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 appreciate 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.