Marcie's Murder (16 page)

“I like the bikers,” Karen said as they waited for their food. “
Have they run
the plates
yet
?”

Hank shook his head. “
I don’t know
.”

“
People
around here
are like something out of a cartoon
.”

“It’s a different pace
.”

“I’d go fucking nuts if I was stuck here,” Karen said. “It’d be like having your brain sucked out of your head and put in a jar
in a laboratory hidden off in the hills. Then nuclear war strikes, civilization’s wiped out, the hillbillies take over, and you sit there, a brain in a jar, waiting for humanity to reinvent the wheel so they can get a fucking move on and rediscover your hidden lab and plant you back into a body so you can do something constructive instead of floating in pickle juice for eternity staring at the wall.”

Hank
looked
at her. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Well, how
would
you like to be stuck here doing fuck all while time marches on?”

“I don’t know. The peace and quiet might be nice
for a
change.”

“Give me a fucking break. You’d be insane in a week.”
She stopped talking as their orders arrived. Hank bit into his club sandwich. It was very good. Some kind of subtle flavor he couldn’t quite place.

“Jeez,” Karen mumbled through a mouthful of steak sandwich, “this is really good.
What is it with this
town
and food?
Anyway,
I can see the bikers getting too rough with her and then taking off.”

“
Hall
will
check it out
,” Hank agreed, “but it’s a little fuzzy. Granted, they were bikers, but they
came off
more like businessmen in transit to some kind of convention or something.
The stereotype’s changing.
”

Karen snorted
and took another bite
.

Hank lifted the lid on his club sandwich, took a dab of mayo on his fingertip and tasted it carefully. “Capers,” he said. “And sun
-
dried tomatoes.”

“You did what?”

“Puréed into the mayo. It’s really good.”

“So the bikers are fuzzy, you think. What else have we got at this point? Other than Brother Charles, of course. We have two eyewitnesses placing him at the scene
,
the guy in the back and little
Debbie
,
and he’s
admitted to Branham he was there
.
He just wouldn’t say who he was going to meet.
”

“What
’
s your take on him?” Hank asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know, I really don’t. I expected a creepazoid nut case but he seem
s
pretty level-headed. Didn’t quote a bunch of scripture,
didn’t try to convert us,
didn’t act condescending and know-it-all, like God was his special buddy and we were dog shit on his sandal. Didn’t panic at the thought of being arrested but didn’t like the idea, either.” She shrugged, sandwich poised an inch from her lips. “
He d
oesn’t seem to fit for it
.”

Hank thought for a moment.
“We need to work from the victim
.”

“Minefield,” Karen mumbled,
chewing
.

“Apparently. How far do you think Branham
w
ill be willing to go?”

Karen swallowed and took a swig of coffee before answering.
“Pretty far, I guess. He wants to be chief, but he’s not the kind of guy who’ll stab
his boss
in the back
.
I’d say he’s an honest cop who won’t
sweep anything under the carpet
.”

“So he’ll support Hall if he works the victimology,” Hank said.

“He’d probably have a heart attack if Hall worked anything. Guy must have a liver like a bar sponge.”

Hank said nothing, finishing his sandwich.

“We’ve got almost none of the basics yet,” Karen
grumbled
. “Autopsy’s supposed to be today, so hopefully
that’ll fill in some blanks
.
”

“Maybe Branham would be willing to call and get a verbal from the medical examiner when it’s done.”

“Worth a try. He
needs to get
those
goddamned reports from
the
s
heriff’s
o
ffice.”

“And Hall
needs to
call the
s
tat
e police
and
get them to put out a BOLO on
the bikers.”

They finished their meal and went
back
to the c
ash register. It was Hank’s turn, so he pulled out his wallet as the middle-aged brunette rang up their bill.

“Are you Annie?” Hank asked, handing her
cash
.

“In the flesh,” she smiled, setting his
money
on the top of the till and pulling out his change.

“Excellent club sandwich, Annie,” he said. “Never tasted mayo done that way.”

She gave him his change and looked at him, head tilted to one side. “What do you think was in it?”

“Capers and sun-dried tomatoes,” he said.

“Correct!” she grinned. “Congratulations, you’ve won a free copy of my self-published cook book,
Annie’s Best
.” She took a spiral
-
bound book from a pile next to the cash register and handed it to him.

He accepted it, puzzled. “
Th
anks.”

“Gemmie and I have a little contest going,” she explained, glancing at the teenager
in the kitchen
who was wiping her hands on her apron and smiling at Hank. “Anyone who can correctly identify the secret ingredients of the day wins a prize.”

Karen looked around Hank’s arm at the cook book.
“Will
it teach him how to boil water
?
He’s dangerous in a kitchen.”

“You don’t cook?” Annie asked Hank.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, but Merry does,” Karen said. “His
girlfriend.
”

“She does?”

“
Friend
,” Hank said.
He
flipped
through the cook book. “She’s an outstanding cook. She’ll love this. She loves to try new things.”

“My website’s on the bac
k cover,” Annie said. “When she tries a few recipes
ask her to
send me an e
-
mail.
Or she can tweet me on Twitter.
I’d love to get her feedback.”

Hank closed the cook book. “Thanks.”

Karen laughed when they were out on the sidewalk heading for the
Grand Cherokee
. “
W
ebsite
!
Twitter!
”

“She’s probably trying to generate
reviews
,” Hank said. “Marketing. Draw people in off the highway.”

“Whatever.
It’s hilarious!
”

They drove back to the station
and w
ent in
side
to find Hall sitting at his desk staring at his computer screen. He looked no better than he had an hour ago.

“Is Branham in?” Karen asked.

Hall nodded.

“Well, look alive,
Hoppy
. He needs to call about the autopsy and he needs to call the
s
heriff
for
the crime scene reports.”

Hall sighed, pushed away from his desk, and stood up.
He walked across the room and stuck his head into Branham’s office, Karen and Hank right behind him.

“Got a
minute
?”

Branham was typing something on his computer. He waved them in, finished what he was typing
,
and swung around to face them. “What’s
happening
?”

“Update time,” Karen said from the doorway. Hall had taken the only visitor’s chair in Branham’s office
.
Hank moved to the far side of the office to lean on the top of a filing cabinet. Karen
leaned against the doorframe.
“Where’s your
c
hief?”

Branham shrugged. “Out.”

“Heard from the autopsy yet?”

“It was being conducted this morning.”

“Maybe the ME will give you a verbal.”

He looked at her for a moment and then nodded. “He might.” He picked up the telephone and looked expectantly at Hall, who recited from memory the telephone number of the western district office of the Virginia Department of Health in Roanoke, where the autopsy was being conducted. Branham dialed the number, explained what he wanted, was put
on
hold, explained again what he wanted, was put on hold again, explained what he wanted a third time, listened, gave his name and telephone number, said thanks, and hung up.

“Dr. Oliver Bailey’s the forensic pathologist performing the autopsy
,” he
said
.
“
It’s
just wrapping up
.
I
f I call again in
fifteen
minutes
Bailey wi
ll
probably be willing to
talk
to me about it.”

“And still no reports from Tazewell about the crime scene?” Karen prompted.

Branham picked up the phone again. This time he punched in the number without consulting Hall.

“Pooch, how’s it going?”

Karen
looked at Hank and
rolled her eyes
,
mouth
ing
Pooch?

“Not bad, not bad,” Branham was saying. “Listen, I need you to fax your reports to me now.” He listened for a moment. “I thought that’s where they
’
d be, but I need the info ASAP. Could you ask his secretary to fax them?” He
closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he
listened. “Could you
at least walk me through the findings?”

“Christ,” Hall muttered.

“I appreciate it. Look, I’m going to put you on speaker. I’ve got Hall with me, and also Detective Stainer and Lieutenant Donaghue. No, he’s not. Yes, they’ve agreed to consult informally with Detective Hall. Yeah, I hear you.
Uh huh.
All right, you’re on.”

He punched the speaker button and cradled the headset. “Can you hear me now?”

“I hear you,” a gruff voice said. “Afternoon, Hall.”

“
Detective
,” Hall replied flatly.

Branham leaned back in his chair. “Detective Stainer, Lieutenant Donaghue, this is Detective Clarence Muncy of the Tazewell County Sheriff’s Office. He’s been assigned to the Askew case and has agreed to share his findings with us while the paperwork, uh, clears the
s
heriff’s desk.”

“
Detective
Muncy,” Hank said
,
“
this is Donaghue.
You work with your forensics team, do you?”

“You could say that.”

“
So
you’ll make sure my firearm and the rest of my belo
ngings are returned to me today
.”

“Uh, we’ll have to see about that.”

“Pooch,” Branham said quickly, “the
l
ieutenant was brought in
because
of mistaken identity and has been cleared. He’s agreed to stick around and help out, and we really appreciate it. He and Detective Stainer have a ton of experience in homicide investigation and we’d be nuts not to take advantage of it. I’d consider it a favor if you’d release his things and send them up
right away
.”

“I’m already doing you
one
favor,” Muncy said.

“Then call it two favors
.”

“Sure,” Muncy said. “Whatever you say.”

“You were going to give us a verbal walkthrou
gh of the crime scene findings
,” Hank
prompted
.

“I’ve got the reports in front of me now, Neil,” Muncy said. “Physical evidence found at the scene included twelve footprints of two different sizes, size eleven men’s shoes, brand unknown, size nine men’s, brand unknown. You may remember a rainfall
moved through the area
a couple days ago
, so
the ground
’s still
a little soft in spots. I’m going down the list from the evidence log. A button, dark green,
an
inch across, matched the buttons on the shoulder straps of the vic’s dress. Three gum wrappers, Trident brand, empty cigarette package, Camel brand, discarded wad of gum, fast food wrapper, Burger King, blah blah, bunch of other stuff.”