Michael McGarrity - The Judas judge

He stood in front of the lit-up building with its Spanish accent decor and glass front lobby and decided to make one more inquiry before calling it a night.

Robert showed the woman at the registration desk Langsford's photograph and she recognized him immediately.

"When did he check in?" Robert asked.

The woman clicked away at her computer keyboard. "Last Wednesday."

"When did he check out?"

"Late Saturday morning."

"Method of payment?" Robert asked.

"Cash."

"Did he make any phone calls?"

"Only one, on Wednesday night, to an escort service called California Coeds."

"Let me have the phone number," Robert said, "and a copy of his room bill, if it's no bother."

"Certainly, Officer," the clerk said, returning her attention to the computer.

The printer cranked out the bill. Eric Langsford had rented a suite for two hundred dollars a night-pricey for El Paso, where wages were low, unemployment high, and not too many high rollers had any reason to stay.

On top of that, he'd booked the room before arriving.

Supposedly Langsford had been too drunk to remember what he'd done after leaving the band in Maria, Texas. The room bill proved otherwise. Plus, it was solid evidence that put Langsford within easy striking distance of the crime scenes just prior to the murders.

"Where is the El Paso Police Department located?" Robert asked.

The registration clerk spread out a tourist map on the counter and circled the location.

According to the phone book advertisement, California Coeds offered a discreet dating service and accepted all major credit cards. Robert ran down his investigation to Oscar Olivares, the El Paso PD vice detective on desk duty, and learned that California Coeds provided in-room lap dancing, erotic massages, lingerie modeling, and whatever else the client privately negotiated with his date.

"For El Paso, it's a high-class operation," Olivares said. "The girls are mostly Anglo babes-fair-skinned blondes. They cater to businessmen up from Chihuahua and Mexico City who stay at the hotel. It's owned by a Mexican consortium."

"The hotel or the call service?" Robert asked.

"The hotel."

"Any prostitution or racketeering busts on the call service?" Robert asked, eyeing the vice cop, who looked like a kid trying to pass for a grown-up. His dark curly hair covered his shirt collar, and a pencil-thin mustache adorned his upper lip.

"Not yet."

"How do I make contact with the owner or whoever runs the operation.

"I'll take you to him."

"It's your turf, detective," Robert said with a smile.

Mario Lopez Humberto operated the California Coeds Escort Service out of an expensive foothills residence with excellent views of the El Paso city lights. A white stretch limousine and several luxury cars were parked in the well-lit semicircular driveway.

Humberto opened the front door talking Spanish into a cordless phone, promising that Bambi would be somewhere at ten o'clock. He nodded nonchalantly when Olivares flashed his shield and kept talking.

Humberto looked like retired Mexican mafia muscle. Stocky, with a body slightly gone to seed, he wore three gold chains around his neck, fully revealed by his mostly unbuttoned white linen shirt.

He punched the phone button and smiled at Olivares. "Are you looking for a date?" he asked in Spanish.

"We need to talk to the girl you sent out to Eric Langsford's hotel room last Wednesday night," Robert said, speaking in English.

"What about?"

"Langsford is a murder suspect," Robert said.

"Here?" Humberto asked.

"In New Mexico."

"This has nothing to do with me?"

"Nothing."

"Brandy was his escort. She's in the green room," Humberto said, motioning the men inside.

"What's that?" Robert asked.

"It's a room where my girls check in before going out on a date. I gotta make sure they look good."

"And you call it the green room," Robert said, following Humberto through the house.

"Yeah, and it's not even green. I heard that actors stay in green rooms before a performance. I don't know why. Since my girls are like actors, I call it the same thing."

In a den filled with comfortable easy chairs and a big-screen television, Humberto took them through a side door to where Brandy stood in front of a full-length mirror adjusting the straps on a skimpy mini dress that barely covered her butt. In her early twenties, Brandy had long blond hair, baby-blue eyes, and a drop-dead body that would fulfill any man's fantasy of a California coed.

"Cops need to talk to you, babe," Humberto said.

"About?" Brandy said, turning around. Whatever she wore under the dress pushed her breasts up like round melons.

"Eric Langsford," Robert said.

"What a flake," Brandy said.

"He was your date last Wednesday night."

"Yeah."

"Did you go anywhere?"

"No, it was a room date. Lingerie modeling and lotion massage only."

"Did he do any talking about himself?"

"Not really."

"Or his immediate plans?"

"No."

"Why do you say he was a flake?"

"He liked the fact that I looked like his sister. Called me Linda. Wanted me to call him "Daddy." That's all. It wasn't scary or anything like that. Just flaky."

"Did he get physical with you?" Robert asked.

"No."

"Did you see him again, after Wednesday night?"

"No."

"How did he pay?"

"Cash," Brandy replied. "Did he give you any gifts?"

Brandy hesitated and cast a furtive glance at Humberto before answering "Why are you asking me about him?"

"He's a possible murder suspect," Robert replied, reading her uneasiness. "Six people were killed and robbed. What did he give you, Brandy?"

Her voice lowered to a whisper as Humberto scowled at her.

"Nothing."

"Let's go down to the police station."

"You can't do that," Humberto said. "She's working."

"Why do I have to go with you?" Brandy asked, keeping her gaze on Humberto.

"Because I think you're lying, and we need to get this straightened out."

Brandy's pretty face lost color. "He didn't give me anything the night I was with him. But he sent me something in the mail. It came two days ago."

She got her purse from the makeup table and handed Robert a ruby ring surrounded by a cluster of diamonds in a gold setting. Humberto's scowl turned mean.

"I have to take this into evidence," Robert said. "If it was stolen, you won't get it back."

"Give her a receipt," Humberto said, eyeing the treasure.

"Sure thing. Did a note come with the ring?"

"Yeah," Brandy said. "Do you have it?"

"What did it say?"

Brandy thought about her answer before replying. "Something like thanks for a nice time."

Doubting Langsford's note had been so prosaic, Robert scribbled a receipt for the ring. The two cops left Humberto and Brandy in the green room-which was really soft peach in color-and walked outside.

"Brandy's in some deep shit with Humberto," Olivares said.

"It's not smart to hold goodies back from your boss," Robert said. "No sympathy?"

"I doubt Humberto is going to damage his merchandise."

"Not so it shows, anyway," Olivares said. "You think the ring is real?"

"It sure looks it to me. Can I use your office phone?"

"You bet," Olivares said.

When Robert Duran reached him by phone in his Alamogordo motel room, Lee Sedillo immediately started taking notes.

"Get up here as soon as you can with that ring," Lee said. "I need to get it photographed and faxed to all the victims' families for an ID. You may have busted this case wide open."

"We can drive a tank through the holes in Langsford's alibi," Robert noted. "Tell Chief Kerney he's got probable cause to book him on multiple murder-one counts."

"I'm sure the chief will do that, as soon as we find Eric Langsford," Lee replied.