"We'll see," Pomeroy said, swinging the door open so Kerney could enter.
He led the way into the living room, where a wall of glass mirrored the front entrance to the house, providing a view of a flagstone patio and a bubbling stone fountain.
Hobeck paced nervously in front of a tan leather couch positioned in front of a built-in bookcase that held a treasure-trove of antique African folk art, mostly of male and female fertility symbols with enlarged sex organs.
"How is Margie Hobeck a material witness in your case?" Pomeroy asked.
"Do you represent Margie?" Kerney replied.
"At her brother's request, I represent her best interests."
"In what way?"
"Margie isn't well. She has emotional problems. Mr. Hobeck doesn't think now is a good time for you to bother her."
"You're playing word games, counselor," Kerney said. "Does your client have any legal authority over his sister's affairs?"
"Margie is in a very fragile state, and Mr. Hobeck wishes to protect her from any additional trauma."
"Are you planning to file for guardianship?"
"Mr. Hobeck's reasons for meeting with me are privileged."
"Of course," Kerney said. "But whatever civil action you may take doesn't shield Margie as a material witness in a criminal investigation.
Let me ask you again: Do you represent Margie Hobeck?"
"I do not."
Kerney looked at Hobeck. "Where's Margie?"
Hobeck glanced from Kerney to Pomeroy. "Do I have to answer?" Kerney held up a hand. "Before you respond, counselor, let me make it clear that Mr. Hobeck acted intentionally when he took his sister out of town to avoid any further contact with the police. He lied to his employee and to Margie's neighbor about what he was doing and where he was going."
"Is that true?" Pomeroy asked.
Hobeck hung his head. "Can't you do anything?" he pleaded to Pomeroy.
"After I arrest you for obstruction of justice, he can," Kerney said, turning back to Pomeroy. "What will it be?"
Pomeroy nodded curtly. "I suggest you tell Chief Kerney where Margie is, Daniel."
With haunted eyes, Hobeck gave Kerney the name of a chemical dependency treatment program outside of Tucson. "She's addicted to tranquilizers," he added. "Has been for most of her life. You can't count on her to tell the truth."
"Perhaps you'd like that to be so," Kerney countered. "What does Margie know about Vernon Langsford?"
"I can't talk about that."
"Nor do you have to at this point," Pomeroy advised.
"Don't let your client contact Margie until after I speak with her," Kerney said.
Hobeck switched his gaze to Kerney. "You can't keep me from doing that. This is America, not some dictatorship, for chrissake."
"I suggest we follow Chief Kerney's advice," Pomeroy replied.
Defeated, Hobeck dropped heavily to the couch as though his legs had been knocked out from under him.
Kerney handed Pomeroy his business card. "You may want to hold off on any court petition until after my visit."
"I'm way ahead of you on that one," Pomeroy replied, giving Hobeck an inquisitive look.
***
The cramped seat on the plane ride to Tucson made Kerney's bum knee lock up. He hobbled through the terminal like an old man, signed for his rental car, and, using the map supplied with the keys to the vehicle, found his way to the treatment center where Hobeck had stashed his sister.
A drying-out resort and spa for affluent addicts and drunks, the center had once been a dude ranch, and the Western theme was continued in newly built clusters of rustic-looking private guest cottages and low-slung buildings with wide verandas, where a range of treatment options, from aroma and massage therapy to group and individual counseling, was available to speed the recovery process.
If the patrons didn't leave cured of their addictions, they would at least check out feeling pampered.
On the green in front of the administration building, a group of matrons in mix-and-match sizes were exercising under the guidance of a tanned, fit-looking young man who wore a body-hugging tee shirt that accentuated his toned upper torso. The young woman in side at a reception desk was equally toned, tanned, and dressed in a tee shirt of her own that emphasized a pair of remarkably different features from those of her male counterpart on the lawn.
The receptionist was busy on the telephone, so Kerney stood in front of the desk and fanned through an advertising brochure for the center that listed the levels of services available, optional packages, and the weekly rates. Even if Hobeck had selected the least expensive course of treatment for his sister, the cost was exorbitant.
"May I help you?" the woman asked, as she hung up the phone and gave Kerney a well-practiced welcoming smile.
"Margie Hobeck, please," Kerney replied, showing his shield. The smile vanished and Kerney got directions to the Paloverde Cottages, which, according to the brochure, were the low-end accommodations. Before he left, he verified that Margie had voluntarily signed herself in for treatment.
She answered his knock at her cabin door immediately. Agitation showed on her face; perhaps withdrawal symptoms, Kerney speculated.
Hobeck had paid for a makeover; Margie's hair had been tinted and set, her nails were perfectly done, and her eyebrows and lashes had been dyed.
"I remember you," Margie said. "You're that policeman. Why did you ask my brother all those questions about me?" The question came out as a whine.
"I'm sorry if it caused you trouble."
"He took me away from my home and brought me here. I don't like it here. I need to be home with my cats."
"Would you like me to take you home?"
"Danny wouldn't like that. He wants me to stay. He said if I talked to you, he would sell my house. He said a judge would give him control of my affairs because I'm not responsible."
"I won't let that happen," Kerney said.
"You can stop him?"
"Yes, if you help me."
A hopeful look broke through Margie's uneasiness. "My cats liked you. They don't usually like men."
"They're lovely animals, and I'm sure they miss you."
"Take me home."
"Will you talk to me about Vernon Langsford?" Kerney asked. "Danny said he told you everything."
"I need to hear your side of the story," Kerney replied, "in order for it to be official."
Margie nodded.
"Tell me about Vernon."
"He was a bad boy."
"What did he do?"
Margie's eyes closed. "He made me play with his lollipop--that's what he called it. I had to let him put it everywhere."
"How old were you when this happened?"
"Very young. It went on for years." Margie's fingers touched her chest and she smiled ruefully. "Until I got breasts. They never did get very big."
"Did you tell anybody?"
"I told Danny what Vernon was doing to me the summer I turned ten and he turned fifteen. He said it was my fault."
"You told no one else?"
"I was scared to. But I think my daddy knew. He went to work for Vernon's father that same summer and stayed with the company until he retired."
Kerney thought about Margie's years of pain and shame. "Vernon can't hurt you anymore."
Margie smiled bitterly. "I always thought Vernon's death would be a remedy. But it's not."
"Why don't you get packed," Kerney said gently, resisting the impulse to reach out and comfort Margie. Based on what he'd just heard, he doubted that a man's touch would soothe away any of her hurts.
***
The flight back to Albuquerque and the drive to Roswell took up the remainder of the day. Kerney got Margie home at nightfall, his mind reeling from her descriptions of Vernon's sexual assaults. In a tiny little voice, she'd recalled the events as though they were fresh and recent. The fact that Danny Hobeck had freely made his kid sister available to Vernon turned Kerney's stomach.
; He stayed with her while she checked on her cats, fed them, called the neighbor to report her return, and then disappeared into the bathroom. Ten minutes later she emerged with a dreamy look on her face, all traces of agitation and worry gone.
He said nothing about her drugged condition and left thinking that if anybody had a legitimate reason to get loaded on tranquilizers, it was Margie.
***
Penelope Gibben's house was dark when he drove by. By phone he contacted a staff member at Ranchers' Exploration and Development and learned that Gibben was on a business trip to Dallas and wouldn't be back until midweek.
Linda Langsford's house was lit up, but the cars in the driveway, including her minister's Chevy and her law partner's top-of-the-line Volvo station wagon, canceled the possibility of a private conversation.
It was just as well, Kerney thought, as he drove away. He was drained from hearing Margie's gut-wrenching accounts and wasn't sure he could maintain the focus of another interview with either woman on the heels of what he'd recently learned.
Besides, the weakest link in the chain other than Margie was Kay Murray. As an admitted drug user, he could lean on her, if necessary.
He'd see her in the morning when his mind was clear.
***
A bad dream forced Kerney into consciousness. He woke in his Ruidoso motel room with a jumble of ugly images in his mind. In it, Randy Shockley and Eric Langsford were stalking a prepubescent Kay Murray with shotguns, like hunters chasing a jackrabbit. Murray suddenly transmuted into Sara, and Kerney couldn't reach her in time to save her from the blasts that took her down.
He checked the time and stifled an urge to call Sara--she was long gone from her quarters to morning classes. In the shower he let the water beat on his head until the last remnant of the dream evaporated.
Kay Murray wasn't at her town house, but Kerney found a newly planted realtor's FOR SALE sign next to the walkway very interesting. He caught up with Murray at Vernon Langsford's, where she was loading personal belongings into the back of her Ford Explorer.
She wedged a box into the back of the vehicle and faced Kerney as he approached.
"You don't listen well," she said. "Let me be clearer: Fuck off."
"The more I think about it, the more I believe you never had a sexual relationship with Vernon," Kerney said. "At least, not as an adult."
"Excuse me?" Murray tried to step aside and Kerney crowded her back toward the Explorer.
"I talked to a woman yesterday who told me Langsford had been a pedophile since boyhood. I've been thinking that he used Penelope Gibben as a cover for his pedophilia, and after his wife was killed and he moved here, he used you to fill the same role. Did you ever tell Linda her father was a child molester?"
"I don't have to listen to this."
"Yes, you do," Kerney snapped. "Answer the question."
She winced, fell silent, and lowered her head. "Linda always knew," she finally said in a harsh voice.
"I thought Linda hated her father because he was unfaithful to her mother. Wasn't that the party line you and Penelope gave me?"
Her head stayed down. "Linda always knew," she repeated.
"How long is always?"
Murray's head came up, and she averted her face. "From the time I was eight. Vernon didn't bring Linda to Penelope's house so I could play with her. He brought her there so that he could play with her."
She snapped her cold eyes in Kerney's direction. "Now do you get it?"
"Who else knew?" Kerney asked, his stomach twisting.
"Eric, Arthur, their mother. All of them knew or at least guessed at what was going on."
"How many?" Kerney asked.
"What?"
Kerney couldn't contain his antagonism. "How many little girls did Vernon molest while you and your aunt were busy protecting his reputation?"
She looked over Kerney's shoulder with dead eyes. "He gave that up when I started working for him."
"In exchange for what?"
"My attention."
Kerney studied the woman, looking for anything that signaled regret All he saw was misery.
"Was it worth it? The money? The gifts?"
Her eyes strayed to Kerney's face, remote and narrow. "After Vernon tired of Linda, he grew fond of me, if you get my meaning."
Kerney's anger dissipated as though doused by a chilling rain. He waited for more.
"I've learned to cope with life in my own way," she added.
"Did Penelope know Vernon sexually assaulted you during the summers you stayed with her?"
"She more than knew, she helped it happen. But she also made sure I got opportunities I never would have had otherwise. She's done a great deal for me." There was no gratitude in her voice.
"Help me sort everything out," Kerney asked.
"What purpose would that serve?"
"You really don't have a choice."
"We'll see about that," Murray said.
"You helped Eric rip off his father."
"Inadvertently, Mr. Kerney. I didn't know Eric was planning a robbery. He told me he wanted to ask his father for a few family mementos and some of his personal belongings from his childhood, so I told him what Vernon kept in the house. I never expected him to show up waving a gun around."
"Weren't you angry with Vernon?"
"Whatever for?"
"His demands to have you act out his sexual fantasies about prepubescent girls?"
"His fixation became tiresome, that's all."
"More than tiresome, I'd say. You sought out Joel Cushman to find ways to deal with it. Did Vernon ask you to procure girls for him?"
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Did he?"
"Never."
Kerney studied her. She was skittery, eager to get away. He wasn't sure if Murray had procured young girls for Langsford. But it wasn't outside the range of possibility. "Think about all the girls Vernon molested," he said. "Don't they deserve to know Langsford has been unmasked? Wouldn't it help them get beyond the trauma?"
"I have to go."
"I can't allow that." He reached out and took Murray by the arm. "I'm
placing you under arrest."
She looked at his hand, surprised that he'd touched her. "You're arresting me? What for?"
"Armed robbery," Kerney said, feeling worn down by all the lies and perversion.
"You can't do that," she said, as though the force of her words could stop him.
"Watch me."
He cuffed her, did a quick pat-down search, put her in his unit, and got her purse from the front seat of her vehicle. It contained her passport, an airplane ticket to Amsterdam, and a sterling silver antique cigarette case filled with marijuana.
He drove away with Murray sitting woodenly in the backseat. Only the sound of her rapid breathing signaled any hint of panic. In the rearview mirror her face seemed carved in stone.
He keyed the microphone, reached Lee Sedillo, asked him to rendezvous at the jail, and made the remainder of the trip in silence. Lee was waiting when he arrived.
"Book her on armed robbery," he said, when Murray was out of earshot.
"It's a stretch and she'll walk if we don't get something better He filled out the charge sheet and gave it to Lee. "Search her car. See if you can find more grass we can use to bump a possession charge up to drug dealing. Another ounce will do it. Buy me as much time as you can."
"What does this get us, Chief?" Lee asked.
"I'm not sure yet."
He watched through the thick, shatterproof glass of the booking room as Lee entered the reception area and tried to steer Murray toward a wall phone so she could call an attorney.
She dug in her heels and looked at Kerney. "You motherfucker," she mouthed at him through the glass.
After reviewing the field report filed by the agent who'd checked Linda Langsford's alibi, Kerney called for a department plane, met it at the Ruidoso airport, and flew to Alamosa, Colorado. Not enough good que
stions had been asked during the agent's phone interviews, and Kerney wanted to fill in the blanks.
***
He drove seventy miles in a rental car to Creede, where Linda Langsford had started her fall vacation. He followed the grassland valleys along the Rio Grande into the high country, marveling at the remarkable change in the landscape that was so evident every time he crossed over into Colorado. The mountains were higher, the rangeland richer, the forests greener, and seemingly inexhaustible water rushed over rocky stream beds and through fast-moving channels where tall grasses grew thick along the banks.
Since Kerney's last visit many years ago, Creede had been gussied up and turned into a vacation spot. The town stood at the mouth of a narrow canyon that cut into the mountains. Two high peaks dominated the skyline and pressed against the village. At the south end of the village, the terrain fell away to a lush grassland valley.
The main street boasted Victorian buildings on an arrow paved road that petered down to a dirt track at a fire station housed in a converted mine shaft. Gift shops, restaurants, art galleries, and two small hotels, most of them closed for the season, fronted the main street. An old music hall had been renovated for use as a summer repertory theater, and the businesses that were still open catered primarily to local residences. Only a few cars were parked along the three-block strip that defined the town center, and the sidewalks were empty.
A smattering of hillside homes and vacation retreats overlooked the town, and a gushing watercourse roared out of the mountains behind the main drag where neatly tended former miner cabins and older homes on tiny lots fronted an arrow dirt lane.
Kerney found the bed and breakfast where Linda Langsford had stayed. Posted to the front door was a notice that it was closed for the season. A telephone number was listed if people were interested in booking advance reservations for next year.
At a nearby bar and restaurant done up in an old Western saloon motif with sawdust on the floor, two customers and a bartender were watching a sports channel on a wall-mounted television. He asked and got directions to the B & B operator's residence.
The middle-aged woman who opened the door of the hillside house looked at Kerney and shook her head. "I'm sorry, our bed and breakfast is closed," she said. "So are the hotels. You'll have to drive to South Fork if you want a room. I don't know why Eddie at the bar keeps sending people up here."
The Judas Judge Page 23