Michael McGarrity - The Judas judge

"Let's do a field sobriety test," Kerney said, turning his attention back to Danny.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hobeck said, as he tried to push his way past Kerney.

Kerney held him up. "Do you know what a lawful order is, Mr. Hobeck?"

Hobeck nodded his head in disgust. "Yeah, it's something a cop tells you that you have to do. Ask your damn questions."

"You were Vernon's boyhood chum."

"That's right. I've been his friend all my life."

"What was Vernon like?"

"As a kid? Starting out, he was just like all the rest of us, until his father started making big money in the oil and gas fields."

"That changed him?"

"He got spoiled."

"How so?"

"By the money, what else? His father gave him everything, and Vernon got used to it real fast."

"Did he make any enemies?"

"I wouldn't say he made enemies; mostly kids were envious of him."

"What about later in life?"

"Vernon won folks' respect as a lawyer and a judge. He had a good marriage and a good family life. He never acted high and mighty because he had money. Hell, he took what his daddy left him and built on it. People admired that."

"Your sister doesn't seem to think much of Vernon."

Danny chuckled sourly. "My old maid sister? She doesn't like anybody much."

"Why doesn't she like Vernon?"

"Because she's strange in the head," Hobeck replied. "Hates men. Hell, she barely tolerates me. She's not gay or anything like that. She's just a dried-up old maid."

"Has she always been that way?"

"Forever."

"Is she under any kind of special care?"

"You mean like a shrink? No, since she retired she just lives in her own dream world. Collects these ugly salt and pepper shakers, dotes on her cats, gardens, refuses to go out except to run errands or shop."

Kerney glanced at the living room window. Margie was gone. "She has no particular grievance against Vernon?"

"Like I said, Margie is strange.

What is all this bullshit?" Hobeck asked, suddenly suspicious. "You can't be thinking she had anything to do with Vernon's death."

"Has she said anything to you about his death?"

"Not a word."

"Why would she tell me Vernon wasn't a nice boy?"

"Who knows what gets into her head? I don't see her much, and we rarely talk. Mostly I just send her money now and then. She's my kid sister, so I feel a sense of responsibility. But if you do anything she doesn't like, she shuts you down and won't talk about it. That's just the way she is."

Hobeck forced a friendly smile and continued, "Look, I'd really appreciate it if you'd just leave her alone. There's no sense upsetting her. The way it is, she'll probably spend the night walking up and down the stairs. She does that when she gets agitated."

"Talking to you has been sufficient, Mr. Hobeck."

Relief flooded across Hobeck's face. "Thanks. Sorry I sounded so abrupt." He smiled sheepishly. "I guess I did raise a few too many glasses in Vernon's memory."

"That happens. Don't drive anymore tonight."

Hobeck reached for the porch rail, steadied himself, and planted a foot on the step. "I don't plan to. Can't hold my liquor like in the old days. I'm going to bed."

"Good idea."

Margie was back at the window again. She smiled as Kerney stepped off the porch and waved bye-bye, folding her fingers over the palm of her hand.

In the morning, before the funeral services for Vernon, Kerney stationed three agents inconspicuously outside the church: two with video cameras to record everyone in attendance, and one to keep watch in case Eric made an appearance. A fourth agent stayed on Linda Langsford.

He left after the mourners arrived and drove to Margie Hobeck's house. Danny's car was gone, the front curtains were drawn, and his knock went unanswered. An older sedan was parked in the detached garage, so Kerney went to the backyard to see if Margie was in her garden. Only

Margie's cats greeted him.

When he came around the side of the house he found Agent Duran waiting for him.

"What brings you to Roswell?" Kerney asked.

"Last night I arrested the guy who trashed your unit, Chief. Lieutenant Sedillo sent me over to fill you in."

"Was it a cop who did it?"

"Nope. He's a civilian by the name of Henry Waters. He's forty-three and has a steel plate in his head from an automobile accident that happened when he was in high school. He's got an IQ that puts him in the mildly retarded range, and a fixation about law enforcement. He made a voluntary confession, and I've got some solid physical evidence to go with it. He's locked up."

"Did he act alone?"

"Yeah. You should've seen his apartment, Chief. The walls are plastered with photos and newspaper articles about cops, he has a collection of patches and caps from about a hundred different law enforcement agencies, and he keeps a police scanner going full time when he's home.

He has study guides for police officer examinations, dozens of law enforcement equipment catalogs, and an outdated set of criminal statutes the local library discarded. He met me at the door wearing a city PD shirt with a security guard badge pinned on it. He filched the shirt from an unlocked cruiser a couple of years ago."

"Did he give you a reason for his actions?"

"He said you shouldn't have shot Sergeant Shockley."

"He's right about that. Is he crazy, dangerous, or both?"

Robert didn't agree with Kerney's self-criticism, but knew better than to comment. "According to his doctor, because of the head wound he's got organic brain syndrome, which screws up his thinking. But he's stable and not dangerous."

"Any priors?" Kerney asked.

"He's got a clean sheet, and everybody I talked to said he never caused any trouble. It's kinda sad, Chief. He was a normal kid until the accident. After that, his mental functioning went downhill. His sister told me that he's always wanted to be a cop."

"Did he give you any problems?"

"Just the opposite. He talked freely about what he'd done. After I finished taking his statement, I told him a few things about Shockley. He got real apologetic. Said he was sorry. Wanted me to be sure and tell you. Then he asked if I could help him join the department as a recruit."

"That is sad," Kerney said.

"His public defender wants him to cop a plea. She's asked for a psychiatric evaluation. I don't see Henry getting anything more than some county jail time out of this."

"Thanks, Robert," Kerney said.

"Anytime, Chief. Lieutenant Sedillo asked me to tell you there's no record of any of the suspects renting a Honda SUV around the time of the murders."

"I'm not surprised," Kerney said.

One family had been out of town during the door-to-door canvas of Penelope Gibben's neighbors. Kerney stood on a lovely wraparound porch of a Queen Anne Victorian one street over from Penelope's house, and rang the bell. The woman who answered stood six feet tall and looked to be in her mid-thirties. Dressed in workout sweats, she was breathing hard and had a sheen of perspiration on her face.

"Mrs. Peters," Kerney asked, holding up his shield.

"I'm Dr. Peters."

"Are you a medical doctor?"

Peters ran a hand towel across her face and nodded. "I work in the ERAT the hospital. So does my husband. What can I do for you?"

"Do you know Penelope Gibben?"

"Of course. I've known her almost all my life."

"How long have you lived in the neighborhood?"

"I grew up in this house. Has something happened to Penelope?"

"No, she's fine. I'm investigating Judge Langsford's murder. Did you know the judge at all?"

"I knew he was a frequent visitor at Penelope's. His car was parked there quite often when I was a child."

"What did you think of Judge Langsford?"

"As a kid? To me he was just another adult."