The Judas judge kk-5

by Michael McGarrity

  "No thanks are necessary."

  Isabel smiled. "I mean, for giving me Clayton. I made a good choice when I picked you."

  "Were you that deliberate?" Kerney asked, somewhat taken aback.

  Isabel laughed. "Oh, yes."

  Kay Murray's town house was the last unit at the end of a long dead end lane in the community of Alto, just outside of Ruidoso. The development, nestled in a grove of pine trees, looked to be a combination of second homes and long-term vacation rentals. Two-story mountain chalets, all with steep pitched shingled roofs, second-story decks, attached garages, and wood exteriors, were grouped in a semicircle around a common park area that contained several permanently installed barbecue grills and picnic tables, two tennis courts, and a small playground. Each house was marked with a rustic wooden street-number sign planted in the lawn next to the pathway that curved to the front door.

  Kerney parked and tried to pull himself together. The thirty-minute drive from Mescalero hadn't done much to settle his mind. He'd always hoped someday to be a father. But to become one suddenly, retroactively, over the course of nearly thirty years, left him flabbergasted.

  Would he have married Isabel if he'd known she was pregnant? Probably, assuming she would've agreed, which, based on their conversation, seemed completely unlikely.

  He didn't know if he felt misused by Isabel or simply superfluous in her scheme of things. He decided both feelings were valid, and left it there until he could sort it out.

  Kay Murray answered the doorbell wearing an angora camisole, shorts, and not much else. Kerney caught an unpleasant glint in her eyes.

  "Your agents made a mess of Judge Langsford's house," she said. "I was up most of the night putting things back together."

  "May I come in?" Kerney asked.

  "I'm just about to do my yoga," Murray answered.

  "I won't take much of your time."

  "I suppose it's all right," Murray said, stepping aside.

  A half-round soapstone woodstove in the center of the k-shaped room served as the focal point. Except for the couch in front of a wall of books, the furniture was sleek and very European looking. A multicolored weaving in the shape of a long, unfurled streamer dominated one wall. On the wood floor was a padded exercise mat.

  Murray folded her arms and didn't offer Kerney a seat.

  "Are you aware that Judge Langsford named you in his will?"

  "Of course," Murray said. "He also bought me my car, gave me a sizable down payment for my house, and paid me an ample salary. What's your point?"

  "It would seem that the judge was quite generous with you."

  "Yes, he was."

  "I'd like to know why."

  "Judge Langsford appreciated my services," Murray said with a cold smile. "Haven't we already talked about this?"

  "Sometimes elderly people can be taken advantage of."

  "I resent that remark. Judge Langsford was sound in mind and body. I doubt anyone could have taken advantage of him."

  "Do you have a boyfriend, Ms. Murray?"

  "I see someone."

  "Here in town?"

  "Yes."

  "Tell me who he is."

  Murray shook her head. "That's none of your business. I refuse to let you treat me as a suspect. You already know that I had nothing to do with Judge Langsford's murder."

  "I still need to speak with your boyfriend."

  "So, I am a suspect after all."

  "Not necessarily."

  "I don't like having my privacy invaded."

  Kerney shrugged. "If you don't cooperate now, I'll just keep coming back until you tell me, or find a more public way to identify him. Would you like that?"

  "That's harassment."

  "Why are you hiding his identity?"

  Hostility seeped from Murray's eyes. "Because he's married."

  "I'm sure you'd like to have me go away and never come back, Ms. Murray. Talking to your boyfriend just may make that happen."

  "The man I'm seeing isn't a murderer."

  "I'm sure you're right. But, one way or the other, I need to confirm that."

  "His name is Joel Cushman. He's a psychologist in private practice."

  "Thank you for cooperating."

  "This is utterly insane."

  Joel Cushman had his practice in a small office complex on Mechem Road.

  When Kerney arrived, Cushman had just finished a session with a client. Kerney showed his credentials to the receptionist, who quickly buzzed Cushman and directed Kerney through the appropriate door.

  Cushman was standing when Kerney entered. Of average height, he had a bit of a potbelly, a soft handshake, and an inquisitive look on his face. On his desk was a photograph of a kneeling woman with her arms wrapped around the waist of a young boy.

  Cushman's look turned worried when Kerney started talking about Kay Murray.

  "Why on earth would you be investigating Kay?" Cushman asked.

  "I understand you're her lover," Kerney said. "Who told you that?"

  "Ms. Murray."

  Cushman slumped into his chair. "Yes, we're lovers."

  "For how long?"

  "Three, almost four years."

  "How did you meet?"

  "Socially, at a party," Cushman said, looking away.

  "And she was never one of your patients?"

  "For a time she was. But our personal relationship started after she left therapy."

  "Does your wife know about Ms. Murray?"

  "Listen, I don't want any trouble."

  "What brought Kay to see you?"

  "You know I can't be compelled to reveal that information."

  "What can you tell me?"

  "She's a remarkable, talented, intelligent woman. I care for her very much."

  "Is your practice successful, Dr. Cushman?"

  The question startled Cushman. "Yes, it's well established, and my wife is an OB/GYN."

  "No money problems?"

  "We live comfortably and within our means."

  "Has Ms. Murray ever asked you for money or a loan?"

  "Never."

  "Has she ever mentioned having money problems?"

  "Kay also lives within her means."

  "Are you her only lover?"

  "Only Kay can answer that question."

  "Does that mean you don't know?"

  Cushman pulled himself erect in his chair. "That's the best answer I can give you."

  Kerney gazed at the framed certificates and diplomas on the office wall. "Aren't there ethical rules against sleeping with clients?"

  Cushman squirmed in his chair. "I've already explained that I was not involved with Kay while she was my patient."

  "If you answer my question I might be willing to forget we had this conversation," Kerney said.

  "Yes, she has had another lover."

  "Who?"

  "Vernon Langsford."

  "You've been sharing Ms. Murray with Langsford?" Color rose on Cushman's cheeks and he said nothing. "It must have made you jealous."

  "No, it did not."

  "It doesn't bother you that Langsford was elderly, rich, and sleeping with your lover?" Kerney asked.

  "I have no control over Kay's decisions."

  "Where were you last Friday night?" Kerney asked.

  Cushman's face lost color. "Attending a Christian men's fellowship convention in Albuquerque."

  "Did you travel alone?"

  "Yes."

  "You saw Kay there, didn't you?"

  "For a while," Cushman said. "Where did you stay?"

  "We stayed at the same hotel, in separate rooms."

  "How long were you with Kay?"

  "From about eleven-thirty Friday night until the next morning. I had to wait for her to arrive. She'd gone out with friends for a late dinner and drinks."

  "Did anyone see you together?"

  "We ordered breakfast in the room."

  "At what time was it delivered?"

  "Seven-thirty."

  "I'
ll need the names of the people you were with at the convention."

  Cushman started scribbling down names, the pen shaking in his hand. "This is unbelievable."

  "I also need addresses and phone numbers, if you have them," Kerney added.

  Cushman reached for his address book.

  After leaving Cushman's office, Kerney got on the horn to Lee Sedillo.

  "Where are you?"

  "Heading your way, Chief. ETA ten minutes."

  "Let's meet for coffee."

  "Roger."

  The cafe on Sudderth Avenue had horse-racing posters tacked on the walls and cheap cafeteria-style tables and chairs scattered throughout the room. Aside from Kerney and Lee Sedillo, the only other customers were two city cops on a break and a table of four men, all dressed in jeans and work boots, who were busy discussing a set of construction plans. A slow-moving waitress worked her way across the room, wiping down and setting up tables.

  "San Francisco PD reports Eric Langsford was busted twice on two misdemeanor cocaine possession charges while he was living in the Bay Area," Lee said. "No other arrests in California. He's had one drunk and disorderly charge and a DWI since moving back."

  "Nothing more serious?" Kerney asked.

  "Nope. Langsford plays the guitar. When he's not high, he's supposedly a real good musician. He was a member of a country and western band that had a steady weekend gig at a Cloudcroft bar. When the summer tourist season ended the band got booked to do a west Texas tour. That's when Langsford left his day job. Or was fired, I should say."

  "Where's the band now?" Kerney asked.

  "In Van Horn, Texas, playing a small club and working their way back to El Paso. But Langsford dumped the group in a town named Maria. He got drunk and started a fight with the band's drummer two days before his father was murdered."

  "Do you have a line on him?"

  Lee shook his head. "He could be crawling through every border town booze joint. I've got an all points bulletin out on his camper van."

  "And his sister?" Kerney asked.

  "No sightings, no contact, no nothing. A neighbor said he ran into Linda Langsford at a Roswell supermarket the day before she started her vacation. Langsford told the neighbor she was planning to camp out and do some high-country backpacking in the Rockies. I've asked Colorado and Federal park rangers to canvas campsites and check all their backcountry hiking permits."

  "Have you finished the background investigation on Kay Murray?"

  "Murray was born in Carlsbad, the daughter of Jean and Richard Murray. The father abandoned the family, and she was raised by the mother, who died of cancer when Murray was twenty-one years old. She moved to Roswell, took art courses at the junior college, and then went to the university in Albuquerque, where she finished a degree in fine arts.

  "Starting out, she couldn't make a living as a weaver, so she got into the housekeeping business, working for yuppies and well-to-do retired couples. She's been doing it now for about ten years."

  "How did she hook up with Langsford?"

  "I don't know."

  "Murray was Langsford's lover. She's also having an affair with her former therapist, Joel Cushman. Cushman's married. He said he was with Murray in an Albuquerque hotel the night Langsford was shot."

  "Do you think Cushman and Murray may have come up with the spree killing scheme so that Murray could inherit the million dollars?"

  "Maybe. But it appears that Cushman is well-off, and we know Murray hasn't been hurting for money. Cushman swears Murray was with him in his room from eleven-thirty at night until the next morning. He says they ordered room service and had breakfast together Have the agent who backtracked on Murray talk to house keeping, room service, and the hotel auditor. And let's take a close look at Cushman."

  "Roger that."

  "Have you got any documentation on Murray?"

  "The usual," Sedillo said, as he pulled a file from his briefcase and passed it over. "Copies of her birth certificate, public school and college transcripts, motor vehicle records, the criminal records check, and the agent's field notes."

  Kerney opened the file. "Did you hit any pay dirt with the Langsford search warrant?"

  "Nothing more than what I already told you about, Chief."

  Kerney scanned Murray's junior college transcript, closed the file, and stood up. "I'm going to Roswell."

  "What's up?"

  "Murray's home address on her junior college transcript is the same as Penelope Gibben's."

  Penelope Gibben's office in the Ranchers' Exploration and Development suite on the eighth floor of the tallest building in town afforded her a view of a slice of Main Street and the old warehouse district next to the railroad tracks.

  She sat behind a polished walnut desk and looked at Kerney with a wrinkled brow.

  "I saw no reason to tell you Kay was my niece," Gibben said. "She came to live with me after her mother-my sister-died. It was my idea to take her in."

  "Did you pay her tuition and expenses while she was in school?"

  "Of course. She wanted to be more than a coffee shop waitress or a barmaid. She would have gone to college right after high school if her mother hadn't been so sick with cancer."

  "So Vernon Langsford must have known Kay while she was living with you."

  "Yes. He grew very fond of her."

  "How fond?" Kerney asked.

  "In a fatherly way."

  "How did Langsford come to seek Kay out and offer her a job?"

  "They kept in touch after she moved to Albuquerque. He knew she was working as a housekeeper and trying to get her career in fiber art under way. Soon after he moved to Ruidoso, he made her an offer that gave her the opportunity to earn a decent living and still have time for her art."

  "Did you know Langsford left the same amount to both of you in his will? A million dollars each. He must have held you both in high regard."

  "What an interesting thing to say."

  "Did you know that Kay was his lover?" Kerney asked.

  "I had my suspicions."

  "That didn't trouble you?"

  "I've already told you my sexual relationship with Vernon ended with the death of his wife."

  "When did Langsford start sleeping with your niece?"

  "I assume it was after she went to work for him."

  "Not before? Not when Kay was living with you?" Gibben looked at Kerney frostily.

  "You and your niece are very much alike, in personality and looks. She was young, pretty, creative, and intelligent. Surely, Langsford had to be drawn to her, just as he'd been drawn to you."

  "I think we've talked enough."

  "Did you send her to college in Albuquerque to get rid of her?"

  Penelope stood up and pointed to her office door. "Good day, Mr. Kerney."

  "To have your niece-a young woman you so graciously took in compete for your lover's attention and affection must have made you jealous and angry."

  Frozen in place, Penelope Gibben didn't answer, but Kerney could see fury building in her eyes. He smiled and let himself out of her office.

  Kerney caught up with Kay Murray outside her town house.

  "Go away," she said, striding past him.

  "Would you be more comfortable talking to me at the city police headquarters?" he asked.

  She stopped and wheeled. "You're such a bully. Are you the morals police, Mr. Kerney? Is that what this is all about? Do you have some lowbrow, pernicious interest in other people's personal lives?"

  "You've talked to Joel Cushman."

  "You bet I have."

  "I have only one question: When you were living with your Aunt Penelope did Langsford seduce you or did you seduce him?"

  "Jesus, you just don't quit."

  "Well?"

  "It was mutual, okay?"

  "That must have been hard on your aunt."

  "She threw me out because of it. Vernon forced her to take me back."

  "How did he do that?"

  "Penelope was so en
twined in Vernon's life on every basic level, that she had no choice. She needed him."

  "For what?"

  "All the creature comforts."

  "Or did she use him?" Kerney countered.

  "No, Mr. Kerney, she needed him. That's why Vernon turned to me. I used him. He never had to question the nature of our relationship. It was always clearly understood."

  "Neat and tidy."

  "Exactly."

  "Do you think Penelope is capable of murder?"

  "Murdering Vernon?"

  "And his wife," Kerney added.

  "No more so than I am. Neither of us are violent people, capable of murder."

  "Is that a fact?" Kerney said, turning away. "You don't believe me?"

  "Why should I?"

  Kay tapped her forefinger against her temple. "I get rid of people in my mind, Mr. Kerney. It's a lot cleaner and neater. Just like locking a door and walking away."

  "What are you going to do with the million-dollar inheritance?"

  "Use it to stay far away from people like you."

  Kerney left Kay Murray standing on the walkway and started the drive back to Alamogordo. Just about every possible motive for murder-sex, jealousy, money, revenge, politics, adultery, and deceit was bouncing around the Langsford killing, and Kerney didn't have one hard target in sight.

  He ran over some suppositions in his mind. Did Murray kill Langsford for her inheritance? And if so, was Joel Cushman her accomplice?

  Money problems would have to surface for that notion to stand up. Or was the killer Penelope Gibben, who might be holding a grudge about being dumped for a younger woman by her ex-lover? That idea had some possibilities.

  But in spite of an initial unwillingness to cooperate, all of them had folded easily under questioning, and none of them appeared to have the stealth or cunning needed to pull off a copycat spree killing to get to Langsford.

  One question rang true: Why did every one of them still seem to be hiding something?

  He made radio contact with Lee Sedillo and asked about Linda and Eric Langsford.

  "Still nada, Chief."

  "I'll be at my motel room."

  "Ten-four."

  Clayton Istee took a deep breath, made a fist, and knocked on the motel room door. He heard some movement inside and then the door opened to reveal a shirtless Kevin Kerney. Low on his bare stomach was an ugly surgical scar.