Clayton stared at the wall. "She never told me about that."
"There's a lot neither of us know about your mother's decisions."
"Maybe so." Clayton stood and dropped some bills on the table.
"I've got to go."
"Clayton."
"What?"
Kerney got to his feet. "Have you told your children about me?"
Clayton blushed slightly before answering. "Not yet."
"Do what you think is best."
"This whole thing is a mess," Clayton grumbled.
"Give it some time."
"I'm a grown man. I don't need a father."
"Maybe we could be friends," Kerney said.
"I don't make friends easily."
"You could give it a try."
"Yeah, maybe," Clayton said, as he turned and left.
From his motel room, Kerney tried several times to reach Danny Hobeck at his sister's house. All he got was Margie's answering machine He left his number, asked Hobeck to call, and started unpacking. He was down to one set of clean clothes and needed to find a Laundromat. The phone rang as he was about to leave with a bag full of dirty laundry, and the Roswell dispatcher patched through a call from Clark Beck, the trucker who'd broken down at the Three Rivers turnoff.
"My wife said you needed to talk to me," Beck said. "What can I do for you?"
"You lost your water pump at Three Rivers and had to get towed to Alamogordo."
"That's right. Cost me eight hours of down time," Beck said. "Did you see any cars coming or going on the Three Rivers road?"
"Yeah, I saw one come out and make the turn heading for Tularosa."
"What time was that?"
"Maybe fifteen minutes after I broke down."
"Did you get a look at the vehicle?"
"Just the back end," Beck replied. "It was one of those Japanese import sport-utility vehicles. A Honda."
"You're sure of that?" Kerney asked.
"Mister, I'm sure. I look at the ass-end of cars six days a week, all day long. Honda SUVS have vertical taillights that run along the sides of the rear window. It's real distinctive."
"It wasn't a minivan?"
"Minivans have a rounded roofline; not boxy like the Honda SUV."
"You just saw the Honda?" Kerney asked.
"A few cars passed me on the highway. But the Honda was the only one I saw on the Three Rivers road."
"Thanks."
"No sweat, officer. Hope it helps."
Kerney grabbed his dirty laundry and headed out. As far as he knew, no one on the suspect list drove or owned a Honda SUV. He called Lee Sedillo from his unit, gave him the vehicle information, and asked for a canvas of car-rental companies in the state.
"Will do, Chief," Lee said.
"Give Tim Dwyer a call at the Roswell district office."
"What's he got?"
"Evidence that says Vernon's oldest son, Arthur, was murdered."
"So somebody is systematically wiping out the family," Lee said.
"Possibly," Kerney replied. "Or we've got three different killers who need to be caught. Is anything happening with Eric's sister?"
"Nada. She's home. Family and friends have been dropping by."
"Keep a close watch on her."
"Ten-four."
The fast-food hamburger Kerney bought after leaving the Laundromat didn't sit well in his gut. He sat in the unit across from Margie Hobeck's house with binoculars and watched her walk back and forth in front of her living room window. He dialed her number on his cell phone and Margie froze in front of the telephone but didn't pick up.
The answering machine clicked on and he left another message for Danny Hobeck. Margie punched a button on the machine, and Kerney figured she'd deleted it.
She bent down out of view for a moment and came up holding one of the cats. She cradled it like a baby in her arms and started pacing back and forth in front of the window. She finally left the living room and Kerney settled in to wait.
After two hours, a car made a wide turn onto the street and came to a messy stop in front of Margie's house. A man pulled himself out and wobbled slowly up the front walk.
Kerney intercepted him at the porch step. "Danny Hobeck?"
The man lurched to a stop. "Who are you?"
Kerney flipped open his badge case. "State police. I have a few questions."
Hobeck pulled his shoulders back, straightened up, and squinted at the shield. His breath smelled of alcohol. "If this is about Vernon, I've got nothing to say to you."
"Have you been drinking, Mr. Hobeck?"
"I've had a few."
"More than a few, I'd guess." Hobeck adjusted his tie and said nothing.
"Would you like to spend the night in jail?" Kerney asked.
"For what?"
"Driving drunk," Kerney answered.
Hobeck snorted and gestured at his parked car. "I'm not driving. I'm standing in my sister's front yard, on private property, minding my own business."
The porch light came on, revealing Hobeck's tanned face, thinning gray hair, and watery brown eyes. Margie Hobeck stared fear fully at Kerney through the front window, stroking the cat she held in her arms. The animal twisted its torso and clawed Margie's arm. She released it and remained motionless.
"Let's do a field sobriety test," Kerney said, turning his attention back to Danny.
"Don't be ridiculous," Hobeck said, as he tried to push his way past Kerney.
Kerney held him up. "Do you know what a lawful order is, Mr. Hobeck?"
Hobeck nodded his head in disgust. "Yeah, it's something a cop tells you that you have to do. Ask your damn questions."
"You were Vernon's boyhood chum."
"That's right. I've been his friend all my life."
"What was Vernon like?"
"As a kid? Starting out, he was just like all the rest of us, until his father started making big money in the oil and gas fields."
"That changed him?"
"He got spoiled."
"How so?"
"By the money, what else? His father gave him everything, and Vernon got used to it real fast."
"Did he make any enemies?"
"I wouldn't say he made enemies; mostly kids were envious of him."
"What about later in life?"
"Vernon won folks' respect as a lawyer and a judge. He had a good marriage and a good family life. He never acted high and mighty because he had money. Hell, he took what his daddy left him and built on it. People admired that."
"Your sister doesn't seem to think much of Vernon."
Danny chuckled sourly. "My old maid sister? She doesn't like anybody much."
"Why doesn't she like Vernon?"
"Because she's strange in the head," Hobeck replied. "Hates men. Hell, she barely tolerates me. She's not gay or anything like that. She's just a dried-up old maid."
"Has she always been that way?"
"Forever."
"Is she under any kind of special care?"
"You mean like a shrink? No, since she retired she just lives in her own dream world. Collects these ugly salt and pepper shakers, dotes on her cats, gardens, refuses to go out except to run errands or shop."
Kerney glanced at the living room window. Margie was gone. "She has no particular grievance against Vernon?"
"Like I said, Margie is strange.
What is all this bullshit?" Hobeck asked, suddenly suspicious. "You can't be thinking she had anything to do with Vernon's death."
"Has she said anything to you about his death?"
"Not a word."
"Why would she tell me Vernon wasn't a nice boy?"
"Who knows what gets into her head? I don't see her much, and we rarely talk. Mostly I just send her money now and then. She's my kid sister, so I feel a sense of responsibility. But if you do anything she doesn't like, she shuts you down and won't talk about it. That's just the way she is."
Hobeck forced a friendly smile and continued, "Look, I'd really appr
eciate it if you'd just leave her alone. There's no sense upsetting her. The way it is, she'll probably spend the night walking up and down the stairs. She does that when she gets agitated."
"Talking to you has been sufficient, Mr. Hobeck."
Relief flooded across Hobeck's face. "Thanks. Sorry I sounded so abrupt." He smiled sheepishly. "I guess I did raise a few too many glasses in Vernon's memory."
"That happens. Don't drive anymore tonight."
Hobeck reached for the porch rail, steadied himself, and planted a foot on the step. "I don't plan to. Can't hold my liquor like in the old days. I'm going to bed."
"Good idea."
Margie was back at the window again. She smiled as Kerney stepped off the porch and waved bye-bye, folding her fingers over the palm of her hand.
In the morning, before the funeral services for Vernon, Kerney stationed three agents inconspicuously outside the church: two with video cameras to record everyone in attendance, and one to keep watch in case Eric made an appearance. A fourth agent stayed on Linda Langsford.
He left after the mourners arrived and drove to Margie Hobeck's house. Danny's car was gone, the front curtains were drawn, and his knock went unanswered. An older sedan was parked in the detached garage, so Kerney went to the backyard to see if Margie was in her garden. Only
Margie's cats greeted him.
When he came around the side of the house he found Agent Duran waiting for him.
"What brings you to Roswell?" Kerney asked.
"Last night I arrested the guy who trashed your unit, Chief. Lieutenant Sedillo sent me over to fill you in."
"Was it a cop who did it?"
"Nope. He's a civilian by the name of Henry Waters. He's forty-three and has a steel plate in his head from an automobile accident that happened when he was in high school. He's got an IQ that puts him in the mildly retarded range, and a fixation about law enforcement. He made a voluntary confession, and I've got some solid physical evidence to go with it. He's locked up."
"Did he act alone?"
"Yeah. You should've seen his apartment, Chief. The walls are plastered with photos and newspaper articles about cops, he has a collection of patches and caps from about a hundred different law enforcement agencies, and he keeps a police scanner going full time when he's home.
He has study guides for police officer examinations, dozens of law enforcement equipment catalogs, and an outdated set of criminal statutes the local library discarded. He met me at the door wearing a city PD shirt with a security guard badge pinned on it. He filched the shirt from an unlocked cruiser a couple of years ago."
"Did he give you a reason for his actions?"
"He said you shouldn't have shot Sergeant Shockley."
"He's right about that. Is he crazy, dangerous, or both?"
Robert didn't agree with Kerney's self-criticism, but knew better than to comment. "According to his doctor, because of the head wound he's got organic brain syndrome, which screws up his thinking. But he's stable and not dangerous."
"Any priors?" Kerney asked.
"He's got a clean sheet, and everybody I talked to said he never caused any trouble. It's kinda sad, Chief. He was a normal kid until the accident. After that, his mental functioning went downhill. His sister told me that he's always wanted to be a cop."
"Did he give you any problems?"
"Just the opposite. He talked freely about what he'd done. After I finished taking his statement, I told him a few things about Shockley. He got real apologetic. Said he was sorry. Wanted me to be sure and tell you. Then he asked if I could help him join the department as a recruit."
"That is sad," Kerney said.
"His public defender wants him to cop a plea. She's asked for a psychiatric evaluation. I don't see Henry getting anything more than some county jail time out of this."
"Thanks, Robert," Kerney said.
"Anytime, Chief. Lieutenant Sedillo asked me to tell you there's no record of any of the suspects renting a Honda SUV around the time of the murders."
"I'm not surprised," Kerney said.
One family had been out of town during the door-to-door canvas of Penelope Gibben's neighbors. Kerney stood on a lovely wraparound porch of a Queen Anne Victorian one street over from Penelope's house, and rang the bell. The woman who answered stood six feet tall and looked to be in her mid-thirties. Dressed in workout sweats, she was breathing hard and had a sheen of perspiration on her face.
"Mrs. Peters," Kerney asked, holding up his shield.
"I'm Dr. Peters."
"Are you a medical doctor?"
Peters ran a hand towel across her face and nodded. "I work in the ERAT the hospital. So does my husband. What can I do for you?"
"Do you know Penelope Gibben?"
"Of course. I've known her almost all my life."
"How long have you lived in the neighborhood?"
"I grew up in this house. Has something happened to Penelope?"
"No, she's fine. I'm investigating Judge Langsford's murder. Did you know the judge at all?"
"I knew he was a frequent visitor at Penelope's. His car was parked there quite often when I was a child."
"What did you think of Judge Langsford?"
"As a kid? To me he was just another adult."
"Did you know Penelope and Langsford were lovers?"
"That was the common assumption among some of the neighbors."
"Was it yours?"
Peters laughed. "Not at the time. I was too young to pay any attention to that kind of thing. I used to play occasionally with Linda and Penelope's niece. It was all very ordinary and innocent."
"Kay Murray?"
"Yes. Kay stayed with Penelope during summer vacations for three or four years. Judge Langsford often brought Linda with him when he came to visit. Except he wasn't a judge then."
"Did Mrs. Langsford ever bring Linda over to play with Kay?"
"I never saw or met Mrs. Langsford. It was always Linda's father who brought her to Penelope's."
"How old were you at the time?"
"Eight."
"Were you good friends with Linda and Kay?"
"I wouldn't say that. I was much more interested in sports than either of them, and we traveled in different circles. We played together once in a while. We'd ride our bikes to the park or I would visit with them if they were out in Penelope's front yard."
"Would you say that Linda and Kay were good friends?"
"They got along well."
"But they weren't close?"
"I got the feeling they tolerated each other."
"What gave you that feeling?"
"They would argue a lot."
"About?" Kerney asked.
"They liked to play with dolls, and I wasn't really into that. They'd bicker about which doll would be the bride, or the mother, or the daughter. They liked to play dress-up and pretend they were adults.
Then they'd argue about who would be the wife or the child."
"Did you get to know Kay better later on, when she moved in with Penelope?" Kerney asked.
"No, I was away at college, and I didn't see her much. We'd wave to each other when I was home. That was about it."
"Thanks. I won't keep you any longer," Kerney said.
Kerney walked to his unit wondering why Gibben had failed to mention that Kay spent several summer vacations with her as a child. Did it matter? He wasn't sure, but decided to follow up anyway. He checked the time. It was too soon to expect Penelope to be home from the funeral services. He would swing by later.
Deedee Hall lived in an upscale Roswell neighborhood near the country club, where the streets were named for trees, and the houses were mostly two-story affairs with garish touches such as towering entry ways supported by faux Greek revival columns.
Kerney sat with Mrs. Hall in her spotless country kitchen and asked her about Linda Langsford.
Deedee gave him an immaculate smile. Her blond hair was perfect her face was perky and cute, and her figure
looked trimmed and toned. Except for the first touch of age lines at the corners of her mouth, she didn't look much different from the picture taken of her as a member of the high school cheerleading squad almost twenty years ago. She even sounded like a cheerleader.
Just back from the services for Langsford, she was wearing a conservative dark gray dress.
"Linda and I were best friends," she said, "from kindergarten on."
"Tell me about her as a child," Kerney asked.
"She was always at my house.
Always."
"She didn't like it at home?"
"Her mother was usually sick with allergies, headaches, and such. It just wasn't any fun to play there. We had to be so quiet. Mrs. Langsford wasn't a well person."
"Did Linda get along with her brothers?"
"Not with Eric. He's always been weird. She was much closer to Arthur and her father."
"What about her mother?"
"Linda never minded her."
"Never?"
"Well, hardly ever. Sometimes they would argue."
"About what?"
"Where Linda could go, what she could do, who she could play with. Normal stuff. If Linda really wanted her own way, she'd just go to her father."
"And Judge Langsford would cave in?"
"Almost always. He couldn't deny Linda anything. It invariably threw her mother into a tizzy."
"Were there parental arguments about the children?"
Deedee shook her head. "Mrs. Langsford would just stop talking. She would barely speak to anybody. When that happened, the judge would take Linda and Arthur camping, or on a trip to Albuquerque, or some other outing."
"But not Eric?"
"He was included until he was about six years old."
"What changed?"
"He started to act like his mother, really sullen and angry all the time in a shut-down sort of way. It was like the two of them were the family outcasts."
"Did Linda and Arthur remain close?"
"Until Linda started high school and Arthur went to college. After that, they didn't see much of each other."
"What did you think of Arthur?"
"He was okay. Big man on campus type. Real popular."
Her cautious reply caught Kerney's attention. "You had reservations about him?"
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