Kerney closed the album, convinced that the camping trip had been used to pass on the family tradition of incest from father to son. He now understood why Linda chose to kill her father at Oliver Lee State Park, and why spilling innocent blood along the way made a kind of cleansing, crazy sense to her.
He looked at the hardback books Lee had entered into evidence. Linda had amassed a small but sophisticated library on crime classification, homicide investigation, scientific evidence in criminal cases, and case studies of violent criminals. Lee had flagged a section in one of the books that outlined the typology and style of the spree killer, which had been heavily underlined.
From a dresser in Linda's bedroom, Lee had removed six individually framed photographs of Linda's parents, siblings, Kay Murray, and Penelope Gibben. On the back of each, with the exception of the Gibben and Murray photographs, were birth and death dates. For Penelope and Kay, birth dates were entered, but the spaces for the dates of death were blank, ready to be filled in.
It was all good incriminating evidence.
Kerney looked at the evidence boxes and stacks of papers taken from Linda's residence. They filled the district headquarters conference room table and spilled over to the floor. He would leave it to Lee and his team to do the tedious analysis and cataloging needed to strengthen the case.
Outside the closed door he could hear banging sounds as folding tables were being set up in the reception area to handle the large volume of evidence collected at the other search sites. He went to find Lee, who was directing the placement of evidence being carted in from the units.
"This is gonna keep us real busy for a while," Lee said.
"You can handle it."
"Are you bailing out on us?"
"As soon as I finish meeting with the district attorney, I'm heading back to Santa Fe."
"You did it, Chief."
Kerney smiled grimly. "We all did it, Lee."
Lee studied Kerney's solemn expression. "Are you okay, Chief?"
"I'm fine. Give the team my thanks for their good work."
He moved out the door and through the parking lot, past an agent who was unloading more evidence. Night had brought a light, cooling rain and the tangy scent of creosote filled the air. He shivered. Not against the chill, but in an attempt to shake off all he'd learned about the Langsford family and would rather never have known.
Slightly disoriented from a dreamless, heavy sleep, Kerney rolled out of bed. It took a minute for him to realize he was back in Santa Fe at his own place and the morning was half gone. He cleaned up, got dressed, drove to work, and tried to make an inconspicuous entrance through a side door. Before he could reach the second-floor landing, half a dozen officers and civilian employees had stopped him to offer congratulations on the Langsford case. A few others in the hallway, probably those unwilling to forget about the Shockley incident, greeted him with tight, curt nods.
He smiled at Andy Baca, who waited for him in the reception area outside his office. Kerney had worn his uniform to work and he watched Andy take in the unusual sight with a look of mock disbelief. In his office, they both sat on the couch that faced Andy's oak desk.
"Lee Sedillo says you've made a strong case," Andy said.
"The DA bought it after he heard the tape recording," Kerney replied.
"He'll take Linda Langsford to trial. But he wasn't happy about prosecuting her without any hard physical evidence or not being able to use Linda's taped confession. He figures the defense will argue insanity."
"Is she?"
Kerney shrugged. "Insane or not, she's a cold-blooded killer. She murdered five people to conceal an act of revenge against her father, killed her mother and brother, and was planning to ice three more, if you include Eric, Kay Murray, and Penelope Gibben."
"Will you be able to arrest her for the murder of her mother and brother?" Andy asked.
"That's hard to say. I've asked the Cold Crimes Unit to reopen the investigations."
"What about Gibben and Murray?" Andy asked.
"I don't know how that will fall out. I'm hoping we can get enough information from the search warrants to at least track down some of Vernon Langsford's other victims. Then it depends on what they tell us."
"If Gibben and Murray didn't procure for Langsford, at the very least they colluded with him."
Kerney nodded in agreement. "There could be conspiracy charges filed."
"Will the DA follow up?"
"That's iffy right now. The perpetrator is dead, it's possible that the statute of limitations has expired, and only Margie Hobeck and Kay Murray have made statements. He's researching case law."
"Have any other victims come forward?"
"Not yet. The news about the case is just breaking, and the department shrink says it may take a while before any of them feel safe enough to want to talk."
"Langsford was a lifetime pedophile with multiple victims. That might win a jury's sympathy," Andy said.
"Sympathy won't wipe the slate clean for the five innocent people she left dead in her wake," Kerney replied. "It's gonna be some trial, that's for sure."
"The really bad guy wasn't brought to justice."
"Getting shot to death by your daughter comes pretty close," Andy said.
"I rather he'd been caught and held accountable."
"We don't execute child molesters in New Mexico," Andy said.
"I wasn't thinking of legal action," Kerney said. "I had something more personal in mind."
Andy recognized the feeling. It had been a case to turn anyone's stomach, no matter how hardened. Kerney had been right in the middle of a dung heap of a family, and squashing Vernon Langsford would have made any cop feel better. "This one got to you, didn't it?"
"Big time."
"What's with the uniform?" Andy asked. "You haven't worn it more than five times in the last year."
"I decided to put it on while I still had the chance," Kerney said, as he pulled at his shirt collar displaying the three stars. "So, you really are leaving."
"Without fanfare."
"No party?"
"No party, no surprises."
Andy went to his desk, returned with a business card, and gave it to Kerney. "The Santa Fe city manager wants you to call him."
"About what?"
"I don't know. He was here for a joint criminal justice planning meeting and left his card with my secretary. You will let Connie and me take you and Sara to dinner before you leave, won't you?"
"As long as you don't get sloppy drunk and maudlin," Kerney said.
"Have I ever?"
"There's always a first time," Kerney said, smiling at Andy, "for both of us."
The thirty days Kerney had promised Andy stretched into two months. On the Friday before his last week at work, Kerney took the day off and drove to Las Cruces, where he met Milton Lynch, the executor of Erma Fergurson's estate, who was ready to close on the sale of Kerney's inherited land to the Nature Conservancy and file final papers with the probate court.
Lynch took Kerney through the paperwork, his back to the picture window in his office that gave a stunning view of the Organ Mountains, and finished up with an accounting of the net proceeds that Kerney would receive after the taxes were paid.
Even with the enormous tax bite and the sale of the land to the Nature Conservancy at below market value, Kerney was about to become a multimillionaire.
"How do you want the funds disbursed?" Lynch asked.
Kerney had consulted a tax attorney and CPA in Santa Fe earlier in the week. He gave Lynch a disbursement schedule for the joint accounts that he'd opened in his and Sara's names.
Lynch studied the schedule. "This is a good mix of conservative and growth investments," he said. "But you really need to buy some real estate fairly soon, and let your tax-free fund pay the monthly principal and interest."
"I plan to do that," Kerney said.
Lynch ran a stubby finger across the line that projected Kerney's annual after-tax income. He noted the amount and asked, "Will this amount adequately provide for you and your wife?"
Kerney laughed. Even after reinvesting most of the expected dividends and interest, his net disposable income was about to become more than double-almost triple-what he'd ever taken home in paychecks during the course of a year.
Lynch's bushy eyebrows flattened into a straight line as he looked up from the papers. "I take that to mean yes."
"Yes," Kerney replied.
"Now there's the matter of Erma's other bequest to you." Lynch rose, crossed to the office closet, and returned holding a wrapped package, which he placed in Kerney's hands.
Kerney tore away the protective paper to find an oil painting by Erma of his family's ranch on the Tularosa, as it had been before the army took the land to expand White Sands Missile Range.
He took the image in as memories of his childhood flooded back: setting new corral fence posts behind the house with his father, painting the eaves and the porch trim with his mother, climbing the nearby windmill in the early morning to watch the sun rise over the Sierra Blanca peaks as it cascaded down to Three Rivers.
"It's wonderful," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Prices for Erma's work have escalated since her death," Lynch said.
"Erma held this piece out of the retrospective of her work shown at the university the year before her death. I've been authorized to ask if you'd like to place it on permanent loan or give it to the university. They'd love to add it to their collection."
"Not a chance," Kerney replied.
"I didn't think so," Lynch said, holding out an envelope. "Here are the two accounts you asked me to set up. Each has the maximum tax-free gift amount you are allowed under the IRS code. You can add the same amount to the accounts annually, if you wish."
"I understand."
"Good luck, Chief Kerney," Lynch said. "I hope you enjoy being a rich man."
Kerney shook Lynch's outstretched hand. "I'll try to get used to it."
"I don't think you'll have any problems."
From a distance, it was a modest house at the end of a dirt lane, made even more unprepossessing by enormous pine trees that dwarfed the structure and allowed only the diffused, fading evening sunlight to filter in. Up close, the house was more substantial in appearance, rectangular and low to the ground with a bright red tin roof over a post-and-beam porch. New metal-clad wood windows had been recently installed, and the porch deck, made of long planks, had been carefully laid and thoroughly weatherproofed.
In a small clearing away from the house, a fenced vegetable garden held the drooping remains of tomato and squash plants killed by frost. A swing and slide set stood under a pine tree next to a sandbox.
Kerney knocked on the front door and Clayton answered, his expression changing quickly from surprise to impassivity.
"What brings you back to Mescalero?" he asked.
"I wanted to give you this," Kerney said, holding out the envelope.
Clayton read the certificates of deposit and with a stunned expression on his face shook his head. "I don't need your money."
"It's not for you; it's for your children's education. The enclosed letter explains everything. Consider it a scholarship fund."
"I don't know any cop who has twenty thousand dollars lying around to give away."
"I can afford it," Kerney said.
He waved the envelope at Kerney. "You really want to do this?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because it pleases me. If you decide not to keep it, send it back to the return address on the letterhead. I hope you won't do that."
Kerney turned to leave.
"Wait."
"What?" Kerney said, swinging back around. Clayton's expression was uncertain.
"You want to give my children money, just like that?"
"Just like that."
"I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," Kerney replied, as he stepped off the porch.
Clayton waved the envelope again. "This is serious money."
"Relax, there aren't any strings attached to it."
Clayton inclined his head toward the open door. "You want to come inside?"
"I can't. I have to meet my wife at the Albuquerque airport."
"Well, maybe you can come down for dinner sometime, with your wife."
"I'd like that."
Clayton nodded. "Okay. I'll call you." The envelope flapped in his hand.
"This is unreal."
A smile crossed Kerney's face as he thought about Erma's fairy-godmother bequest that had made his gift to Clayton's children possible. "It's part of a legacy from an old friend," he said, "and I'm just passing some of it along. I'm sure she would approve."
Sara asked for food and a drink when she got off the plane, preferably enchiladas with lots of green chile, and a margarita. Kerney took her to an Albuquerque Old Town restaurant where the drinks were generous and the chile was hot. They got there just before the kitchen closed and sat at a window booth in the nearly empty bar, which was decorated with Mexican masks, Day of the Dead folk art figures, and bullfighting posters.
As they waited for dinner, Sara nibbled chips dipped in salsa and worked on her drink while Kerney told her about his visit to Clayton.
"Do you think he'll ever be able to emotionally accept you as his father?" Sara asked.
"It's hard to say. With time, we may be able to become casual friends. I doubt it will go much deeper than that."
"You did a very nice thing for his children."
"Compliments of Erma," Kerney said, raising his wineglass.
Sara touched her glass to his. "I'm sure she's pleased. "Now that you're a rich man, what are you going to do with the rest of your money?"
"It's our money," Kerney said, "and I'm hoping you'll get the army to send you to law school, so we can actually live together for a while."
Sara made a face and shook her head. "Law school at the army's expense isn't going to happen. I should have looked into the opportunity years ago. Selection into the program is limited to captains and lieutenants."
"Can an exception be made?"
"The eligibility requirements can't be waived," Sara said.
Disappointment showed on Kerney's face. She reached across the table and stroked his hand. "We'll figure something else out. Maybe I can get posted back to New Mexico after I finish up at Fort Leavenworth."
"What are the chances of that happening?"
"I can ask, and politick for it a bit, but I'll have to go where the army wants to send me."
"Would you mind if Santa Fe remains our home base for a while?" Kerney asked.
"I thought you wanted to get out of Santa Fe."
"The police chief is leaving at the end of the year and the city manager has offered me the position."
"Then Santa Fe it is," Sara said. "You are going to take the job, aren't you?"
Kerney nodded. "It's what I've always wanted."
"So, will we buy or build?"
"Build. On enough land to do something with, like keep a few horses or maybe run a few cows to keep the taxes down."
"Away from the sprawl, I hope."
"Definitely. I'm thinking a hundred acres or a quarter section in the Galisteo Basin would do. The land is pricey, but we can afford it."
"I don't want a trophy home, Kerney."
Kerney laughed. "Will a ranch house serve?"
"Perfect," Sara said, her eyes dancing. "We can work on the plans together. It has to have a nursery and be ready by next summer."
"Are you serious?"
"I am both serious and pregnant."
A waiter pushed through the swinging doors from the kitchen, dinner plates in hand, and paused halfway across the barroom until the couple at the window booth stopped kissing.