Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [16]
I grinned. ‘‘You coldhearted devil.’’
‘‘Yeah. How old is she, anyway? Twenty-four, twentyfive?’’
‘‘Younger than that, I think,’’ I said. ‘‘More like seventeen, eighteen. We gotta meet this Johnny Marks.’’
Hester’s eyes flashed. ‘‘We do.’’
‘‘So it was Howie for sure yesterday.’’
‘‘Sounds like it.’’
‘‘We have to ask her about cammo.’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ She looked over the porch railing. ‘‘We have to ask her whether Marks knew about yesterday. I don’t think he did, but I want to know if Howie had the opportunity to talk with him and spill it.’’
‘‘Was Bill shot with a rifle or a shotgun at close range?’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘How sure are you Bill was shot with a rifle?’’
She thought for a few seconds. ‘‘Just about certain.’’
‘‘Same here. Then how about Howie?’’
‘‘Positive.’’
‘‘Rifle?’’
‘‘Yep.’’
‘‘Okay, me too.’’ I thought again for a few seconds about the wounds I had seen in Bill’s chest. The autopsy would do it for certain, but I didn’t think it could have been a shotgun. Holes too far apart for close range. At more than fifteen feet, they wouldn’t have enough energy to get through the front of the vest, let alone out his back. ‘‘Shit.’’
‘‘There a problem?’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘We haven’t got enough from the scene yet . . . we gotta have a meeting.’’
‘‘Hell,’’ said Hester. ‘‘The poor damn lab crew will be here for a year.’’
‘‘I know.’’ I looked over the back porch rail at the backs of several old houses. The weathered rail had chicken wire stapled to the supports, to keep the two-year-old from falling through, and an unsupported tag end of the wire was stretched across the top of the wooden stair. There were no signs of life except for the wheezing of an old air conditioner, a three-year-old who was picking her nose, and the two-year-old who was curling up in what was apparently the cat’s bed. I wished I still smoked.
Five
WE WENT BACK INSIDE. Beth was a lot calmer, which was unfortunate, at least for us. Nan looked madder at us than ever, and brushed by in a huff, back to the porch and the kids.
‘‘How you doin’?’’ I asked.
‘‘Fine, now. Sorry about that.’’
‘‘That’s all right. Believe me. Say, Beth, just for the record, how old are you?’’
‘‘Seventeen. Almost eighteen.’’
‘‘Gettin’ up there.’’ I grinned at her. ‘‘Damned near old.’’
Hester looked surprised.
‘‘Does Howie have any cammo clothes around here?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘None?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘None.’’
‘‘Thanks,’’ I said. ‘‘Well, so we think that this Johnny Marks was up there today, maybe with a friend?’’
‘‘Yeah . . .’’ said Beth, hesitantly. ‘‘I don’t know . . . I don’t think Johnny Marks would ever go there himself. I really don’t.’’
‘‘Why not?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘He can’t. He can’t be associated with dope at all, or he goes back to the joint for a long time.’’
‘‘I thought he worked on the gambling boat?’’ I said. ‘‘You need a clean record to do that.’’
‘‘Not exactly,’’ said Hester. ‘‘The legislature worded it a little differently. You can’t work the boats for five years after a felony conviction. They thought it meant you had to be clean for five years, but it turns out that it also means that if you get five years in prison, you can be hired the day you walk out the door.’’
‘‘No shit?’’
She nodded.
‘‘Like I said,’’ said Beth, ‘‘he can’t have anything to do with it. So I don’t think he’d be there.’’
‘‘Sure.’’
She sighed. ‘‘Do I need a lawyer?’’
Magic phrase. ‘‘Do you want one? You’re not in custody or anything,’’ said Hester.
‘‘I’m scared of Johnny Marks finding out I talked to you. He’d kill me too.’’
‘‘We can get you to a safe house.’’
‘‘No fuckin’ way! I go there, he knows for sure.’’
‘‘Well, you’re probably right there.’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ she said. She was becoming genuinely afraid.
‘‘Look,’’ said Hester, ‘‘talk to us just a bit longer. This can still be considered routine, in a death case. No suspicion.’’
‘‘And you leave here, and go right up and talk to Johnny Marks, right? Straight to the man, right from me. No, thanks. No, thank you very much!’’
‘‘Now, slow down,’’ said Hester. ‘‘Don’t get all upset over