The Judas judge kk-5

by Michael McGarrity

  "Oh, yes. He'd already told Marsha he was going to leave her, and of course she told Eric and Linda."

  "None of this ever came out during the investigation."

  "It was hushed up by the family. But it cost the judge a good bit of money."

  "He bribed Eric' and Linda to keep silent?"

  "I wouldn't put it that way. He gave Eric fifty thousand dollars. Linda's husband had just filed for divorce when it happened, after discovering that she'd been having an affair. I guess she didn't think she could cast the first stone."

  "Who was the woman in Judge Langsford's life?"

  "Is that important?"

  "It could be."

  "Penelope Gibben. She works for Ranchers' Exploration and Development in Roswell. Vernon broke off the relationship immediately after Marsha's death."

  "Langsford confided a great deal in you."

  "I'm about his only confidante. In some ways he's a very lonely man." Her face tightened. "I mean, was."

  "What did Eric do with the fifty thousand?"

  "He blew it. Eric has a long-standing drug and alcohol problem."

  "Exactly what kind of work do you do for Judge Langsford?"

  "I'm a combination housekeeper and personal assistant. I keep his books, respond to his correspondence-if he chooses not to do so himself-pay the bills, shop, and fix his meals."

  "Do you write checks for the judge?"

  "Only on the household account. He has his own personal checking accounts. I simply mail him the unopened bank statements if he's not here when they arrive."

  "Did you work for him full-time?"

  "During the spring and summer when he's in residence, I do. Then it's three days a week during the fall and winter."

  "And there was enough work to keep you busy?" Kerney asked. "Part of it was keeping him company, Mr. Kerney. Older people are sometimes willing to pay for that. It's been a perfect job for me. I'm a weaver. I design shawls, wraps, and textiles. Vernon lets me work on my craft here, when I'm not busy with any of the odds and ends that need looking after to keep things in order. I have a loom in the spare bedroom that I use as an office and studio."

  "That was very generous of the judge."

  "You've noticed the security system?"

  "I have."

  "Judge Langsford was more concerned for his safety than he was about my personal convenience. He felt my physical presence here, on a regular basis, acted as a deterrent. After all, someone once wanted to kill him."

  "He felt safe in his motor home?"

  "As a camp host, he did. He was always surrounded by others, all of them people who had no idea who he was or what he'd been." Murray put her hand to her mouth again. "He was murdered by that spree killer, wasn't he? I heard reports on the radio while I was driving home."

  "How awful."

  "When was the last time you spoke to Langsford?"

  "Three days ago. He would always call in once a week to see if anything needed his attention."

  "Such as?"

  "Judge Langsford had two consuming interests, golf and investments. He'd call me weekly to get an update on his portfolio, or to ask me if some board minutes or prospectus from a company had arrived."

  "Would you characterize him as well-off?"

  "More than that," Murray said.

  "He was the only child of a man who was once the biggest natural gas producer in the state. He inherited millions of dollars before he was appointed to the bench. He owns partial or controlling interest in three companies."

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry. I just can't stop thinking about him as still alive."

  "That's understandable. What will you do, now that you're out of a job?"

  "I'll be fine," Murray said. "I'm showing in three galleries: one here, one in Albuquerque, and one in Santa Fe. I've been socking away the money I've made as a weaver and living off my salary. I won't be homeless, Mr. Kerney."

  "How long will you be here this week?"

  "I've been paid through the end of the month, so I'm at your disposal."

  "Will you be in town from now until the end of the month?"

  "Yes."

  "Can I see your driver's license?"

  "What for?"

  "Information for my report."

  She searched her purse, found her wallet, and extracted the license.

  Kerney wrote down the information, verified Murray's home address, and got her telephone number. "I'm going to ask a judge for a search warrant, Ms. Murray. There may be information in the judge's papers that could be helpful to the investigation. It will probably be issued today. If I can use the telephone, I'd like to call and have a city police officer come and stay here until the warrant is executed."

  Murray's expression turned guarded. "Why do you need to do that?"

  "I don't need to do it, Ms. Murray. But it's in your best interest that I do. With an officer on site, there will be no question about the loss or removal of anything from the house while you're here."

  "I wouldn't take anything."

  "I don't doubt you."

  Kay Murray's cautious expression cleared. "I suppose it would be a good idea. I hate to think I'd be considered a suspect."

  "We can get that issue off the table very quickly, if you'll give me the names and phone numbers of the people you were with and the places you went during your two days in Albuquerque."

  "You're asking for an alibi, aren't you?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "I'll write it all down for you," she said, reaching for her daily planner.

  "And if you have it, Penelope Gibben's home and work addresses would be helpful."

  Murray paused. I'll get them for you."

  "I have the feeling Judge Langsford was a very private man."

  "Vernon was extremely private."

  "Yet he confided a great deal in you."

  "We were friends, Mr. Kerney," Murray said tightly. "Is that a crime?"

  "Not at all."

  The Ruidoso patrol officer, a woman in her twenties, arrived within ten minutes. Kerney briefed her on the assignment, thanked Kay Murray for her cooperation, went to his unit, called Lee Sedillo, and filled him in on what he'd learned.

  "I'll run a records check on Eric Langsford," Sedillo said, "and get the search warrant paperwork started."

  "Make the search warrant as inclusive as possible," Kerney said. "But have the agent who serves it concentrate on Langsford's financial and personal papers. I need to know ASAP what corporations Langsford owns or has an interest in, and the state of their financial health."

  "Do you have some specific reason to follow the money, Chief?"

  "There's a lot of it, Lee. That's reason enough. We'll work this angle and the theory that the prior attempt against Langsford came because of his ruling against tribal gambling."

  "Two motives for murder are better than one," Lee said.

  "Hang on a minute," Kerney said, as Kay Murray came out the front door of Langsford's house. She'd removed her wool sweater, and the body-hugging tee shirt she wore made her look even more lissome. She walked to Kerney's unit and held out a key. "Am I free to go?"

  "Of course."

  "Then I'd rather not stay. Having that police officer inside makes me feel that I'm under arrest."

  "That's not the case."

  "I know, but that's the way I feel. Take the key."

  "It would be' better if you came back after the search is finished and locked up. That way, there will be no question that anything has been unnecessarily damaged."

  "What kind of unnecessary damage?" Murray said, putting the key in her pocket.

  "Opening a locked desk or a safe. Does Langsford have a safe?"

  "There's a floor panel in the study closet that lifts out. Under the panel you'll find a small safe embedded in concrete. His desk key is in the pot on the fireplace mantle in the study."

  "Do you have the combination to the safe? Is anything else locked?"

  "No. Ca
n I leave now?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll get my things."

  "Lee?" Kerney said, as Kay Murray moved away.

  "I'm here, Chief."

  Kerney read off Murray's home address, social security number, date of birth, the license plate number to the Ford Explorer, and the name of the car dealer's tag on the back of the car. "Do the usual check on Murray, and call the dealership. I want to know if it was Langsford or Murray who bought the car."

  "You got a hunch, Chief?"

  "I think Murray's relationship with Langsford may have been more than meets the eye. It could mean nothing, but then again…"

  "I'll get back to you," Sedillo said.

  "There's more," Kerney said. "Murray said she spent the last two days in Albuquerque. Have an agent verify that."

  "You got places and names, Chief?"

  "Affirmative," Kerney said. "You ready?"

  "Read it off."

  The morning drive into Ruidoso had been pleasant. The east-west highway through the high mountains of the Mescalero Apache Reservation provided beautiful scenery and wonderful views. But from the Ruidoso city limits on, along a long stretch of road that wound down the Hondo Valley, there was nothing but the ugly commercial strip that seemed to be so typical of every Western city.

  In Spanish, Ruidoso means noisy. The name came from the fast running river that coursed through the narrow valley where the town sprang up. Once a hotbed of gambling, prostitution, and boot legging during the Depression, Ruidoso now catered to flatlanders from Texas and Mexico who came to escape the desert heat and for the horse racing, the reservation casino gaming, high-end shopping, the trendy resorts, and the golf courses.

  Kerney drove the highway trying to remain immune to all the bill boards and businesses that made the mountain pass look so tacky. In his boyhood Ruidoso had been nothing more than a sleepy village.

  The investigation was beginning to get complex, and Kerney liked having his attention fully engaged. It pushed shooting Shockley out of the forefront of his mind. But the image of Shockley resurfaced, and with it came an automatic gag reflex that Kerney fought down.

  Kerney knew his reaction was purely tribal. The vivid memory of Shockley's bloodstained uniform and the common bond of belonging it represented had slammed into Kerney's psyche far more deeply than the actual shooting itself. He wondered if he would ever shake it from his mind.

  Roswell was on the eastern plains, an hour or so down the road. He looked forward to talking with Langsford's ex-lover, Penelope Gibben, and started framing questions he would put to her when they met.

  Home of the famous UFO Incident allegedly covered up by the military shortly after the end of World War II, Roswell traded on its notoriety, spurred on by several recent television shows. The old Main Street movie house had been converted into a UFO museum and gift shop, several companies conducted tours of the UFO crash site, and retail stores sold UFO coffee mugs, hats, tee shirts, toys, and posters of aliens and spaceships.

  Aside from the UFO hoopla, Roswell was an ordinary small city that touted its mild climate, small-town flavor, capable work force, and recreational opportunities as a way to draw new businesses and retirees.

  Laid out in a checkerboard pattern, it was indistinguishable from many other Southwestern cities. The obligatory shopping mall was near the outskirts of town and strip malls peppered the major four-lane state roads bisecting the city. Main Street had lost its draw as businesses abandoned downtown, and new housing tracts stretched over the monotonous plains.

  Two blocks east of Main Street on Pennsylvania Avenue, a tree-lined street with old Victorian houses, Kerney found Penelope Gibben at home.

  He sat quietly in her living room and watched her cry. Although Gibben was in her mid-sixties, in appearance she had not surrendered to senior citizen status. An attractive woman no more than five feet tall and weighing less than a hundred pounds, Gibben was stylishly dressed in a chenille V-neck sweater that displayed a single strand of expensive pearls and she wore lightweight wool slacks. She used very little makeup, but her eye shadow had smeared a bit from crying.

  The living room had mahogany double doors that opened on to the entry hall, a marble fireplace, and sash windows that gave a view of the porch and front lawn. It was furnished with two armchairs in a matching floral pattern, a velvet rose-colored sofa, Colonial-style end tables, and a stout coffee table with curved legs.

  "I simply can't believe it," Gibben finally said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

  "I need to ask you a few questions about Judge Langsford."

  Gibben's eyes blinked rapidly. "Even though our friendship ended, I've always been comforted by the thought that Vernon was nearby and not really gone. Now he is."

  "I understand that you and the judge were more than friends." Gibben's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

  "He was once your lover," Kerney said.

  She folded her hands in her lap and looked at Kerney with serious eyes. "You say that with such authority."

  "Do you deny it?"

  "I suppose there's no need to, now. Yes, we were lovers, although I'd rather the information remained confidential."

  "Tell me about your relationship with him."

  "It was perfect for many years until Vernon became dissatisfied with his marriage."

  "That bothered you?"

  "I'm a very independent person, Mr. Kerney. I enjoy living alone. I've never wanted to marry, but I do like the company of men as long as they don't intrude on my privacy. Vernon filled my need for a lover and a friend very nicely."

  There was something cold about Gibben's revelation, but Kerney didn't challenge it. "How long were you lovers?"

  "Far longer than many marriages last," Penelope said. "Almost twenty years. Eighteen to be exact."

  "How did you meet?"

  "I met him at work, Mr. Kerney. Vernon's father started Ranchers' Exploration and Development and hired me as his secretary. I came to know Vernon through my association with the company. He owns a controlling interest in the business."

  "What is your current association with Ranchers'?"

  "I'm the chief financial officer."

  "I understand Vernon ended his relationship with you because of the guilt he felt about Marsha's death."

  "Do you know that Vernon and I were together when Marsha was killed?"

  "I do."

  "How could he not feel guilty? We both did. The decision to end the relationship was mutual. After what had happened, neither of us could handle it."

  "Why was he considering a divorce?"

  "Marsha never recovered from Arthur's death. Her depression destroyed the marriage."

  "Arthur?"

  "Vernon's oldest son."

  "Tell me about Arthur," Kerney asked.

  "It was an absolute tragedy," Penelope replied. "The children had all returned to Roswell for the holidays. Arthur was home from graduate studies in California. Linda was newly married, had her law degree, and was working for one of the large firms here in town. And Eric had just completed a drug rehabilitation program and seemed to be doing well."

  "What happened?"

  "Of all the children, Arthur was the best athlete. In high school he excelled at track and field. As an undergraduate he gave up competitive sports to concentrate on his studies, and became a mountain bike enthusiast. When he was home from school, he would ride up into the mountains every chance he got. A hit-and-run driver killed him on the highway to Ruidoso five days before Christmas."

  "When was that?"

  "Three years before Marsha died."

  "Was an arrest made in the incident?"

  "The driver was never found. How did you come to learn about my relationship with Vernon? Surely, Linda didn't tell you. Was it Eric?"

  "Why is that important to you?"

  "I know what Vernon did to keep our secret safe from the public."

  "You mean the fifty thousand dollars he gave to Eric?"

  Gibben smiled wanly. "O
ver the years before Marsha's death, Eric cost him a great deal more than that. But I don't think Vernon ever begrudged him the money. He kept hoping Eric would straighten himself out."

  "I get the feeling that after the affair ended, your friendship with Judge Langsford remained intact."

  "For a time. Are you going to tell me who told you about my relationship with Vernon?"

  "It was his personal assistant, Kay Murray." "I see," Penelope said flatly. "Does that surprise you?"

  "Not really. Vernon was always drawn to women who could engage him intellectually and emotionally. Marsha gave him the security he wanted in a wife, but she was not very challenging in other ways."

  "You talk as if you know Ms. Murray."

  "I know Vernon."

  "Judge Langsford obviously looked for more than just an intellectual and emotional connection outside his marriage," Kerney said.

  "Are you asking me to speculate on the nature of Vernon's relationship with Kay Murray?"

  "If you wish to."

  "The Vernon I knew was a vigorous man with healthy appetites who was generous with those he cared about."

  "What did Eric do with the money his father gave him?"

  "He bought a new van, moved to San Francisco, and became a cocaine addict. When the money ran out, he came back and has been living in Cloudcroft ever since."

  "How do you know this?"

  Gibben sighed. "Eric refuses to have any further contact with his father, so Vernon appointed him a corporate board member with an annual stipend of twenty thousand dollars a year, to help him out. I send him the quarterly checks."

  "When did you issue the last one?"

  "Two months ago. It was endorsed and cashed."

  "Is Linda also a board member?"

  "No. She will have nothing to do with any of the family corporate holdings. As I understand it, she makes quite a comfortable living from her law practice."

  "What would you say Judge Langsford's net worth totals?"

  "Sixty million dollars, easily." Tears returned to the corners of her eyes, and Gibben stood up. "I don't think I can cope with any more questions right now, Mr. Kerney. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to be alone."

  "I may need to speak with you again," Kerney said. "But I'd appreciate it if you would keep our conversation private."