He interrupted Blakemore's attempt at an introduction. "I've met Mr. Kerney."
Blakemore reacted with a step back. "I'll see if Linda can speak to you." He turned and left the room.
"How is she?" Kerney asked Randolph.
"Wavering between grief and shock. Exhausted. She drove like a maniac to get home."
"Is she coherent?"
"Has Eric tried to contact her?"
"No, but she did say there were three hang-up phone calls on her answering machine when she got home."
Footsteps on the Saltillo tile floor stopped further conversation.
Linda Langsford entered the room with Blakemore behind her. Dressed in jeans and an bulky sweatshirt, she wore round glasses that seemed deliberately intended to hide her attractiveness. Long light-brown hair covered her neck. Her eyes blinked and she raised a hand to shield them from the glare of the brightly lit room. "Mr. Kerney," she said. "Thank you for seeing me."
"I understand I need to make arrangements to have my father's body released," she said wearily, dropping her hand.
"Can I do it by telephone?"
"Of course, once you've decided on a funeral home."
"Where is his body?"
"In Albuquerque, at the office of the medical examiner. I'll leave a phone number with you."
"Have you caught his killer?"
"Not yet."
"You must."
"We hope to. You and I need to talk."
Linda nodded. "I want to know everything you're doing. Can it wait until tomorrow?"
"After the funeral might be better, Linda," Reverend Blakemore interjected.
"No, Chief Kerney will need to see me before then," Linda said, placing a hand on Blakemore's arm to quiet him. "Tomorrow, Mr. Kerney?"
"That will be fine. Late morning?"
"I understand you had three hang-up messages on your answering machine.
Did you save them?"
"No."
"Do you have caller ID?"
"I didn't recognize any of the numbers, so I deleted them. They were from unnamed callers. Why do you ask?"
"Did you receive any anonymous calls at work before you started your vacation?"
"No."
"Didn't you tell me you recently had two anonymous calls on your direct office line?" Randolph asked.
"Oh, I'm sure they were just wrong numbers."
"The callers said nothing?" Kerney asked.
"No, I just heard them disconnect."
"I think that's enough for tonight, Officer," Blakemore said.
"Of course."
Kerney walked into the night and a series of pathway lights flicked on to guide his way. By the time he got back to the motel in Alamogordo it would be too late to call Sara. He mulled over Clayton Istee's criticism of his failure to inform her of his newfound status as a father.
He didn't think he was trying to hide anything from Sara. Or was he. Kerney shook off Clayton's implied accusation of racism. That wasn't it at all. He was a good deal older than Sara, but that had never been an issue for him up until now. Discovering a fully grown son, and two grandchildren to boot, forced Kerney to consider a completely new mind-set. He'd never thought of himself as old before. Worn down and beat up a bit, for sure, but not old.
At his unit Kerney got in touch with Lee Sedillo and asked for a priority telephone check of recent calls made to Linda Langsford's home and office numbers.
The command trailer was empty when Kerney arrived, and a stack of field reports awaited his attention. He ran through them quickly, pausing to concentrate on the follow-up report regarding Kay Murray's alibi.
The room service waiter had positively identified Murray as the woman in Joel Cushman's room early Friday morning. The front desk attendant verified that Murray had returned to the hotel at eleven o'clock the night before. Housekeeping noted Cushman's bed had been used for more than just sleeping, and hotel security confirmed that Cushman's and Murray's cars had remained in the parking lot all night.
Cushman and Murray had used no taxicabs or shuttle vans to get to the airport, and had not booked any commercial or private flights that could have taken them within striking distance of the crime scenes.
Cushman's alibi about his time apart from Murray in Albuquerque also held up. His attendance and participation at the Christian conference was confirmed by a number of sources. Following the dinner banquet and prayer fellowship, Cushman had met with a man in his room who'd sought him out for some informal Christian counseling and didn't finish the session until ten o'clock.
Penelope Gibben also looked to be in the clear. On the night of the murders, she'd attended a museum foundation function to honor the outgoing board of directors, traveling to and from the event with a companion. Dropped off at home after ten-thirty, she would not have been able to make the long drive to Carrizozo and start killing people in a timely fashion.
Kerney pushed the reports away. He had paperwork but no progress, motive but no clear suspects, an old crime and a new crime that might or might not be linked, and six dead people who deserved justice.
It was time to see Eric Langsford and have a long talk.
Eric Langsford lolled in the straight-back metal chair, head back, staring at the fluorescent lights in the interrogation room ceiling. He unzipped the top of his orange jail jumpsuit and scratched his skinny chest.
"Man, I barely remember talking to you," he said. "You busted me, right?"
"More or less," Kerney said.
"For possession, right?"
"You're in protective custody, for now. If you cooperate, I might forget about the possession charges."
Langsford sat up straight. "I can get out?"
"We'll see. You left the band in Maria, Texas."
"Yeah. I'm gonna kill that fucking drummer, if I ever see him again."
"What for?" Kerney asked.
"I don't take shit from anyone. He got on my case about my drinking and then dumped out all my booze. He was an AA freak who wanted to save me. I hate that kind of crap."
"I can see how that would make you angry."
Eric nodded. "I've got a short fuse."
"What did you do?"
"I threw an empty whiskey bottle that hit him in the head, and told him to get the fuck out of my room." Langsford touched a small bruise on his chin. "He busted me in the chops, so I quit the band. I couldn't stand playing with those assholes, anyway. They sucked."
"What day was that?"
"Last Wednesday, I think."
"Where did you go after you quit the band?"
"I drove to Del Rio and crossed the border. Got there late."
"How long did you stay?"
"Overnight."
"Remember where?"
"Some cheap hotel. I don't know the name."
"You left the next day?"
"Yeah."
"Where to?"
"I hit a bunch of Mexican border towns."
"Which ones?"
Langsford rattled off the town names.
"What about on the Texas side of the border?" Kerney asked. "I stopped in Redford and McNary."
"Did you rent rooms?"
"Not after Del Rio. I slept in the van so I could save my money for booze and pills."
"What bars did you drink at?"
"Hell, I don't know. Sometimes I'd hit the bars, other times I just drank in the van. The desert is beautiful at night, man. All those stars."
"When did you get to Juarez?"
"Friday, Saturday-I don't remember."
"You stayed at a whorehouse."
"That's where I woke up."
"Where was it
"About six blocks in from the bridge. I thought my van had been ripped off. I found it on our side of the border in a parking lot."
"Did you get a parking receipt?"
"I don't keep stuff like that."
"What was the whorehouse called?"
"It's more like a hotel where whores take their tricks."
"The name?"
"I don't know. Why are you asking me all this crap?"
"When did you leave Jurez?"
"Sunday afternoon. I drove straight to my place."
"Have you gone anywhere, seen anybody, since you arrived home?"
"Just you, and look where that got me."
"You didn't go to the tribal resort earlier this week, looking for work?"
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that."
"I understand you got a check recently from one of your father's companies."
"Party time," Eric said smiling. "I go through Daddy's money fast. When it runs out, I find work. Like playing in a piece-of-shit band that doesn't pay squat."
"Where were you Thursday night?"
"Beats me."
"Did you meet up with anyone you knew in Del Rio?"
"How about the other places you stayed?"
"I didn't see anybody I knew."
"I understand you're a gifted musician," Kerney said.
"Once I was. After high school I was accepted at every topflight music school in the country that I applied to. But I didn't go."
"Your father is dead, murdered."
"I remember that," Eric replied.
"What do you remember?"
"That you told me he was dead."
"Did you see your father much?"
"I haven't seen him since I left Roswell six years ago."
"You never visited him in Ruidoso?"
"What for?"
"Is that a no?"
"No. I don't go near the man."
Kerney rose. "We'll talk again."
Eric scrambled to his feet. "Do I get out of jail?"
"Not yet. I'm booking you on the drug possession charge."
Langsford screwed up his face in disgust. "I want to make a phone call."
"I'll tell the guard."
"You think I killed my old man, don't you?"
"And if you did?"
"It would make me happy," Eric said, sounding like a mischievous kid admitting to a prank.
"Because of the way he treated you as a child?" Kerney asked.
"That's not even the half of it."
"I'd like to hear the rest."
"That's my business."
"You're really not sure if you killed your father or not, are you?"
Eric smirked. "I don't think I did, but you never know. Sometimes dreams ome true."
Outside, Kerney took a deep breath of the cool night air. Eric Langsford had the maturity of an adolescent, a drug-addled mind, and was clearly pleased about his father's death. Kerney couldn't dismiss the possibility that Eric had iced his old man along with five other victims. Killers came in all flavors and varieties, including the hopped-up, emotionally arrested kind.
He decided to come back early in the morning and take another crack at Eric.
Kerney knocked at Sedillo's motel room door, and the lieutenant opened up. He reported that nothing of consequence had been uncovered during the search of Eric Langsford's house and van, except for a receipt from a package goods store in Maria, Texas, dated the same day Langsford had left the band.
Kerney summarized his interview with Langsford, placed the cassette of the taped conversation in Lee's hand, and asked Sedillo to put an agent on it right away.
"Have him backtrack on Langsford," Kerney said.
"That's a three-day swing."
"So far, he's our only suspect without an alibi."
"Did his sister have one?" Lee asked.
"I haven't gotten that far with her yet."
"I could use more people, Chief."
"Not possible. The way it stands now, if we don't get serious movement by the end of the week, we'll be down to just you and me. Did Mary Margaret run those employee names?"
"Yep, and you can forget about it. At the time of Mrs. Langsford's death there were no political activists, hardcore felons, convicts, or fugitives working at the resort or casino who we can connect to Langsford. There were two cases against employees that resulted in bench warrants for failure to pay child support. Both fathers made their back payments and got a stay out of jail card. One other employee did time for aggravated battery against a police officer, stemming from a DWI stop. But he got drunk two years ago, passed out on the railroad tracks, and was run over by a train."
"Eric says he hasn't seen his father in years-never once visited him. Get an agent up to Ruidoso in the morning, showing Eric'spicture around the judge's neighborhood. That beat-up van he drives would be pretty hard to miss."
"Will do. Is that it, Chief?"
"Why is Langsford so damn happy his father is dead?"
"Maybe he just didn't like him."
"I think it goes deeper than that."
"You may be right," Lee said. "We just got the information you requested from the phone company on those hang-up phone calls made to Linda Langsford's residence. All of them were made the night of the murders from pay phones along the killer's route."
"What about the anonymous calls to her office?"
"Two one-minute calls were made one right after the other from an Albuquerque number. I've got an agent making contact now."
"Let me know as soon as you hear anything. We may have caught a break."
The phone rang. Lee walked to the bedside table, picked up, listened for a minute, and then dropped the handset in the cradle with a shake of his head. "It doesn't look promising, Chief. The Albuquerque calls came from an elderly man who misdialed a grand daughter's Roswell number. He reversed two digits."
"I want confirmation on who he is, who the granddaughter is, and whether or not anyone else has access to his telephone."
"We have an agent from the Albuquerque district office rolling on it now."
In the morning, Kerney checked his unit for damage, found none, did a short run, and called Sara at Fort Leavenworth, half-hoping she'd already left her quarters for class. She answered on the first ring.
"How are you?" he asked.
"Pumped," Sara answered. "We start the advanced military studies sequence today. The Civil War. Grant's Vicksburg campaign. I've been reading all about it. Very exciting stuff. You never call me in the morning. What's up, sweetie pie?"
Kerney told her about Isabel Istee, Clayton, and the two grand children.
"My, my," Sara said.
Kerney waited for more, but Sara remained silent. "That's it?" he finally asked.
"I'm thinking."
"I swear, I knew nothing about this."
"You lead a shockingly interesting life, Kerney." Kerney caught a hint of amusement in Sara's voice.
"The Irish are cursed that way," he said.
"I'm not sure I like the idea of being married to a man who's a grandfather."
"Don't say that."
"This has thrown you, hasn't it?"
"It's a little unsettling."
"I'm a bit stunned by the news myself," Sara said. "You're absolutely sure about this?"
"I have no reason to doubt it."
"Then we'll just have to accept it."
"It's not a problem for you?"
"Well, the upside is that now I know you can father children."
"Is that supposed to be funny?"
"But I don't like the idea of an old love suddenly reappearing in your life."
"You're still kidding, right?"
"Of course I am. Don't go getting insecure on me, Kerney. This wasn't a situation of your making. When do I get to meet your new family?"
"I'm not sure that will happen. I'm not perceived as a welcome addition to the clan."
"It sounds complex. I'll try not to add to the confusion."
"Meaning?"
"Having a husband who's a grandfather isn't something I've had to consider before. But it doesn't make me love you any less."
"That's what I wanted to hear. I need to get going."
"Be careful out there, grandpa."
"Give me a break," Kerney groaned.
"You're tough, you can ta
ke it."
Agent Robert Duran checked out of the motel, threw his luggage filled with dirty laundry into the unit's trunk, and slammed the lid. Getting pulled off the vandalism case by Lieutenant Sedillo to be sent on a three-day road trip to backtrack on Eric Langsford was irritating.
Because Duran was part of the Internal Affairs Unit, Sedillo had asked-not ordered-Robert to take the assignment, knowing full well that turning down the request could sully Robert's reputation as a gung-ho officer. With his eye on an upcoming sergeant's vacancy in criminal investigations, Robert couldn't afford any bad raps about his dedication to the job.
He sat in his unit and studied a map, mentally tracing the route Eric Langsford said he'd taken after quitting the band in Maria, Texas. The pivotal issue hinged on where Langsford had been last Thursday night.
Robert decided to work Langsford's drunken travels home in reverse order, starting with his last stop in Juarez, an easy eighty-mile drive from the Oliver Lee State Park.
If he could confirm that Langsford had been within striking distance on the night of the murders and didn't have an alibi, it would make him a prime suspect.
Robert tossed the map on the seat and thought about the vandalism case he'd been forced to put on the back burner. Chasing down the person who'd disabled and damaged Chief Kerney's unit was no small matter, especially given the strong likelihood that a cop could have done it in retaliation for the Shockley shooting.
Duran couldn't see a civilian sneaking around a motel where a bunch of cops were staying, or even knowing which car Kerney drove. And some of the smug reactions from Shockley's buddies at the city PD about the vandalism made it clear that there were those who believed Kerney deserved a payback. It wasn't a stretch to believe that the situation could easily escalate into a physical attack against the chief.
With no hard target outside the department on the horizon, Duran had asked all district personnel and the agents working the spree killings to account for their time during the two incidents. It hadn't gained him any new friends or valuable information, so he'd been about to start working the bars where Shockley had hung out when Sedillo dropped the Langsford assignment on him.
So be it, he thought glumly, switching his attention to the field notes on Eric Langsford. If nothing panned out in Jufirez, he would be spending his time in shit kicking bars and backwater border towns for the next three days.
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