have a shitload of motels to check, Chief," Lee said, as he settled back in the chair. "Not to mention more gas stations and convenience stores. I've got people reviewing store surveillance tapes."

"Good idea. How long before they finish up?"

"Late tomorrow, maybe."

At the jail, Eric Langsford had given Kerney his written, voluntary permission to search his house and van. He laid it on the desk. Lee read it quickly. "You found him."

"He was too stoned to hide. I've booked him into the county lockup."

"I'll pull two agents off the canvas to do the search. What are we looking for, Chief?"

"The murder weapon with Langsford's prints on it would be nice."

"Is he our killer?"

"Possibly. He's got a major booze and pill buzz going and isn't thinking too clearly right now, and he doesn't have one kind word for his father. He kept calling him the Judas Judge, whatever that means. I'll question him after he comes down from his high and see where it goes."

"Agent Duran busted that towing service operator. He said Jake implicated Shockley to the max in the auto thefts."

"Is there anything that connects Jake to the damage to my unit?"

"For that, Jake has alibis. He was on confirmed service calls both mornings. Duran has already started talking to Shockley's other buddies."

"I'll handle the Linda Langsford interview after she gets home."

"Give her another four hours. She just called from Taos a little while ago."

"You talked to her?"

"Yeah. She was upset, angry, crying, and demanding a lot of answers. I didn't give her much."

"There's not much to give right now. Keep the troops humping."

Lee nodded. "Jesus, I hope we catch a break soon." He held out Kerney's car keys. "Can I have my unit back? Yours is parked behind the trailer, all fixed and ready to go."

With the high school principal at his side, Kerney watched the school marching band go through their paces on the practice field.

As they wheeled and turned, light from the late afternoon sun flashed off the polished brass horns.

"I knew all the Langsford kids," Colby Trumble said. "I was a guidance counselor back then." He turned, looked at Kerney, and pulled at the lapel of his suit jacket as the sun glittered on his bald head. "Now I get to wear a suit and listen to everybody's gripes and complaints. Sometimes I don't know who is harder to deal with, the parents, the teachers, or the students."

"Tell me about the Langsford kids," Kerney said.

"Arthur and Linda were honor society members in the top five percent of their graduating classes. Linda was a cheerleader, and Arthur played two or three varsity sports. Exceptional kids. Well-rounded, smart, never in trouble-every parent's dream."

"And Eric?"

"Troubled, brilliant, bored, and volatile. He got in lots of fights and usually took a beating. He was an incredibly gifted musician. String instruments. Violin and guitar especially."

"Any drug problems?"

"I think he was stoned in class most of the time."

"How did his parents handle it?"

"Mostly, I dealt with his mother. She was always trying to get him straightened out."

"Was Eric ever dangerous to others?"