Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [113]
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Or the guy who was with Gabriel,’’ I said, starting to rummage through my papers again. . . .
‘‘Wittman,’’ she said, helpfully.
Well, thank you, God.
‘‘Nice,’’ said Miller. ‘‘Very nice. But I want to advise my client to stop talking at this point.’’
‘‘She’s not incriminating herself,’’ said Hester, ‘‘but if that’s what you want . . .’’
‘‘Time to stop,’’ said Miller.
‘‘I never should have said Connie’s name, you mean?’’ asked Nola.
Connie. Well, thanks to stress, we now had what might be the first name of Wittman. All right!
‘‘Thank you both,’’ I said. ‘‘I have no interest in seeing anybody railroaded. If you need to know anything, just ask us.’’ That was directed at Nola, but intended as much for Miller. He was going to need a bargain.
Just as we were finding our way out, I saw Herman Stritch being ushered into another interview room, which contained Volont and another man. Volont looked up as we went by. I couldn’t resist. I smiled and gave him a discreet wave.
Connie Wittman was our first order of business. We called the Nation County Sheriff’s Department, and got Sally, bless her. We had her start running driver’s license information in the form of a fifty-state inquiry. All we had for her was a partial name. We thought Connie might be short for Constantine. Hester, who was the only one who had even glimpsed the man, thought he’d been about five feet ten, and light. He had to be over twenty, and likely under sixty-five.
‘‘You’ve got to be kidding,’’ said Sally. ‘‘Can’t it be a little more vague?’’
‘‘Sorry, but that’s about all we have until I can get back up there and start going over some of the other stuff, and maybe talk to Melissa.’’
‘‘It’s way outside parameters,’’ she said. ‘‘State’ll get pissed.’’
‘‘Explain it’s part of our murder investigation,’’ I said.
‘‘Yeah, right. Maybe to their supervisor.’’
‘‘Do what you can. I’ll be up in a couple of hours.’’
‘‘Gonna eat, huh?’’ she asked.
‘‘Never mind,’’ I said.
We’d used Sally and my department because if we’d used Linn County, we figured Volont would have a lot better chance of knowing we were doing the checks. At least, right away. We knew he’d help where he could, but we also knew his sense of security could get in our way in a hurry.
I was so happy overall that I took Hester to a late supper. Most unlike me. We ate in a small restaurant that served excellent seafood. I had nothing breaded. The diet, you know.
I relaxed for the first time in what seemed like months.
‘‘I don’t know why,’’ I said before the entrée, ‘‘but I finally feel like we’re making progress.’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Hester, using her fork to push the little mushroom slices to a far corner of her salad plate. ‘‘Maybe when I can tell you why Johnny Marks was killed, and by whom.’’
We had a fine meal. About the time I was deciding whether or not my mood would justify chocolate cheesecake, Volont walked in. He was persistent, I’ll give him that. Neither Hester nor I had checked out on the radio.
He slid into our booth beside Hester. Obviously, he wanted to talk to me.
‘‘Enjoying your meal,’’ he said. He wasn’t asking. He was commenting.
‘‘Sure am,’’ I said. ‘‘You think we should have the cheesecake?’’
He looked at me for a beat. ‘‘Are you trying to screw this case up on purpose?’’
I’d had it. He was now going to thoroughly ruin my meal, as well as complicate my case. ‘‘I could ask you the same question,’’ I said pleasantly. ‘‘If I really gave a fuck what the answer would be.’’
He was the more mature one at that point. ‘‘We aren’t communicating very well, are we?’’ he asked.
‘‘No,’’ I said, conversationally, ‘‘we aren’t.’’
The waitress chose that moment to ask me if I had made up my mind about the cheesecake.
‘‘Sure,’’ I said, smiling at her. ‘‘Make it three. This gentleman’s going to be here for a bit.’’
Volont started to protest, but I cut him off. ‘‘You want peace, yellow hair, you gotta