The Judas judge kk-5 Page 8

  "We might as well get this over with," Clayton said, raising his eyes to Kerney's face.

  "Come in," Kerney said.

  Clayton stepped inside and watched Kerney pull on a sweatshirt. "So you're my father," he said.

  "That's what I've been told."

  Clayton scanned Kerney's face. "I've always wondered what you looked like."

  "I hope it's not too much of a disappointment." Kerney sat on the edge of the bed and gestured at the chair. "Have a seat."

  Clayton swung the chair around from the desk and sat. His body felt tight and his stomach churned. "I don't know if I'm ready for this."

  "I don't know if I am, either," Kerney replied.

  "You're willing to take my mother's word that you're my father?"

  Kerney nodded. "Why should she lie to me?"

  "Maybe you think she's just some Indian slut who's telling you a story."

  "I don't think either of those things about your mother."

  "Maybe you want a DNA comparison, to make sure I'm really your biological son."

  "Is that what you want?"

  "I asked you."

  "I have no reason not to trust Isabel."

  "She says you were in the army before you became a cop."

  "That's right. Two years active duty," Kerney said. "When?"

  "Vietnam."

  "Did you see any action?"

  "Enough."

  "Is that where you got that scar on your belly?"

  "No, that came later. It goes with my limp."

  "What happened?"

  "A gunfight with a drug dealer."

  "Did you put him down?"

  "Yeah. How long have you been with the tribal police?"

  "Five years. I joined right after I got my degree from Western New Mexico State."

  "You like the work?" Kerney asked.

  "I like it fine. It's funny, both of us being cops."

  "It is an interesting coincidence."

  "You're married, my mom says. Who's your wife?"

  "Her name is Sara Brannon. She's a career army officer."

  "But no kids, right?"

  "No kids, at least until recently."

  "You ever been married before?"

  "Once, when I was about your age. It didn't work out."

  "I don't want you trying to act like my father or anything like that."

  "I wouldn't know where to begin," Kerney said.

  "I just want to learn something about you."

  "That's fair enough."

  "Mom says you were raised on a ranch."

  "In the San Andres, fifty miles from here, as the crow flies."

  "Do your parents still live there?"

  "No, the ranch was swallowed up by the missile range. My parents were killed in an automobile accident when I was coming home from Vietnam."

  "Where did your family come from, originally?"

  "My grandfather came here from west Texas over a hundred years ago."

  "Do I have any uncles, aunts, or cousins?"

  "Not on my side of the family."

  "Do my questions bother you?"

  "You have a right to ask them. How do you feel about having me as a father?"

  "It doesn't make me any less Apache."

  "I wasn' thinking along those lines," Kerney said.

  "I just want to make sure you know where I'm coming from. Do you like being a cop?"

  "Most of the time I do, but not right now."

  "Shooting a fellow officer for stealing evidence is pretty harsh," Clayton said.

  The comment caught Kerney unprepared. "Is that what you think I did?"

  "Based on what your department released to the media, Shockley was unfit to wear the badge. But the state police officers I know are saying that you overreacted and blew the arrest."

  "Shockley gave me no choice. Let's leave it at that."

  "Okay, I understand. It's an open internal affairs investigation, and you can't talk about it." Clayton smiled. "So, the first time I ever meet my old man I bust him for trespassing. That's pretty weird, don't you think?"

  "It has a certain irony. You could have let us off with a warning."

  "I spend most of my time working as a tribal ranger and I've learned the hard way if you just slap wrists, people think it's an invitation to come back and trespass again. What were you doing out there?"

  "Looking at some land for sale. I'm retiring soon and thinking about starting up a ranch."

  "You gonna buy it?"

  "No, it's pretty much worn-out, unproductive land."

  Clayton nodded in agreement. "You're working that spree murder case. Langsford and all those other people."

  "That's right."

  "And you think an Apache did it."

  "I don't know who did it."

  Clayton blew right through Kerney's words. "Some sneaky Apache who's going around ambushing people."

  "Are you trying to push my buttons?"

  "I've known a lot of Anglos who talk liberal and think racist."

  "Do you want to talk about racism or the killings?"

  "Tell me about the murders."

  "I think they were premeditated, designed to look like a killing spree, with Langsford the real target. Somebody who doesn't want to get caught put a lot of thought into it."

  "Have you got physical evidence or witnesses to back that up?"

  "Some evidence points in that direction."

  "Like what?"

  Kerney laid out the facts of how Langsford's killing differed from the others.

  Clayton relaxed a bit and listened. Hearing about cop stuff eased some of his tension.

  "Maybe you're right," he said, when Kerney finished. "Are you working a suspect list?"

  "That, and we're trying to nail down the motive."

  "Silas Kozine blew you off, didn't he?"

  "Without blinking an eye."

  "That's his job. What were you hoping he'd let you do?"

  "Review your department's files. Cross-check people who were employed at the tribal casino and resort at the time of Marsha Langsford's murder, to see if anyone can be associated with the judge."

  "Are you asking me for help?

  "No."

  "That's good," Clayton said. "You seem to be pretty calm about finding out that you're my father."

  "I'm still digesting the information."

  "What my mother did wasn't wrong."

  "Judging from what I've seen of you and her, I'd say she's done just about everything right."

  Clayton stood up and walked to the door. "Okay, now we've talked. What happens next?"

  "That's up to you."

  "You haven't asked me much about myself."

  "Your mother gave me the impression that it would be best not to pry."

  "I'm married. My wife's name is Grace. We've got two kids, a boy and a girl, ages three and eighteen months. That makes you a grand father. I'll see you around."

  Clayton left, and Kerney stared at the closed door in stunned silence.

  He'd discovered he was a father and now a grandfather in the space of one day. It was much too surreal. He went to the mirror and studied his face. Was he really that old? He didn't feel it inside. He could only wonder what Sara would say when he told her about the instantaneous family ties that had materialized in his life.

  Dressed in sweats, Agent Robert Duran left his motel room for an early morning run, thinking that if everything fell into place, the Shockley investigation would be wrapped up and he could go home to Santa Fe in a day or two.

  He settled into a five-minute-per-mile pace, turned off the main drag, and started a long gradual climb that would take him into the foothills of the Sacramento Mountains. The predawn streets were empty of all but an occasional car.

  A mile into his run he spotted a slow-moving jogger with an awkward gait ahead of him. It was Chief Kerney. He drew even and slowed down.

  "Morning, Chief."

  "Morning, Robert," Kerney said. "Don't let me hold you u
p."

  "I'm in no hurry. How's the case shaping up?"

  "We're still digging into the minutiae. Lieutenant Sedillo is sending the team out to canvas gas stations, motels, restaurants, and convenience stores from here to Carrizozo."

  "Have any credit card charges surfaced on the victims' accounts?" Duran asked.

  "Not a one, and none of the stolen items has been pawned or sold on the streets, as far as we know. How are you doing?"

  "Getting close, Chief. Instead of using the rotating list of towing services like he was supposed to, Shockley favored a local company called Jake's. El Paso PD has been running undercover surveillance on an auto chop shop. Jake made a delivery last week-a top-of-the-line Chevy four-by-four, late model, extended cab pickup truck. The theft occurred at an Alamogordo motel parking lot during Shockley's shift."

  "Did our department take the call?" Kerney asked, trying to stay even with Duran, who had picked up his pace a bit. "The city police handled it."

  "Can you tie Shockley to Jake?"

  "Jake has an employee, a guy by the name of Martinez, who covers the late-night runs. About five or six times during the last year Jake unexpectedly gave Martinez the night off."

  "Let me guess," Kerney said, slowing down, forcing Duran to do the same. "The last time that happened was the night the Chevy was stolen."

  "After Jake took a call from Shockley."

  "Make the collar, and thanks," Kerney said, dropping his pace to a walk.

  "For what, Chief?"

  "Giving me an idea. A couple of nights ago, I drove the route the killer used. There's hardly any late-night traffic once you get out of Alamogordo. I checked all the patrol logs-city, county, and our district office. There were no traffic stops or accidents on the night of the murders. But I didn't think to survey the tow truck operators."

  I'll let you know if Jake had a service call that night," Duran said. "Are you heading back?"

  "Yeah," Kerney said, trying hard to keep his breathing slow and even.

  "You run pretty good on that bad knee," Duran said.

  "I do a great ten-minute mile," Kerney said.

  "At least you're still running. Look, Chief, if you want me to, I can ask around about the vandalism to your unit. I know some of the officers with the city, and Shockley had a couple of drinking buddies in our department."

  "If the problem persists, I might do that."

  "Just let me know."

  Kerney nodded and watched Duran take off in smooth, even strides before turning around and forcing his bum leg to move along in his customary choppy, sloppy gait.

  In the motel parking lot Kerney saw Lee Sedillo with a flashlight in hand moving from unit to unit.

  "Your vehicle got trashed," Lee said, when Kerney joined up with him.

  "None of the others were touched."

  "What did they do this time?"

  "The headlights, taillights, and side view mirrors are smashed. I heard the noise about five minutes ago."

  Kerney circled his unit, inspecting the damage. "Have Agent Duran look into it, Lee."

  "About time," Lee grumbled. "This could turn into some spooky shit, Chief."

  "Can you get me a replacement vehicle for the day?"

  "Take mine. I'll put an agent on duty at the command trailer for a few hours until we can get your unit repaired."

  After showering and dressing, Kerney went to the command center. The agent Lee had pulled off the street because of the vehicle shuffle was busy at a computer. He nodded at the woman, went to the tiny office, called Andy Baca in Santa Fe, and updated him on the status of the investigation.

  Then he started calling every towing service in the area-except Jake's. Halfway through the list, Kerney scored. A trucker had broken down on the highway in front of the Three Rivers turnoff.

  "You know where the old bar is?" the towing operator asked. "It's a curio shop now."

  "I do," Kerney said.

  "The trucker was stalled there with a busted water pump. We had to unhitch the trailer and tow the semi into Alamogordo."

  "What time?"

  "I got the call about two, but it took me a while to get there. I had to go to the yard and get my big rig. I arrived at about three, three-fifteen."

  "Do you have information on the driver?"

  "Yeah. He's an owner-operator out of Little Rock. Hold on, I'll get it for you."

  Kerney waited, listening to the man's breathing and the shuffling of papers.

  "His name is Clark Beck." The towing operator read off Beck's address and telephone number.

  "Did you see anything unusual while you were on the call?"

  "Like what?"

  "Speeders, a vehicle turning into or coming out of Three Rivers Road."

  The man laughed. "Everybody speeds at that time of night. There was no traffic on the Three Rivers Road while I was there, leastways not that I can remember."

  "Thanks," Kerney said.

  Kerney dialed Clark Beck's number in Little Rock, spoke to his wife, and explained the reason for his call. The woman told him Beck was on a run to New Orleans, then to Atlanta, and wouldn't be back for four days.

  "Does he call home from the road?"

  "Sometimes," Mrs. Beck said. "Not always on his shorter trips. Is this on the up-and-up?"

  "Your husband isn't in any trouble, Mrs. Beck. I just need to ask him a few questions."

  "You're sure?"

  "Positive."

  "He follows all the regulations and weight restrictions."

  "I'm certain that he does. Could you have him call me?"

  I'll give him the message."

  On the off chance there had been more than one disabled vehicle along the highway, Kerney continued working the list, but nothing more developed. He hung up to find Clayton Istee standing stiffly in the doorway.

  "Officer," Kerney said.

  "I brought you something," Clayton said, sliding a manila folder quickly across the desk. He stepped back to the door as if to avoid any closer contact.

  "What is this?"

  "A list of the employees who worked at the tribal casino and resort at the time Langsford's wife was killed. My cousin is the personnel director. He got it for me."

  "This won't get you in trouble, will it?" Kerney asked, as he opened the envelope. "Thanks for doing this."

  "I'm not doing it for you," Clayton said. He rubbed his palms together and stopped when Kerney looked at him. "My wife thinks I should at least let you meet your grandchildren."

  "How do you feel about it?" Kerney asked, eyeing Clayton's closed expression.

  "I don't know." Clayton shifted his weight. "Would you like to meet them?"

  "Only if you want me to."

  I'll have to think about it some more."

  "This isn't easy on either of us, is it?" Kerney said, trying to melt Clayton's icy tone.

  "Have you told your wife about me?" Clayton asked.

  "Not yet," Kerney said.

  "Maybe it's something you'd rather not tell her."

  "That's not true."

  "So you say," Clayton replied, as he swung around to leave.

  "Thanks again," Kerney said.

  "I already told you, I'm not doing it for you," Clayton answered over his shoulder.

  "Still, I appreciate it."

  "Just don't read anything personal into it, okay?"

  "Whatever you say," Kerney replied. He watched Clayton leave, wondering exactly what it was Clayton had tried to tell him. If it wasn't personal, where was the help coming from?

  The employee list came with social security numbers and birth dates. Eric Langsford's name was on the books as a groundskeeper. Kerney made a copy and waited for Agent Mary Margaret Lovato to get off the phone.

  Mary Margaret had inherited her given names from an Irish grandmother. She was an exceptionally attractive young woman with long jet-black hair, a creamy complexion, and soft brown eyes that hid her toughness. She hung up and started talking before Kerney had a chance to sp
eak.

  "That was Drew Randolph, Chief. He just got off the phone with Linda Langsford. He told her about her father's murder. She's cutting short her vacation and coming home right away. He said she was totally stunned by the news."

  "Where is she now?"

  "Randolph doesn't know. She said she'd get back to Roswell as fast as she can. She should be there this evening."

  "Good deal," Kerney said, handing Mary Margaret the employee list. "Get me wants and warrants, plus state arrest and conviction records for all the people on this list. Highlight everybody from Langsford's judicial district."

  "This is going to take some time, Chief."

  "I know."

  Mary Margaret stood up, paused, and bit her lower lip.

  "Do you have a question?"

  "I just wanted to say that Randy Shockley was an asshole, sir. I attended a training course with him in Albuquerque last year. The man didn't understand the meaning of the word no."

  "He came on to you?"

  "Big time."

  "Did you report it?"

  "No, but it was pretty intense."

  "The next time you get hit on or harassed by a fellow officer, report it, Agent Lovato."

  Mary Margaret laughed. "Would you like a daily or weekly report, Chief?"

  "It's that bad?"

  Mary Margaret shook her head. "It's mostly harmless stuff. I can handle it."

  Kerney studied the young woman. Quiet by nature, Mary Margaret had a self-assurance and no-nonsense style that Kerney liked. "I bet you can. But if it gets out of hand, write it up."

  "In a heartbeat." She paused, looked down at her shoes and then back up.

  "I hope you don't mind my asking, but is somebody stalking you, Chief? This thing with your unit is getting serious."

  "Either that or they're making a statement. I've put Duran on it. Work that list hard for me."

  Mary Margaret smiled. "Yes, sir."

  Owned and operated by the Mescalero Tribe, the resort and its adjoining casino offered luxury amenities in a lush, tranquil setting. Guest accommodations radiated out from the sides of the main lodge, providing rooms with views of landscaped lawns that ran down to the lakeshore with forested mountains in the background. Vacationers could boat, fish, golf, play tennis, and, of course, drink, dine, and gamble.