Michael McGarrity - The Judas judge

Middle-class retirees seeking the warmth of the Sun Belt added to the problem, as did the traditional dryness of a New Mexico desert autumn.

As Kerney wheeled into Linda Langsford's driveway, the sour feeling in his gut intensified. Not because the sky was less beautiful. Other things were piling up on him. Sara was hundreds of miles away, and he didn't get to see her enough. Clayton viewed him with hostility. And to top it off, he worried that his dream of ranching was nothing more than an overblown, forty-year-old fantasy.

Modern ranching was far more complex than Kerney's childhood experiences on the Tularosa. Could he do it? Did he even know how to do it? Was he too old to try? Even the thought of the heap of money he stood to get from the sale of the land Erma Fergurson had left him didn't soothe his unsettled feelings.

His parents had raised him to work hard, enjoy what life brings, and never waste anything. What would they have said about his good fortune?

Certainly they would have expected him to put the money to good use and to spend it wisely. They would have wanted him to build something of enduring value. But figuring out how to do that was starting to get harder than Kerney had ever imagined possible.

He shut the car door and stared at the stark architectural lines of Linda Langsford's house, which now seemed incongruous in comparison to the nearby farms, pastures, and fields. The house said something about Langsford, but Kerney wasn't sure what it might be.

He tried to get his head straight, but the lousy mood persisted. The most important case of his career was filled with contradictions and going nowhere. As he walked up the pathway, the appearance of the house ate at him along with everything else bouncing around in his head. under the close watch of a surveillance officer, Linda Langsford was at a funeral parlor making arrangements for her father's services.

Eric answered Kerney's knock, looking scrawny and undernourished in what appeared to be some of Drew Randolph's clothes. His eyebrows twitched as he stared at Kerney.

"I'm not talking to you," he said from behind the screen door. "You'd rather go back to jail," Kerney countered. "For what?"

"I'll think of something."

"I didn't murder my father or any of those other people."

"That should make talking to me a whole lot easier."

"Okay, come in."

Kerney stepped through the door. "Now, you're absolutely sure you didn't kill your father?"

Eric nodded as he padded barefoot into the living room and sat on the couch. "That's right. Do you know my bitch sister doesn't have any uppers or downers in the house? Not even a Valium prescription.

There's not a damn thing to get high on except booze."

"You don't seem to like your sister very much."

"We're not that close. Never have been."

"She had Randolph bail you out."

"That was for appearances, man. We've got to grieve together publicly now that the old man's been iced. Linda's big on shit like that."

"Four years ago, you ripped your father off."

Eric smiled gleefully. "You heard about that? I held him up at gunpoint, man. It gave me a big charge. What a rush."

"Why didn't you just take his money?"

"I wanted things that mattered to him. Stuff he wouldn't want to give me. Money would've been too easy. That's all he ever offered."

"You took Arthur's coin collection, your mother's jewelry, and your own stamp album."

"That's right."

"Things with a sentimental value."

"Bullshit, sentimental," Eric snorted. "He was a control freak.

Nothing ever really belonged to us. He picked out every coin, stamp, and piece of expensive jewelry and kept it all locked in his safe. My mother had to ask him when she wanted to wear any of the good jewelry he bought for her. Can you believe that crap?"

"What did he buy for Linda?"

"Daddy's darling girl got money."

"What for?"

"Anything she wanted. Clothes, shoes, trips to Europe, dancing lessons, shopping sprees, cars-whatever."

"When I talked to Dr. Joyce she said the whole family needed therapy."

"Family therapy was her thing, man. To hear her talk, everybody needed it. Seeing her was a total waste of time."

"She must have had her reasons."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"What did you do with the guns you took from your father?"

"I sold them, along with everything else."

"You didn't keep any?"

"Nope."

"What kind of gun did you take to your father's house?"

"It was a Saturday night special." Eric spread his thumb and fore finger. "A. 25 caliber semiautomatic."

"Kay Murray said it was a revolver."

"She's wrong."

"Where is the gun now?"

"I traded it to get high. Is that the kind of gun that was used to kill my father?"

"No."

"Have you checked out my alibi yet?"

"You lied to me, Eric."

"About what?"

"You said you hadn't seen or visited your father in six years."

"I forget a lot of things when I'm stoned."

"You weren't high when you said it."

"So I lied."

"Did you use pay phones to telephone Linda last week?"

"What for?"

"You tell me."

"No, I didn't call her."

"Did you see your father last week?"

"Talk to him on the phone?"

"Hire someone to kill him?"

Eric grinned. "That's always been my favorite fantasy."

"Did you?"

Eric shook his head.

"Why did you hate him so?"

There were footsteps on the porch, and a voice snapped out. "That's enough!"

Linda Langsford stormed up to Kerney, her face crimson red. "Why are you here again?" she demanded.

"To return your receipts," Kerney answered calmly, holding out the credit card slips. "I made copies."

She disregarded the papers and gave her brother a scathing look. "What has he been asking you?"

"If I robbed the Judas Judge," Eric said.

Kerney dropped the credit card slips on the coffee table.

"Don't call him that," Linda snapped.

"Fuck you. I can say what I want."

Linda's body tensed. "You're a mess, Eric." She swung to face Kerney.

"Don't come back here without calling in advance, and don't talk to Eric again until he has legal counsel."

"As you wish," Kerney said.

"Go," she said flatly.

"We'll need to talk again, Ms. Langsford."

Linda smiled belligerently. "I'll be the judge of that."

Crammed into the command trailer with Lee Sedillo and the agents working the case, Kerney listened to progress reports. Days of intense legwork without any headway had dampened everyone's spirits. Kerney masked his own disappointment by focusing on the details of each agent's assignment.

After the last agent's briefing, Kerney met with Lee in the small office. "What's pending?" he asked.

Sedillo sat at the desk and rubbed the back of his neck. "Two things: Eric Langsford's whereabouts at the time of the murders, and the verification of his sister's vacation itinerary. I had to pull Duran off the vandalism investigation to do the legwork on Eric."

"Where is he?"

Kerney asked.

"El Paso. He hasn't checked in yet, so I'm assuming he hasn't got anything, and the bed and breakfast where Linda Langsford spent the first two nights of her vacation has shut down for the season."

"Where's that?" Kerney asked.

"Creede, Colorado, in Mineral County-wherever that is. I've got a call in to the sheriff, asking him to locate the owners and have them contact us. A husband and wife run the place."

"I've been there," Kerney said.

"It's a small old mining town in the Rockies, northeast of Alamosa. There are a lot of summer vacation homes but not too many year-round residents. It shouldn't be hard to run down the B and B owners."

Lee nodded. "I hope so. About the only thing we've done so far is wipe out the overtime budget for the year."