The Narrows - Michael Connelly [100]
“Somebody said he was probably queer or something,” Mecca added.
“Why did they say that?”
“’Cause he lived like a hermit or something,” Mecca replied. “An’ he never wanted no pussy even though Tawny would’ve thrown him some on the house like with the other drivers.”
“Are there a lot of drivers?”
“He was the only one from around here,” Tammy said quickly, apparently not liking Mecca in the lead. “The others come up from Vegas. Some of ’em work for the casinos.”
“If there are drivers down there, how come somebody would hire Tom to go all the way down and get them?”
“They didn’t,” Mecca said.
“Sometimes they did,” Tammy corrected.
“Well, sometimes. The dummies. But mostly we called for Tom if somebody got dropped off and stayed awhile or rented one of Old Billings’s trailers and then needed a ride back ’cause his ride was long gone. The casino rides don’t wait around too long. Unless you’re one of those high rollers and then probably . . .”
“And then what?”
“Then you wouldn’t come to Clear in the first place.”
“They got prettier girls in Pahrump,” Tammy said matter-of-factly, as if it was strictly a business disadvantage and not something that bothered her personally.
“An’ it’s a bit closer an’ the pussy costs more,” Mecca said. “So what we get up in Clear is your cost-conscious consumer.”
Spoken like a true marketing expert. I tried to get the conversation back on track.
“So, for the most part, Tom Walling came over and drove customers back to Las Vegas or wherever they came from.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
“And these guys—these customers—could have been totally anonymous. You don’t check IDs, right? The customers could use whatever name they wanted when they came in there.”
“Uh-huh. Unless they look like maybe they ain’t twenty-one yet.”
“Right. We check the ID of the young ones.”
I could see how it could be done, how Backus could have sized up brothel customers as his victims. If it appeared they had taken measures to guard their identities and hide that they had made the trip to Clear, then they had inadvertently made themselves perfect victims. It also played into what was known about the demons that drove his killing spree. The profile work in the Poet file indicated that Backus’s pathology was wrapped up in his relationship with his father, a man who on the outside held the vaunted image of FBI agent, hero and good man, but on the inside was a man who abused his wife and son to the extent that one fled the home because she could, while the one who couldn’t get away was left to retreat into a world of fantasies involving the killing of his abuser.
I realized there was something missing. Lloyd Rockland, the victim who had rented a car. How did he fit in if he didn’t need a driver?
I opened the file Rachel had left in the car and pulled out the photo of Rockland. I showed it to the women.
“This guy, do either of you recognize him? His name was Lloyd.”
“Was?” Mecca asked.
“Yeah, that’s right, was. Lloyd Rockland. He’s dead. Do you recognize him?”
Neither of them did. I knew it was a long shot. Rockland disappeared in 2002. I tried to think of an explanation that would allow Rockland to fit into the theory.
“You serve alcohol in there, right?”
“If the customer wants it we can provide it,” Mecca said. “We got a license.”
“Okay, what happens when a guy drives all the way up from Vegas and gets too drunk to drive home?”
“He can sleep it off,” she responded. “He can take a room if he pays for it.”
“What if he wants to get back? What if he needs to get back?”
“He can call over here and the mayor will take care of it. The driver will take him back in his car and then the driver just catches a ride back like with one of the casino cars or something. It works out.”
I nodded. It worked out for my theory as well. Rockland could have gotten drunk and had to be driven back by the driver, Backus. Only he wasn’t driven back to Vegas. I knew I would have to ask Rachel to check the remains identified as Rockland’s for a high alcohol level. It would be another confirmation.
“Mister, are we gonna