Michael McGarrity - The Judas judge

"Arthur was her firstborn."

"A hard loss, certainly. New Mexico is a community property state. Would Vernon have been willing to give her half of his considerable assets in a divorce settlement?"

"Are you suggesting Vernon may have killed his wife?"

"The thought crossed my mind."

"Do you think everyone is capable of such evil?" Censure crept into her voice.

"I think under certain circumstances people can and will do anything imaginable. Did you know Arthur at all?"

"No. That's not to say I didn't know who he was. Why is he important to you?"

"Three members of one family are dead. That raises my interest."

"All died years apart under different circumstances. You won't let this drop, will you?"

"Did you come here to probe my intentions?" Kerney asked.

"You think I have a conniving purpose," she said slowly, watching for a reaction.

Kerney smiled broadly. "Do you?"

The softness on Kay's face vanished, replaced by a icy, shutdown stare.

She opened her purse and dropped some bills on the table. "I've made a serious mistake. I thought you were someone who could understand."

"I'd like to."

"You play word games, Mr. Kerney," she said, as she stood up. "I think you're a cold man."

Kerney couldn't resist. "Not at all what a single woman needs." Her eyes ate into him, venomous. "Screw you."

Kerney stayed at the table after Kay Murray left and ordered a chicken salad sandwich from the bar menu. Only the mayonnaise made it palatable, but he ate it anyway.

What had brought Kay Murray down to Alamogordo to see him? He didn't think for a minute her motives were spurred by genuine attraction, although she tried to play it that way until the tactic broke down. Did she just need to confirm that she wasn't under suspicion? Kerney doubted it.

He was no moralist when it came to other people's lives. Experience had taught him never to trust the shibboleths of conventional morals and ethics. They often sugar-coated unpleasant truths.

He could buy the idea that Murray was a lusty woman, but why was it important for her to make him aware of that fact? It went way beyond a causal come-on, Kerney decided, or a simple need to be understood. Which meant she was either protecting herself or hiding something she didn't want uncovered.

The more he learned about the people in the judge's life, the more it seemed that Langsford's personal relationships went way beyond unconventional. Where that might take him, Kerney couldn't begin to guess.

He put some bills on the table to cover the tip, and a hand touched him on the shoulder. He looked up as Barbara Jennings leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

"I hope that isn't your supper, Kerney," Barbara said.

Dale, Kerney, and Barbara had been best friends in high school, and Dale like to tell the story of how he fell in love with her the first time he saw her barrel racing at a county fair rodeo.

No more than five foot three, Barbara's light brown hair framed her widely spaced eyes and full mouth. Her face, now creased with the fine lines of middle age, held a perpetual look of curiosity about life, which she matched with a wide range of personal interests.

Years of ranching hadn't erased her sweet features, and in some ways she was prettier than ever.

Kerney smiled broadly and stood up to hug her. "It's good to see a friendly face for a change. How are you?"

"Just fine," Barbara said, as she motioned Kerney back to his chair and joined him at the table. "I'm in town for a daylong seminar on bull fertility tomorrow. Dale has me doing all the breeding stock buying. He says I'm better at it than he is, and he's right."

"Where is Dale?"

"Tending to the ranch."

"And the girls?"

"They're staying at our apartment in Truth or Consequences, and going to school."

"Are you still living in town with them during the school year?"

Barbara nodded. "I'm there most weeknights. But we're all at the ranch on the weekends. I was hoping to buy you dinner, Kerney, but not here. Can you stand to pick your way through another meal while you keep a woman company?"

"It would be my pleasure," Kerney said, gesturing for the bartender.

"But first let me buy you a drink."

Barbara told him a glass of wine would do nicely, and Kerney placed their order.

"Are you really going back to ranching?" Barbara asked, after toasting Kerney with her glass.

"That's the current plan."

"Dale would like that."

"And what do you think?" Kerney asked.

"I love the ranching life, but I could do with a little more security. It's an iffy business at best, especially for us small producers. But you'll have a fair chance at success since you'll own your land outright."

"What would you do in my shoes?"

"Ten years ago, I would have said get into breeding stock. But now even that niche is crowded. Some ranchers have switched to elk ranching."

"I've heard about that."

"They harvest bull antler velvet, sell private hunting permits, slaughter for the market, or breed for other producers."

"Is it profitable?" Kerney asked.

"It can be. One bull elk hunting permit costs on average nine thousand dollars, and on the private game parks there's no state restriction on the number of permits."

"It sure can't be the same as raising cows," Kerney said.

"It's not. A few other ranchers have switched to buffalo. The Livestock Board treats them as domestic animals, if they're not from a wild herd," Barbara said. "Several large outfits here and in Montana are trying to develop a national market for buffalo meat."

"Sounds like folks are looking for a way to get by."

"As long as beef consumption and slaughter prices stay down, they've got to do something."

"Not a rosy picture."

Barbara laughed. "And you want to put yourself into it. I swear, Kerney, you haven't changed: still bullheaded stubborn."

"Maybe not so much anymore."

"That would be different." Barbara scooted her chair closer. "Now, enough of this ranch talk. How is Sara?"

"Stunned by the recent revelation that I'm a grandfather." "Say that again," Barbara said, lowering the glass from her lips.

"It's true," Kerney said, launching into the story of Isabel and Clayton.

About the only thing Robert Duran felt good about after a day of pounding the Juarez streets was the overtime pay he was earning. Night along the Jurez tourist strip made the city look even more dirty and vulgar. After hoofing around the city from one sleazy hotel to the other, Robert crossed the Rio Grande into El Paso. Technically back in the States, he saw little difference between Jurez and the dilapidated neighborhood that bordered the river. Like Juarez, the area smelled of stale booze, urine, automobile fumes, and garbage All the retail businesses sold the same cut-rate crap featured in the Juarez tourist traps.

He walked toward the old downtown El Paso plaza, noting an absence of whores on the street, fewer gaudy neon signs, almost no street vendors, more vacant commercial buildings, and a number of cheap hotels.

Canvassing the Juarez strip hotels had yielded no confirmation of Eric Langsford's supposed stay in the city. But that didn't mean any thing; most of the hotel clerks had been totally disinterested in assisting a norteamericano cop, even if he looked like one and a gente and spoke good Spanish-of the northern New Mexico variety.

To reduce the possibility of vandalism to his unmarked unit, Robert had parked in the underground lot of the one decent hotel near the El Paso plaza. He was halfway there when he stopped and looked up at a flickering, humming neon hotel sign. Maybe Langsford had stayed on the Texas side of the border, and not in Jurez at all.

He looked back down the dingy street. There were at least six more hotels within sight and another half dozen up ahead. He ducked into the nearest one, flashed his ID and a photo of Langsford, asked his question, and checked the guest register. Nada, but at least he got cooperation from the clerk. He worked each hotel down the block, changed direction, and finished up at the new high-rise hotel near the plaza where his unit was parked.