'Certainly, but you didn't answer my question,' the woman said in an eager tone. 'And the detective who called wouldn't tell me anything, either.'
Kerney shrugged and smiled. 'We're not always free to do so, and this, unfortunately, is one of those situations.'
The town hall and sheriff's department were just beyond the quaint string of Victorian buildings that defined the business and tourist area of town. A four-wheel-drive patrol unit was parked outside.
Kerney entered the small office where he was greeted by a tanned, calm-looking uniformed officer who rose from behind a paper-cluttered desk.
The man matched Kerney's height and weight and looked to be in excellent condition. He had sandy hair about to turn gray and sharp eyes that took everything in and gave nothing away.
'I'd like to talk to the sheriff,' Kerney said.
'I'm the sheriff,' he said. 'Ira Morley. What can I do for you?'
Kerney identified himself, told Morley why he was in town, and asked to use the phone to make two long- distance calls.
'Help yourself,' Morley said, gesturing at the desk phone.
Of the two couples who'd stayed at the B amp; B the same time as Linda Langsford, he was able to make contact with only one, a retired southern California high school band director and his wife. Neither had seen Linda on the first day she was a guest at the establishment, but had visited with her the next day, before she'd left. All the man could remember was that they had made small talk for a few minutes.
'Was there anything unusual about the conversation?' Kerney asked.
'Not the conversation,' the man said. 'But she sure did look exhausted, and her clothes were all wrinkled like she'd slept in them.'
He hung up to find Ira Morley paging through a small stack of printouts.
'This is about that spree killer you're hunting, isn't it?' he said.
'That's right. Did anyone from my office contact you personally about this case?' Kerney asked.
Morley looked up. 'Nope. My records show no car registered to a Linda Langsford in town on those dates.'
'You run license plates?' Kerney asked.
'Especially during the tourist season,' Morley said, 'or when things get slow, which happens fairly often around here. It's just me and two deputies, and we don't have a lot of crime to speak of. Cabin break-ins, lost hikers, dead animals on the roadways, sick tourists-that's about the extent of it. We've had only one murder in the sixteen years I've been sheriff. Mexican fella from Alamosa killed by some drinking buddies and dumped in the forest. Occasionally we'll get a computer hit back on a stolen car.'
Morley returned his attention to the papers in his hand. 'The only New Mexico plate in town on the days you were asking about was registered to a Drew Randolph, out of Roswell.'
'Make and model?' Kerney asked.
'A Volvo station wagon,' Morley said. 'One of those new fancy all-wheel-drive models.'
If Kerney remembered correctly, Volvo station wagons had tail lights that ran vertically along either side of the rear window, just like the vehicle Clark Beck, the trucker with the broken water pump, had described. Maybe Beck had been wrong about it being a Honda.
'What time was the license plate check run?'
'Eleven in the morning on the day of her arrival. But it was gone all night and most of the next day. We keep a pretty close eye on tourist vehicles.'
Kerney did a quick mental calculation, figuring that if Linda had dropped off her bags and then turned around to make the long drive back to Carrizozo to start her killing spree, she had plenty of time to finish up, return to Creede, and establish her alibi. He smiled.
'You've got something?' Morley asked.
'Thanks to you, I may have,' Kerney replied.
At the state police district office in Roswell, Kerney worked late into the night carefully' preparing search warrant affidavits: one each for the residences of Murray, Gibben, and Linda Langsford, and one for the corporate offices of Ranchers' Exploration and Development.
Since the fruits of the investigation hinged solely on circumstantial evidence and the statements of Margie Hobeck and Kay Murray, Kerney knew he would need to mount a sufficient and convincing probable cause argument before a judge would agree to issue the warrants.
Using the information supplied by Margie and Kay, he summarized Vernon Langsford's known sex crimes and asked for permission to look for specific financial documents, notes, records, photographs, personal or business letters, personal or corporate checks, and any pertinent personal diaries, electronic mail, or computer data that could identify victims or could demonstrate payment of money to possible victims.
To strengthen his argument, Kerney listed the financial benefits Langsford had given Kay Murray and Penelope Gibben over the years to buy their silence, and specified the acts of collusion they had engaged in during the current investigation to protect Langsford's reputation from exposure. That should be enough to secure a warrant to search both women's houses and the corporate office.
Kerney tracked down Clark Beck, who answered on a cell phone. He was hauling culverts for a highway construction project, and Kerney could hear the sound of the engine and the truck radio in the background. He asked Beck to describe again the arrangement of the taillights on the vehicle he'd had seen exiting the road from Three Rivers.
'Like I told you,' Beck said, 'it had lights on either side of the rear window.'
'Did the vehicle have a high-centered profile?' Kerney asked.
'Not a real high one. Those subcompacts aren't really built for off-road use.'
'Did it have a spare tire on the tailgate?'
'I don't remember seeing one.'
'Are you sure it was a Honda SUV?'
'It looked like one to me.'
'Were the back up lights below the rear window?'
'Yeah, I think they were.' Beck paused. 'Now that you mention it, maybe it was one of those Swedish Volvos yuppies like to drive. That's the only other car I know that has a similar setup. It sure wasn't a minivan.'
At midnight, he stopped working on the search warrant affidavit for Linda Langsford's house and set it aside until morning. He needed to nail down a few more pieces of information without telegraphing his renewed interest in her alibi.
He called Lee Sedillo, woke him up, asked him to have all the agents meet at the Roswell district office in the morning, and then went looking for a motel. In the parking lot of the first decent-looking one along the strip, he cut the engine, rubbed his bleary eyes, and stared at the flashing neon VACANCY sign above the door to the dark office.
He got out and rang the bell, wondering if he'd taken the investigation far enough, hoping the planned searches would yield something more tangible. Without it, the district attorney might balk at prosecuting a case based purely on circumstantial evidence. He'd feel a hell of a lot better about the chances for conviction with clear- cut proof of Linda's guilt in hand.
In the morning, Kerney held back the Langsford affidavit and got approval for the other search warrants. He sent an agent by plane to Dallas to pick up Penelope Gibben, where she was attending a business meeting, and bring her home. He detailed another agent to pick up Kay Murray, who was sitting in jail pending her preliminary hearing on drug dealing and armed robbery, and take her to her town house. Two more went to the corporate
