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.'
