Michael McGarrity - The Judas judge

"I'm not very good at opening up to people."

Clayton paused. "I hear the same thing from my wife." The harshness in his voice eased a bit.

"There you go," Kerney said with a smile. "Maybe it's both of us."

Clayton's shoulders tightened. "I'm not like you."

"Would that be so terrible?" Kerney asked. Clayton didn't answer.

"Let's find a better place to talk," Kerney said. I'll buy you a drink or a cup of coffee."

"Coffee will do," Clayton said. "I don't drink."

At a strip-mall diner, where most of the stores sold antiques, used books, old furniture, and knickknacks put on consignment by the sons and daughters of parents who had retired to Roswell before passing on, Kerney tried to break the ice by telling Clayton the story of how, as a boy, he'd helped his father deliver cattle to the Mescalero village where the resort and casino now stood.

"My mother grew up in that village," Clayton said.

Kerney nodded. "My father sold those cattle to her father. We used to joke about it in college."

"Joke about what?"

"About how we might have met a lot sooner."

"Why did you walk out on her?"

"Excuse me?"

"She was carrying your baby."

"Isabel never told me about you."

"I don't believe that."

"Is that what's been troubling you about me?" Kerney asked.

"You couldn't see that she was pregnant?"

"She broke off the relationship six weeks before our graduation. I went into the army and she went home to Mescalero. Count back from your birthday and do the math. She wasn't showing."

"And she never said anything to you about being pregnant?"

"That's right. You haven't heard this before?"

"No," Clayton replied, dropping his gaze from Kerney's face.

"So, as far as you were concerned, I was just some jerk who took advantage of your mother."

"What else was I supposed to think?"

"You never questioned Isabel about me?"

"You don't question my mother." Clayton paused and raised his eyes to Kerney's face. "Are you being straight with me on this?"

"I'd be a fool to bullshit you. Maybe you need to have a talk with Isabel."

"Maybe I do. Were you serious about feeling bad about missing out on being my father?"

"It would have meant a lot to me."

"Having a lot of uncles around is one thing," Clayton said, letting the thought fade away.

"But it's not the same as having a father," Kerney said.

All Clayton could do was nod. "Did you like my mother, Kerney? I mean, really care about her, back in college?"

"I more than liked her. I thought we had a good chance to make it as a couple. I tried to get back together with her."

Clayton's expression hardened. "Now I know you're fucking with me. My mother never heard from you again."

"I wrote her letters for the next six months, before I shipped out to Vietnam," Kerney said. "She never answered any of them."

Clayton stared at the wall. "She never told me about that."

"There's a lot neither of us know about your mother's decisions."

"Maybe so." Clayton stood and dropped some bills on the table.

"I've got to go."

"Clayton."

"What?"

Kerney got to his feet. "Have you told your children about me?"

Clayton blushed slightly before answering. "Not yet."

"Do what you think is best."

"This whole thing is a mess," Clayton grumbled.

"Give it some time."

"I'm a grown man. I don't need a father."

"Maybe we could be friends," Kerney said.

"I don't make friends easily."

"You could give it a try."

"Yeah, maybe," Clayton said, as he turned and left.

From his motel room, Kerney tried several times to reach Danny Hobeck at his sister's house. All he got was Margie's answering machine He left his number, asked Hobeck to call, and started unpacking. He was down to one set of clean clothes and needed to find a Laundromat. The phone rang as he was about to leave with a bag full of dirty laundry, and the Roswell dispatcher patched through a call from Clark Beck, the trucker who'd broken down at the Three Rivers turnoff.

"My wife said you needed to talk to me," Beck said. "What can I do for you?"

"You lost your water pump at Three Rivers and had to get towed to Alamogordo."

"That's right. Cost me eight hours of down time," Beck said. "Did you see any cars coming or going on the Three Rivers road?"

"Yeah, I saw one come out and make the turn heading for Tularosa."

"What time was that?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes after I broke down."

"Did you get a look at the vehicle?"

"Just the back end," Beck replied. "It was one of those Japanese import sport-utility vehicles. A Honda."

"You're sure of that?" Kerney asked.

"Mister, I'm sure. I look at the ass-end of cars six days a week, all day long. Honda SUVS have vertical taillights that run along the sides of the rear window. It's real distinctive."

"It wasn't a minivan?"

"Minivans have a rounded roofline; not boxy like the Honda SUV."

"You just saw the Honda?" Kerney asked.

"A few cars passed me on the highway. But the Honda was the only one I saw on the Three Rivers road."

"Thanks."

"No sweat, officer. Hope it helps."

Kerney grabbed his dirty laundry and headed out. As far as he knew, no one on the suspect list drove or owned a Honda SUV. He called Lee Sedillo from his unit, gave him the vehicle information, and asked for a canvas of car-rental companies in the state.

"Will do, Chief," Lee said.

"Give Tim Dwyer a call at the Roswell district office."

"What's he got?"

"Evidence that says Vernon's oldest son, Arthur, was murdered."

"So somebody is systematically wiping out the family," Lee said.

"Possibly," Kerney replied. "Or we've got three different killers who need to be caught. Is anything happening with Eric's sister?"

"Nada. She's home. Family and friends have been dropping by."

"Keep a close watch on her."

"Ten-four."

The fast-food hamburger Kerney bought after leaving the Laundromat didn't sit well in his gut. He sat in the unit across from Margie Hobeck's house with binoculars and watched her walk back and forth in front of her living room window. He dialed her number on his cell phone and Margie froze in front of the telephone but didn't pick up.

The answering machine clicked on and he left another message for Danny Hobeck. Margie punched a button on the machine, and Kerney figured she'd deleted it.

She bent down out of view for a moment and came up holding one of the cats. She cradled it like a baby in her arms and started pacing back and forth in front of the window. She finally left the living room and Kerney settled in to wait.

After two hours, a car made a wide turn onto the street and came to a messy stop in front of Margie's house. A man pulled himself out and wobbled slowly up the front walk.

Kerney intercepted him at the porch step. "Danny Hobeck?"

The man lurched to a stop. "Who are you?"

Kerney flipped open his badge case. "State police. I have a few questions."

Hobeck pulled his shoulders back, straightened up, and squinted at the shield. His breath smelled of alcohol. "If this is about Vernon, I've got nothing to say to you."

"Have you been drinking, Mr. Hobeck?"

"I've had a few."

"More than a few, I'd guess." Hobeck adjusted his tie and said nothing.

"Would you like to spend the night in jail?" Kerney asked.

"For what?"

"Driving drunk," Kerney answered.

Hobeck snorted and gestured at his parked car. "I'm not driving. I'm standing in my sister's front yard, on private property, minding my own business."

The porch light came on, revealing Hobeck's tanned face, thinning gray hair, and watery brown eyes. Margie Hobeck stared fear fully at Kerney through the front window, stroking the cat she held in her arms. The animal twisted its torso and clawed Margie's arm. She released it and remained motionless.