Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [15]
‘‘You think somebody was with him?’’
‘‘That’s what we want to talk with you about. You might know.’’
She thought, and said nothing.
‘‘Look, Beth. You got any dope here?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Don’t lie, kid. Not worth it. You got enough here for us to bust you for intent?’’
‘‘No. Enough for four, five joints. That’s it.’’
‘‘Look, before we go any further, let me advise you of your rights. Now, I know you’re not under arrest, but I just want you to know what your rights are.’’
She nodded, and I recited the Miranda warning to her. Gave her just a few seconds to think, but with that official droning in the background, it sort of encouraged her to cooperate. I had her telling the truth, with reservations, about the dope. She might have a bit more, but it wasn’t likely. And she and I both knew that what she did have was not the point.
I finished Miranda.
‘‘So,’’ I said. ‘‘Who did it?’’
She thought for a second. ‘‘It had to be Johnny Marks.’’
‘‘Johnny Marks?’’ I didn’t have the faintest idea who Johnny Marks was.
‘‘Yes. He owned the plants, and Howie was tendin’ for him. That’s why he had to go back after yesterday, ’cause if Johnny Marks thought he’d blown the patch, he’d kill him. Howie didn’t believe that. But it’s true. He doesn’t like Howie anyway. Johnny Marks is a mean dude. Howie hates him, but he’s scared . . . he was scared.’’ She started to cry. Just a little.
‘‘You want a minute?’’
‘‘No.’’ Sniff. ‘‘No, I’m fine.’’ She looked back at us, and her face suddenly looked like she had a cramp in it. More tears.
‘‘Where can we find this Johnny Marks?’’
She got control again. ‘‘Probably his place. Up the hill, out on the highway. The new apartments.’’
Upscale. Interesting.
‘‘What’s he do?’’
‘‘Dealer.’’
‘‘I sort of guessed that.’’
She giggled through her tears. ‘‘No, he’s a dealer. On the Sunshine Queen.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ A card dealer. The Sunshine Queen was a riverboat, and since Iowa had enabled riverboat gambling, the Sunshine Queen had adopted Freiberg as a home port. Good for the economy, but she brought four hundred new people into the area, few of which we’d had time to get to know.
‘‘My mistake, Beth,’’ I said. ‘‘What can you tell me about him?’’
She took a deep breath. ‘‘He scares me. He’s always coming trying to make Howie mad. He hits on me in front of Howie. Grabs my tits and everything. Just to let Howie know who’s boss.’’
‘‘Nice man,’’ said Hester.
Beth really looked at Hester for the first time. Liked what she saw, apparently, because I was suddenly out of the loop.
‘‘He’s a fuckin’ prick,’’ she spat. ‘‘Last week, he comes up while Howie’s here, he lifts up my fuckin’ shirt, for Christ’s sake. He says, ‘You got good tits. You clean up a little, you can go someplace.’ Right in front of Howie.’’
‘‘What did Howie do?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Nothin’. I mean, what could he do?’’
‘‘Oh,’’ said Hester, ‘‘a couple of things.’’
‘‘Not Howie.’’ Beth paused. ‘‘Look, I know Howie isn’t worth a shit. Wasn’t.’’ She shook it off, and continued. ‘‘But he wasn’t bad, you know? Not bad. Not mean.’’ She chuckled sadly. ‘‘Not worth a shit, you know? But he was nice.’’
‘‘That counts,’’ said Hester.
‘‘He even knew I was sleeping with Hemmie, you know? Only a few times, and all . . . He cared, honest. But he loved me.’’ That was the final straw. She broke down in sobs.
Nan came rushing back in, ready to fight for her friend. ‘‘What you doin’ to her?’’
‘‘Nothing,’’ said Beth, through heavy tears. ‘‘They didn’t do nothing.’’
‘‘We’ll go on the porch for a minute,’’ said Hester.
‘‘O-o-o-kay,’’ sobbed Beth.
We got on the porch. It was a little hotter, but the air was a lot fresher.
‘‘Shit.’’
‘‘What?’’ I asked, trying not to step on a two-year-old who was in hot pursuit of a small kitten.
‘‘Oh, I hate it when that happens,’’ said Hester. ‘‘You get the tension going in her, and then she cries. All the tension is gone, you have to start from