The Judas judge kk-5 Page 14

  Did he really want to quit just because he was about to become rich enough to buy a ranch? Or was the Shockley shooting making him feel like he had to bail out?

  Kerney checked by phone with Linda Langsford after faxing a picture of the ring to her. She positively identified it as once belonging to her mother, said it had been promised to her, and wanted it returned as soon as possible. She hung up without waiting for a response.

  The agent who'd showed a photograph of the ring to Kay Murray reported back that Eric had taken the item from his father during his staged robbery. That cooled Kerney's hopes for conclusive evidence needed to link Eric to the murders.

  Eric still remained the only viable suspect in the case, so Kerney decided an early morning trip to El Paso was in order to meet with Brandy Wine and see what more he could learn about Langsford.

  Agent Duran's report had included a fact sheet on Ronda Shields, aka Brandy Wine. She was twenty-four years old, a native of Nebraska, and had been runner-up in a statewide beauty pageant during her senior year in high school. She had two solicitation convictions out of southern California and a drug possession bust in Phoenix. No arrests had been made since her arrival in El Paso six months ago.

  Before leaving, Kerney made sure Lee Sedillo had the team looking for Eric Langsford, working background investigations on the Langsfords, Murray and Gibben, and canvassing all businesses along the murder route one more time.

  Ronda lived in an apartment on the west side of El Paso within striking distance of a major shopping mall and the Interstate. Her limp blond hair was pinned carelessly behind her ears, and her red-rimmed eyes looked wide and vulnerable.

  Agent Duran's report noted that Eric had commented on Ronda's resemblance to his sister. Kerney saw the similarities: she was the same height and weight as Linda, and her blond hair was a perfect match.

  Ronda led Kerney into a cove kitchen where two large bird cages on the floor held a noisy cockatoo and a squawking parakeet. Birdseed crunched under Kerney's feet as he joined her at a counter that separated the kitchen from a dining area. She sat stiffly on a stool and winced, and while there were no visible signs Ronda had been beaten, Kerney guessed she'd been punished in some unpleasant way by her pimp for withholding the ring.

  "You called Eric Langsford kinky," Kerney said. "What did you mean by that?"

  Ronda lit a cigarette and blew smoke in Kerney's face. "I said he was flaky. Kinky has a whole different meaning. I don't do kinky. If a client wants that, I walk."

  "Okay, flaky. How so?"

  "Guys get off on different things. He wanted me to pretend like I was, like, a Lolita. All innocent and seductive, if you know what I mean. So, I baby-talked him and acted all coy."

  "And he wanted you to call him Daddy."

  "Yeah."

  "Any spanking?"

  Ronda shook her head. "That's not what I do."

  "Did he ask?"

  "No. He was into watching. I'm a pretty good actress. He just sat on the bed drinking whiskey from a bottle. I'd say something to him like did he want to see my panties, then I'd do it, and he'd call me a bitch or a slut."

  "Went no further than that?"

  "He asked me to take a bath, and he watched through a crack in the door."

  "Just watched?"

  "Well, no. When I got out of the tub, he dried me off with a towel."

  "Was he aroused at any time?"

  "Yeah, in the bathroom. He jacked off, and then I got dressed and left."

  "Did you lend him a hand?"

  Ronda made a face at Kerney's word play. "That's real cute. No, he just wanted me to watch, and believe me, it didn't take long."

  "Was he free with his money?"

  "He gave me a nice tip."

  "How much?"

  "A hundred dollars."

  Eric had given Kerney the impression he'd been short on cash during his drinking binge. Yet he'd not only paid for an expensive hotel room, but also an expensive woman, whom he'd tipped heavily.

  ' "What denomination were the bills?"

  "Five twenties."

  "Did he flash a bankroll?"

  "No, he kinda snuck the bills out of his wallet."

  "You told the other officer Eric wanted you to act the part of his sister."

  "That's what I meant about the Lolita thing. He was real excited about that."

  "Excited?"

  "Like animated, if you know what I mean-ready to get started right away."

  "Did he talk to you about it in any detail?"

  "No, he just told me what he wanted me to do."

  "What did you do to get him to send you the ring?"

  "Nothing, I swear. I thought he was just acting like a big shot and trying to impress me."

  "Did he tell you what he was going to give you as a present?"

  "No, he said it would be a surprise, something pretty, and I'd like it."

  "Had Langsford ever been your client before?"

  "No, but Crystal saw him once."

  "Who is Crystal?"

  "Betty Cook is her real name. She works with me. I can give you her phone number."

  Kerney left and used a public phone to speak to Crystal, who reported that Eric had asked her to undress and masturbate while he watched from the bathroom door.

  "Did he make any other requests?" Kerney asked.

  "When he called for the date he asked for a blonde. But there wasn't one available. So Mario had me wear a wig. He wasn't too happy when he found out I was a redhead."

  "What did he say?"

  "Nothing. But he didn't tip me, and I put on a really good show."

  He stopped at the hotel and asked the reservation clerk to check if Langsford had any prior stays at the hotel. She came up with four overnight registrations and calls to three additional dating services in the last year, all occurring around the time Eric received his quarterly checks for serving as a corporate board member for one of his father's companies.

  Working a lobby phone, Kerney tracked down the women who'd been sent to Langsford's room, and got basically the same story: Eric liked to play Peeping Tom, wanted to be called "Daddy," avoided any actual sexual contact, and always asked for blondes.

  Other than Ronda, none had received any surprise gifts in the mail. Or if they had, weren't admitting to it.

  Eric's disappearance from Roswell, the inconsistencies in his alibi, his hatred of his father, and his proximity to the crime scenes added up to strong circumstantial evidence against him. But Kerney wanted some tangible proof of Eric's guilt, either in the form of physical evidence or a voluntary confession. He preferred both if possible.

  Through the hotel lobby window he watched a parking attendant wheel a new Jaguar to the curb, where a slightly pudgy man in an expensive suit stood waiting. The car had Mexican license plates. That was the third luxury car in a row the attendant had parked, all with Mexican tags, all for men in expensive suits.

  Business in the border city was obviously profitable, and Kerney didn't think for a second that all of it was legitimate.

  As the most junior agent on the team, Mary Margaret Lovato got the drudge work assignments. Ordered back to Carrizozo, she'd spent the morning on a door-to-door canvas of every business and government office in town, showing photographs, asking questions, and trying to find one witness who could put any of the possible suspects in the area before the first homicide at the Valley of Fires campground. No one Mary Margaret spoke to was able to ID Kay Murray, Penelope Gibben, or Linda and Eric Langsford.

  Situated at the north end of the Tularosa Basin, Carrizozo was bracketed by mountain ranges, some near and some distant. While the landscape was lovely to look at, the winds were constant, swirling out of the mountains from all directions.

  After a few minutes of small talk with the county sheriff outside the county administration building, Mary Margaret went to her unit, ran a comb through her hair, and wrote up her field notes. Her next scheduled stop was the village of Tularosa, fifty miles south.
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  She doubled-checked her list against the local phone book to make sure every possible contact had been made, crossed out the names of businesses no longer in existence, and noted down for later followup the few places where she'd been unable to speak to anyone.

  The phone book included listings for the village of Capitan, a short twenty-mile drive southeast into the mountains. Famous as the birthplace of Smokey Bear, Capitan had not been canvassed. Mary Margaret cranked the engine. It was worth a shot.

  She arrived in the village and made a quick tour. Nestled in a valley with mountains to the south and rolling hills to the north rising to a high range that extended in an easterly direction, it took its name from the peak that dominated the skyline. Businesses were concentrated along the highway and on several short blocks of side streets.

  In the town center was the Smokey Bear Historical State Park, which celebrated the rescue fifty years ago of the famous Forest Service icon from a nearby wildfire.

  Behind the somewhat quaint main drag, residential streets crisscrossed a narrow flat area for a few blocks before giving way to open grassland.

  Mary Margaret swung back on the main drag, stopped at a mom-and-pop motel, placed photographs on the office counter, and showed them to a slow-moving overweight woman who had emerged from the apartment behind the office.

  The woman jabbed a finger at Eric Langsford's photo. "He stays here."

  "When was the last time?" Mary Margaret asked.

  The woman paged through her register. "Last month."

  "Was he alone?"

  "He checked in as a single." She picked up Kay Murray's picture. "But this woman meets him here," she said, waving the photo at Mary Margaret.

  "You're sure?" Mary Margaret asked.

  "Uh-huh. I've seen them both before. They just stay in his room for a while and then go to the restaurant next door."

  "How often do they meet here?"

  "Three, four times a year. It's been going on for a while."

  "How long is a while?"

  "At least four years."

  "Does the room get used?"

  "You mean for sex? Not unless they do it in the shower. The bed is never mussy.

  "They arrived in separate cars?"

  "Yes."

  "How long do they stay?"

  "No more than an hour or two," the woman said, nodding at the office window. "I can see all the vehicles in the parking lot from here."

  "What name does he use when he checks in?"

  The woman put the photo down and studied the register. "Eric Langsford. He pays in cash."

  Mary Margaret tapped Kay Murray's photo. "Has he ever met with anyone else besides this woman?"

  "Not so far as I know."

  Mary Margaret passed her hand over Penelope Gibben's and Linda Langsford's photographs. "What about these two?"

  "I've never seen either of them."

  "I need the dates of all his previous stays," Mary Margaret said.

  "For this year, that's easy. Anything before that, I'll have to dig out the guest books. It will take some time."

  "I'll wait."

  The woman huffed in frustration about the inconvenience and retreated into her apartment. A smile lit up Mary Margaret's face and she clapped her hands together in delight.

  The uniformed officer sent to Ruidoso to find Kay Murray and bring her to Alamogordo called in a five-minute ETA. Kerney complimented Mary Margaret for a job well done, left the command trailer, and waited for Murray in the district captain's office.

  His decision to have Murray picked up and escorted to him was calculated to make her feel vulnerable and at risk.

  Murray knocked at the open door, and Kerney studied the papers on the desk for a minute before looking up. She glared at him when he motioned for her to enter, and stalked in with her back straight, her chin set, and a cutting look in her eyes.

  "What is this all about?" she demanded.

  "Sit down," Kerney said.

  "I will not."

  "You refuse to cooperate?"

  "Why did you drag me down here?"

  "Are you willing to cooperate?" Kerney said.

  "I've done that already."

  Kerney pushed the phone across the desk. "Call a lawyer, Ms. Murray."

  "What for?"

  "I may be filing conspiracy charges against you."

  "Conspiracy to do what?"

  "Colluding with Eric Langsford to kill his father and five other innocent people."

  "That's ludicrous."

  Kerney nodded curtly at the empty chair. "Sit down and cooperate."

  Murray sat in cold silence, her expression frozen in restrained anger.

  He decided to change tactics. He moved his chair to the side of the desk, closer to Murray, and smiled. "This doesn't have to be that difficult."

  "What, exactly, do you want me to confess to?"

  "Let's back up a bit. You were seen with Eric Langsford at a motel in Capitan less than a month before the murders. What was that all about?"

  "I'd rather not say."

  "You've met with him eleven times over the past four years in the same motel."

  "Is that a crime?"

  "Not necessarily."

  Murray's laugh was brittle. "You think I'm a slut, don't you?"

  "I'm not assuming your meetings with Eric had anything to do with sex."

  "How generous of you."

  "But I do believe the killings were planned and executed to conceal the fact that Vernon Langsford was the principal target. Your rendezvous with Eric, so close to the time of the murders, brings the possibility of your participation into question."

  "I did not meet with Eric to help him plan a murder."

  Kerney's skepticism rose. People who denied accusations quickly always made him more leery. "I'd like to believe that."

  "Then by all means do."

  "Why are you protecting Eric?"

  "I'm not. Eric can take care of himself. I'm protecting my right to privacy."

  "I know that's important to you."

  "Very."

  "Is it also important to those you care about?"

  "Of course."

  "Including Dr. Joel Cushman?"

  "Since you know about my relationship with Joel, why do you bother to ask?"

  "He's been your therapist, lover, and friend."

  "Yes, all of those things."

  "And you care about him."

  "That doesn't deserve an answer. I know you threatened him with exposure to the Board of Psychological Examiners. But I would have to file a complaint against him, and I have no intention to do so."

  "That doesn't necessarily protect him from an arrest."

  "Of course it does."

  "I've researched the law, Ms. Murray. Under the statutes, psychotherapists who have sex with current or past patients, even if the consent is mutual, can be charged with criminal sexual penetration through the use of force or coercion. It's a third-degree felony."

  "That's a stupid, intrusive law."

  "I have your statement and Cushman's admission. That's all I need to ask the DA to press charges."

  Murray's voice wavered when she spoke. "And of course you'll do it if I don't cooperate. You really are a son of a bitch."

  "You can keep Cushman out of jail. What was the reason for your meeting with Eric?"

  "I brought him money."

  "How much?"

  "I don't know."

  "It wasn't your money?"

  "Whose money was it?"

  "His sister's. All of my meetings with Eric were to take him money.

  Linda would send me a sealed envelope with a note asking me to pass it along to Eric. I'd call Eric and arrange to meet him in Capitan."

  "Why Capitan?"

  "Because Linda didn't want her father to know that she was helping Eric financially."

  "How did you know it was money you delivered?"

  "Eric told me. He gets a kick out of the fact that the sister he despises gives h
im money."

  "And what did you get for your trouble?"

  "Nothing."

  Kerney waited a beat. "Are you sure?"

  "That's what I said."

  "Why would Eric rent a motel room if all he had to do was wait for you to show up with an envelope?"

  "You can't stay away from the sex thing, can you?" Kay said.

  "I can't see you spending an hour or two in a motel room with Eric on eleven different occasions without a good reason."

  "We would talk for a time, that's all."

  "Do you always tell the truth, Ms. Murray?"

  "The one thing I can't stand is a liar."

  Kerney tapped a finger against his lips. "I wonder what a search of your car and house would turn up."

  "You have no cause to do that," Kay said. She brushed an imaginary hair away from her forehead and broke eye contact. "I want to speak to a lawyer."

  Kerney leaned forward. "I think I know what's happening here. There is always at least one thing a person would rather not have the police know about. It doesn't have to be a big thing. What is it for you, Ms. Murray? Do you smoke a little pot?"

  Kay Murray raised her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. "What is it you'd rather not have the police know?"

  "Nothing."

  "What would I find in your house, Ms. Murray? In your purse? In your car? If you're arrested, we'll take a very close look. You'll be strip-searched as well."

  Murray's hand tightened on her purse, and her eyes snapped back to Kerney's face. "You'd find grass, okay? I smoke grass, and I buy it from Eric."

  "Only to friends and people he knows well. He's a doper, not a dealer."

  "How much money does his sister give him?"

  "It depends; between five and ten thousand dollars each time."

  "For what?"

  "I don't know." "I believe you," Kerney said, getting to his feet. "Do you know where Eric is right now?"

  Murray shook her head and stood. "I haven't seen him since we met in Capitan."

  "When you meet with Eric in Capitan, do you wear a blond wig?" Murray looked bewildered. "I've never worn a wig in my life."

  "You can go, Ms. Murray, but we may need to talk again."