Marcie's Murder (15 page)

“Burgoo, huh?” Hank sniffed at the steam rising from the kettle. “You don’t have any squirrel in here, do you?”

“
Of course not
,” she laughed. “Mawmaw gets that gamey
flavor from mutton, not squirrel. There’s veal, pork
,
and chicken in there, too. I cooked the meats up yesterday and I’m adding the veggies today. It takes
about
ten hours to make, so I split
the cooking
into two days.”

Hank plucked a wooden spoon from a mason jar filled with utensils. “May I?”

“Help yourself.”

He sampled some of the stock. “Oh yeah. That tastes good. You’ve already added the cayenne.”

“Some. The rest goes in as soon as I put the vegetables in. ‘Season as you go,’ Mawmaw says.”

“
Amen to that
. This is really good. Your grandmother would be proud.”

“Thanks.
Wait 'til it’s done
.
”

Hall was sitting sideways at her kitchen table with his head in his hand. The smell of food was clearly not as appealing to him as it was to Hank.
“We want to ask you a few questions about Saturday night
.
You were working at the bar when Marcie Askew was murdered, that right?”

Debbie
nodded
, chopping a carrot
.

Karen sat down at the end of the table.
“And they sent you home before the responding officers had a chance to talk to you.”

“Mr. Bickell
said
something happened and he was closing up. He told
me
to go right home, so I did.”

“Well, we’re going to have that
talk
now. Can you tell us who was in the place late, say
eleven-thirty
on?”

“Sure.” She hesitated for a moment. “Can I see your identification again?”

Karen opened her mouth to say something
sharp
when
Debbie
’s tone registered. She fished the leather
wallet
out of the inside pocket of her jacket, flipped it open
,
and held it
up
.

Debbie
put down her knife and came around to stand next to Karen
, taking
the
wallet
. Karen
watched as she pored over the gold badge and identification card inside.

“This is
unbelievable
,”
Debbie
said. “A real homicide detective.
Incredible.
Rache would freak.” She gave the
wallet
back to Karen. “She’s a criminal justice major
and wants to be a cop real bad.”

“Well, she drives like one,” Karen said. “That’s a start.”

“I’m a business major,”
Debbie
went on, “but we help each other study for exams so I feel like I know almost as much as she does about abnormal psychology, theories of social deviance
,
and all that stuff she take
s
. She’d just die to talk to you, you know, to ask you what it’s like to be a woman in law enforcement. To know what she’s facing out there.”

“Are those her shooting trophies?” Karen asked, looking up at the top of the cupboards.

“They sure are. She’s a gun nut and she wins all kinds of competitions.”

“Then she’ll
probably
be
just
fine,” Karen said. “
R
un us through the customers you remember from Saturday night.”

“I remember you, right off,”
Debbie
said to Hank. “Mary served you. Did you talk to her
yet
?”

“Yeah,” Karen said, “but she didn’t remember him.”

Debbie
shrugged. “She’s
middle-aged and
married, which is like being dead.” She smiled at Hank, looking at his
left
hand. “You’re not married, are you?”

“He’s old enough to be your father,” Karen said, disgusted. “Who else was there?”

Debbie
grinned
. “
L
et’s see. Dav
ey
was there.
S
itting at the bar?
A little overweight, never talks?
His last name’s Toler, I think. He’s a regular, almost every night. Mr. Bickell told me his dad’s a farmer.”

“Eric Toler,” Hall said
, massaging his eyes
.

“Are you okay?”
Debbie
asked.

“
Headache.
What time did
Toler
leave?”

“When Mr. Bickell closed it down
, around
one forty-five
.”

“See him go outside at any time and then come back in?” Karen asked.

“No.”

“All right. Go on.”

“Mr. Fink was there,”
Debbie
said. “He comes in a few nights a week, sits at the same table by himself. I think he’s a construction worker or something.”

“Henry Fink,” Hall said.

“Yes.”

“
Y
ou
’re
from Kentucky
?” Hank asked
Debbie
.

“Me?
Yes,
from Belfry
.
That’s a
tiny
little place i
n Pike County
, not so far from here
.
”

“
What year are you in
?”

“I’m a
junior
. Oh, I get it. You’re wondering how come I know these people.
It’s something I picked up from one of Rache’s courses, actually. Something about how police officers should get to know the people in the area where they work. The regulars
o
n their beat. I thought it sounded like a good principle to follow in business, too, so I’ve been practicing. I remembered your face, and now I know your name, and the next time we meet I’ll be able to say ‘hello, Mr. Donaghue.’ Sorry,
Lieutenant
Donaghue. Anyway, you know what I mean. It makes an impression on business clients when you remember their names and something about them.”

“I’m sure it does,” Hank said.
“So, Henry Fink.” He looked at Hall.

“Forty-six,
a carpenter and contractor
,” Hall recited, “Ace Construction
. H
as a
n
apartment
on
Poplar Street.
Divorced.
I could go on.”

“Wow,”
Debbie
said.

Hall
grimaced
. “What time did Fink leave?”

“When we closed.”

“Who else do you remember?”
Karen asked.

“Three guys at a table
.
I s
ee them
together
a couple nights a week. They take turns paying and use credit cards. Matt Shumate is one, Joseph Wall is another, and, oh damn, I can’t remember the third guy’s name.”

They all looked at Hall.

“Shumate
’
s
thirty-seven
, lives on Harper Road just outside of town. He’s a metal worker at the big plant in Bluefield.” Hall sat up a little straighter.
“
Joe Wall
’
s
thirty-eight
and a shift foreman at the same plant.
The third guy probably also works there.”

“Allen,”
Debbie
said.

“First or last name?” Hall asked.

“Last name. I’m
sorry;
I can’t remember his first name.”

“That’s all right.” He
realized
Hank and Karen
were
staring at him. “
D
on’t know him.”

“What a letdown,” Karen said. “When did these guys leave
,
when Bickell sent everybody home
?
”

Debbie
nodded.

“Anyone else?”

“There were two guys who came in and sat at the bar. One guy had a bushy beard, a ponytail and a lot of tattoos, and the other guy had one of those big long mustaches, a
brush
cut
and the same kind of tattoos.”

“
The b
ikers
,
” Hank
said
.

“Ye
ah
. They left a few minutes after you did.”

“Anyone else
?
”

“No.”

“No? You sure?”

She thought for a moment and then her eyes went wide. “Wait, of course. Professor Morris was there. Not very long, but I saw him Saturday night, that’s right.”

“Professor Morris?”

“Ye
ah
, he’s one of Rache’s instructors. I think she’s a little sweet on him.”

“David Morris?”

“
Yeah
.”

Hank looked at Hall, who nodded. It confirmed Hall’s
previous
assumption
that the forty-something guy in the black sport jacket and jeans
Hank had mentioned
had been David Morris,
the
former chief of police.

“What about a guy with a beard who might have looked like a priest or something?” Karen asked. “Big like him,” nodding at Hank, “but a bushier beard, longer face, hooked nose, hair not as curly.”

“Not as good looking,”
Debbie
said, smiling. “Yeah, I saw him just for a minute. He stuck his head in the door, looked around and left again. Didn’t sit down or anything.”

“When was that?”

“I’m not sure.
Around midnight
?”

“Know the guy?” Karen asked.

Debbie
shook her head. “Haven’t seen him before.”

“But you remember him.”

“
I’m
practic
ing
. When I see a face for the first time I try to commit it to memory right away along with a key word or something to remind me where I saw it first.”

“And the key word for this guy?”

She blushed. “Goober.”

Karen guffawed. “Goober?”

“G for Gerry’s,” she explained, “and goober because he looked like one.”

“For cryin’ out loud,” Karen said.

They question
ed
her for several
more
minutes without learning anything else of use. Karen gave her a business card and they
went back downstairs
.

Outside on the sidewalk
Hank turned to Hall. “Maybe your uniforms could interview these people, check them out.”

Hall nodded.

Karen looked at her watch. “
Damned if that didn’t smell good in there
.”

“Lunch
,
”
Hank said.

“As long as they don’t put squirrels in it,” Karen said.

1
3

Hall didn’t feel like eating anything, which surprised no one, so they dropped him off at the station and drove back down Bluefield Street. Hank parked the car at the curb, fed a
couple of
quarter
s
into the parking meter, and they walked down to a small restaurant called Ann
i
e’s Diner. It had a dozen wooden tables and chairs, a counter at the back for
the cash
register
and
take out, and décor that featured antique tins, crocks
,
and vintage toys.
There was one other customer in the place, a heavy-set guy in a green work shirt and matching trousers who sat along one wall with his back to the room. He was eating a hamburger. The only two other people in the restaurant, from what Hank could see
, were
a middle-aged brunette who came up to their table and a teenaged girl in the kitchen area.

Hank ordered a club sandwich with extra mayo and a large Coke
.
Karen ordered a steak sandwich, fries
,
and coffee.