Winning Texas (20 page)

While technicians strapped the gurney into the hearse for transport to the county
’
s morgue, Matt stepped away. He hugged Annie and clapped Travis on the shoulder. His professional behavior gave no indication that he and Annie had spent most of the previous evening together.

“
Terrible,
”
he said.
“
Met him a few times when he subbed for you, Travis. Seemed like a decent reporter and a real good kid.
”

“
What can you tell us?
”
Travis said, flicking on his IPhone
’
s tape recorder.

“
We think he died early this morning, maybe about 1 a.m. Clobbered in the back of the head two or three times with something heavy, maybe a lug wrench. Probably looking for his car key when somebody sneaked up behind him.
”

Annie, queasy and weak, could barely get the words out. But she had to know.

“
Do you think he suffered?
”

“
Doubt if he knew what hit him,
”
he said.
“
Don
’
t dwell on that, just focus on what we can do to get to the bottom of it.
”

“
Of course, Matt.
”

“
What was he doing here, other than the obvious?
”

“
We
’
d eaten at Ninfa
’
s on Navigation and he said he wanted to check out this club,
”
Travis said.
“
He was investigating the topless industry, especially Kyle Krause
’
s clubs.
”

Matt knew that, of course, but he didn
’
t let on. He nodded and took notes.

“
Nate wanted to profile Krause, but hadn
’
t been able to pin him down for an interview,
”
Annie said.
“
He
’
d been leaving him messages, but also hoped to run into him at one of the clubs.
”

“
A janitor who came in an hour ago called us when he found the body,
”
Matt said.
“
Said he
’
d also called Krause. He let it slip that the big man was here last night.
”

“
What
’
re you going to do?
”
Travis said.

“
He
’
s coming down to headquarters in a few hours to talk to us,
”
Matt said.
“
Of course, he denies knowing anything about it.
”

He flipped through his notes quickly as Annie and Travis waited. She looked around, taking in the tawdry setting of Nate
’
s killing. The back parking lot was separated from a neighborhood of dilapidated, one-story houses built in the 1950s by a wooden privacy fence with some slats missing. The fence stretched across several of the strip center
’
s businesses with room for about fifty cars. Banana trees grew above the fence and several large trash bins behind the club overflowed with beer cans and kitchen garbage. A morning breeze rippled through the air and she nearly gagged from the combined odor of rotting food and refinery gases, making her sick headache more miserable.

“
Don
’
t jump to conclusions,
”
Matt said.
“
We found his wallet beside him with his ID intact, but no cash. Maybe he was jumped by a drunk, or someone hanging around looking for easy money.
”

Annie could feel him looking at her.

“
Did he have any enemies?
”

“
I don
’
t think so,
”
Annie said, tears welling up again.
“
He was so young and he
’
d barely lived here a year. I don
’
t think he had any serious attachments, do you, Travis?
”

“
No,
”
Travis replied in a wavering voice.
“
He went to some of the gay bars occasionally to meet people, but he rarely went home with anyone. He was really serious about his work. Wanted to do big stories. He was one of the most dedicated reporters I
’
ve ever met.
”

“
Anything else?
”
Matt said, closing his notebook.
“
Got to get back to the office.
”

“
Can I call you later?
”
Travis asked.
“
I
’
d like to hear what Kyle Krause says for himself.
”

“
May not be able to tell you much, but sure. Call me.
”

“
Travis, I
’
ll see you back in the newsroom,
”
Annie said. Matt took her aside, squeezed her hand and said he
’
d call later.

She stopped on her way to the newspaper office to get a sausage biscuit and coffee at a drive-in restaurant, hoping that a full stomach would make her head feel better. But she couldn
’
t keep the food down, vomiting in the grass beside her car in the parking lot. She wiped her mouth and gargled some ice water from a plastic cup. That awful day when she found out her friend Maddy had been killed the night before in a car wreck came back to her in a rush. They
’
d thought briefly that it was a terrible accident, but soon suspected that she
’
d been murdered. In Nate
’
s case, there was no doubt. A promising young reporter
’
s life had been snuffed out in the back of a tawdry strip center. She had no idea why.

She shuffled disconsolately into the office. In the cavernous newsroom, it was mercifully quiet, as it usually was on a Saturday morning. She was able to unearth a personnel file on Nate. She looked through it for a few minutes, stopping in the middle of reading his personal essay to go to the ladies room and wash her tear-stained face. He
’
d had such great potential as a reporter and the right kind of ambition, to do stories that would change lives.

She picked up the phone with a trembling hand, willing herself to remain calm. Then she dialed the number she
’
d found for his parents in Waco. It rang three times and a female voice came on. She swallowed hard.

“
Is this Mrs. Hardin?
”
She asked.
“
This is Annie Price, Nate
’
s supervisor at the
Houston Times
. I
’
m very sorry to have to call you. Can you put Mr. Hardin on, too?
”

CHAPTER 20

Kyle Krause sat in a glassed-in interrogation room at the downtown police station waiting for Matt Sharpe, the detective he
’
d been told was assigned to the case. With him at the table was his high-priced lawyer, Ben Bauer. Despite charging what Krause considered exorbitant fees and a glib slickness that irritated him, Bauer had helped him out of plenty of messy situations, and he appreciated that Bauer, like him, was of German-Texas stock.

Krause couldn
’
t believe his bad luck. Why had he picked last night to go to the Gulf Freeway club after successfully avoiding Nate Hardin for two weeks? He hated reporters and tried to dodge them, though Juliana had nagged him about learning to use the media. He was convinced that the newspaper was out to destroy his clubs, always picking at some niggling violation, like the bouncers being too rough, or the dancers not always wearing pasties to cover their nipples. The night that the cops closed down Carla Carmine
’
s show at the North Freeway club was the latest outrage. He
’
d probably have to pay a $10,000 fine for that clear case of police overreaction. He believed that some prohibitions in the strip club world were necessary, but he rarely passed up a chance to flout what he considered the stupid rules. The state
’
s Alcohol Beverage Control officers had it in for him, he was sure. Rick
’
s Cabaret never seemed to get bad press
–
his swaggering competitor was regarded as a hometown hero just because it was listed on the NASDAQ.

The recent explosion at his San Antonio gas emporium was another piece of rotten luck. His friend Sam Wurzbach was convinced it was payback from the secessionists for giving money to the German-Texas movement. Sam was probably right, though he tended to overreact at times. Luckily the two of them had managed to hush up key details of the explosion, with the local authorities blaming the significant damage on a simple gas leak. His insurance would cover most of it, but it was still a setback. Business would suffer while the building was being repaired. And he wondered whether the loony secessionists would attack his clubs next, or his home. Who knew what they were capable of? But he wasn
’
t backing off his support of German Texas. As his mother used to say, in for a penny, in for a pound.

Still he was nervous, jiggling one foot as he and Bauer waited for the tardy detective. His restlessness wasn
’
t lost on his disapproving lawyer, sitting beside him in a fresh-looking seersucker suit.

“
Kyle, do yourself a favor,
”
Bauer said.
“
Don
’
t act hostile when Sharpe questions you.
”

“
Are you kidding?
”
Krause said.
“
I can
’
t believe I
’
m even here. Why do I have to put up with this?
”

“
A kid died in the parking lot behind your building. You
’
d better come across as cooperative. Think about acting like you
’
re sorry.
”

Krause opened his mouth to say something, saw a big man in a well-worn navy sports jacket and khakis striding toward the glass door, and lapsed into quiet. He thought he recognized the cop from the night Carla
’
s show was busted. Damn, he just couldn
’
t catch a break.

Matt Sharpe settled himself across the table from Krause, stared at him for a few measured beats, then took out a folder containing a fresh legal pad and starting writing. He switched on a tape recorder.

“
Mr. Krause, we appreciate you coming in. I
’
m taping this interview for clarity. Understand you were at the Gulf Freeway club last night?
”

“
Yeah, I visit all my clubs at least once a week,
”
Krause said, trying but failing to sound friendly.

“
Several people saw you talking to Nate Hardin, the young reporter found dead early this morning.
”

“
He stopped by my table and we talked a little.
”

“
Was this the first time you
’
d met him?
”

“
Uh, I guess. He
’
d left me some phone messages.
”

“
Did you call him back?
”
The cop
’
s eyebrows had flown up a notch.

“
No, I didn
’
t know what he wanted,
”
Krause said, regretting he
’
d let slip about the messages.
“
I don
’
t talk to reporters much.
”

“
Can you describe your conversation last night?
”

“
He wanted to interview me about my clubs. I told him I didn
’
t see the point.
”

“
Several people we talked to from the club said it looked like a tense conversation.
”

Krause wondered who
’
d squealed to the cop.
“
I said he was welcome to look around the premises. I just asked him not to bug my employees and friends. I told him to call me back during business hours.
”