Michael McGarrity - The Judas judge

Riders traveled solo, in pairs, or as part of a convoy, many of them carrying female passengers wearing club leathers.

Kerney dialed up the Ruidoso PD frequency and learned that the annual weekend motorcycle rally was under way. On the main drag in town, choppers snarled traffic, hundreds of them moving slowly in both directions. All the parking spaces along the street were filled with gleaming, polished motorcycles, carefully arranged in neat rows.

People wandered the sidewalks checking out the impromptu exhibition and talking to the bikers.

Stalled in traffic, Kerney consulted a street map and found an alternative route to Kay Murray's town house. After crawling slowly to the next intersection he peeled away from the snarl of motorcycles and down an arrow side canyon road that crossed the river.

Houses, cabins, and vacation retreats filled the hillside under a canopy of tall pines, and the warm afternoon had brought people out onto their decks and porches and into their yards. Small groups ambled along the roadside on their way to the event on the main street.

It all looked very pleasant and festive, and Kerney yearned for a quiet weekend with Sara, far removed from anything to do with murder.

Kay Murray opened her front door and shook her head as though the act would make Kerney disappear.

"No," she said flatly.

"We have more to talk about, Ms. Murray."

"If I give you a blow job, will you leave me alone?" The offer stopped Kerney cold. "What?"

"I'm serious."

"No, thank you," Kerney said. "Do you know that Eric Langsford committed suicide?"

"Really?"

"Linda didn't call to tell you?" Murray looked away. "Did she call?"

"Yes."

"Was Eric blackmailing Linda?"

"That's the way he liked to put it, but I always considered it an other one of his sick jokes."

"Did he ever tell you why Linda gave him money?"

"Why would you stay with Eric in a motel room for two hours, when all you needed to do was deliver Linda's money and score some grass?"

"He liked to talk to me."

"He never asked you to shower in the motel bathroom while he watched?"

Murray laughed harshly. "Does that sort of thing interest you?"

"Answer the question."

"You helped Eric rob his father, didn't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"How else could he have known exactly what Vernon had in the house?"

"I don't know how he knew."

Kerney took a step toward Murray, breaking into her personal space. She pulled her chin back as if she expected to be hit, and a vein throbbed rapidly in her neck.

"I know you want to stop playing this game with me," he said softly. "It's wearing you down. I can see it. You don't have to protect anybody."

"I haven't lied to you."

"I'm not talking about that. Help me get this settled and you can walk away from it."

"You don't need my help and I don't want yours," Murray said, as she pushed against the front door, forcing Kerney back.

It closed in his face with a thud.

Cushman's house sat on a crest-line road with a view of Sierra Blanca Mountain, where the Mescalero Apache Tribe operated ski lifts and ran a lodge as part of their resort amenities.

Contemporary in style, the residence had a tile roof, stucco exterior, and a privacy wall that hid the entryway from view. Both cars in the driveway wore bumper stickers that read JESUS LOVES YOU. Kerney rang the front doorbell.

The door opened, and the smile on Joel Cushman's face collapsed into a distressed grimace. "Why have you come here?" he asked in an anxious whisper.

"You weren't at your office," Kerney replied. A pathetic fear showed in Cushman's eyes.

Cushman stepped outside and closed the door. "I'm home with my family. Can't this wait?"

"Why were you treating Kay Murray? Your answer could allow you to remain in practice, Doctor."

Cushman kept walking, his breath coming fast in his chest. He stopped next to the privacy wall and looked at Kerney with frightened eyes.

"She had a relationship problem with Vernon."

"What kind of problem?"

"A sexual one. Vernon began wanting Kay to do things she wasn't comfortable with. Some of it was sadistic, some masochistic, but mostly it was a simulated bondage fantasy associated with bizarre imagery."

"What kind of imagery?" Kerney asked.

"He wanted Kay to dress and act like a prepubescent girl."

"Did she comply?"

"No. She stopped him from even touching her until he gave up trying."

"And after he quit making his demands?"

"According to Kay, she never slept with him again, nor did he ask her to. He was a paraphiliac without the proper imagery or paraphernalia, he simply wasn't aroused."

"Isn't that pathological?" Kerney asked.

"It can be," Cushman answered. "If he had forced Kay to be a nonconsenting partner in the fantasy, it would have been. But he didn't. They settled into a nonsexual relationship after that, primarily because Kay began setting strict limits."

"Why would she tell me that she was still his lover up until the time of this death?"

"I don't know."

"She never explained her reasoning to you?"

"No," Cushman said, stepping into the driveway.

"Speculate about it," Kerney prodded.

Cushman cast a worried glance over Kerney's shoulder at the front of his house. "She was protective about Vernon, in her own way. She started therapy to learn how to manage his peccadilloes without alienating him. She wasn't bothered by Vernon's sexual needs; some of them simply didn't suit her tastes. For Kay, everything is basically a control issue."

"If you knew Kay had ended the sexual part of her relationship with Vernon, why did you tell me she was still his lover?"

"Because she asked me to."

Kerney studied the hangdog look on Cushman's face. "Didn't you find that odd? Usually people want to hide love affairs, not have them revealed."

"All I can think is that she did it for Vernon's sake."

"To preserve his reputation as a womanizer?"

"It would seem so."

"Isn't that somewhat off the wall, Doctor?"

"The dynamics are unusual."

"What is your clinical impression of Ms. Murray?"

Cushman's face turned red. "She's a highly sexual, intelligent, extremely dominant woman who knows how to meet her needs."

"Did she talk about her childhood in therapy?"

"No, she kept the issue focused on managing Vernon. I'm not proud of what happened between Kay and me, Mr. Kerney, and I've asked God for forgiveness." Kerney nodded, wondering if Cushman had asked his wife for the same degree of understanding. He didn't think so.

Cushman licked his lips and gave Kerney a pleading look. "What happens now?"

"I'll get back to you," Kerney said, unwilling to let Cushman completely off the hook.

He left Cushman standing in the driveway and checked with Lee Sedillo by radio, who reported everything was quiet at the stakeouts, nothing had turned up at the trailer search, and the ball was rolling on the Danny and Margie Hobeck background investigations. "I've got a message from your wife here, Chief," Lee added. "What is it?"

"It says pick her up at the Albuquerque airport tomorrow morning or she'll file for divorce. Have you got trouble on the home front, boss?"

Kerney laughed. "Not yet, Lee. Give me her flight number and ETA."

After driving the state highway bordering the northern edge of the White Sands Missile Range, Kerney picked up the interstate in the Rio Grande Valley and passed by the suburban communities that oozed along the interstate south of Albuquerque. On once-empty desert rangeland housing tracts now mushroomed, lining either side of the road. To Kerney's eye it was uncontrolled sprawl that lacked any sense of scale, sensibility, or harmony with the land.

He grumbled about it, thinking the world needed fewer roads, fewer cars, and most important, fewer people.