Acoustic Shadows (14 page)

Thiery finished his pan-seared sea bass and lobster bisque, and marvelled at how scrumptious the food was at this odd out of the way place. Chalet Suzanne was a quirky place; a pink palace in the middle of nowhere. The restaurant served food on mismatched dishes under a ceiling so low Thiery had to stoop down to walk through the place. The building sat so close to a lake it seemed as if it might tumble into the water and there was a trap door through which guests fed the turtles that lined the banks like soldier’s helmets. There were pictures of presidents, astronauts, and Hollywood celebrities who had dined there over the years, set among various glass, ceramic, and pewter knick-knacks that lined the shelves. But, like most places in the area, business was slow, and he had noticed the ‘For Sale’ sign on the entrance door and the note that read: ‘After eighty-three years, we are closing soon … ’ Thiery couldn’t help but feel the sense of loss for yet another
thing
that couldn’t last. His life was full of those
things
.

Paying his bill as they closed up, he ambled past the grand piano, up the wooden stairs, and out into the night, still not ready to go back to the motel. He called Conroy to see if anything had turned up. Something told him he would have to ask or he wouldn’t hear about it until he picked up tomorrow’s paper. Conroy didn’t answer. He called Dunham to check in with him.

‘You’re still up?’ a hint of humour in his voice.

‘Yeah,’ said Thiery. ‘Can’t sleep knowing our primary witness is out, and we don’t have a clue on where she might be. Thanks for giving me the heads-up on Gloria Shadtz. She gave me some info about her ex that might be helpful. I’ll fill you in later. You hear anything else new?’

‘Not much,’ the police chief answered. Thiery could hear a television in the background, its volume set at a deafening roar. ‘Talked to Conroy earlier. He’s about as much help as tits on a boar, but I … Hold on a sec.’ Through the phone line, the background noise subsided. ‘Sorry, couldn’t hear myself think. Anyway, I know some of his guys. They told me they’ve got officers at the hospitals looking for her and a few wolf traps set up along the highway stopping cars.’

Thiery wondered if that was enough. Still, he was glad to learn they were doing something. ‘Good,’ he told Dunham. ‘I asked him to do that, but I didn’t get much of a commitment from him.’ In truth, the guy had been outright stubborn in his defiance. But Dunham didn’t need to hear that.

‘I also heard there’s some locals, friends of Coody’s, that are looking for her, too. They know about that black Camaro stolen from the hospital last night.’

The recently eaten meal began to churn in Thiery’s stomach. ‘Damn it! You think they’ll call the Sheriff’s Office if they find her?’

Dunham hesitated, thoughtfully, before giving his best guess answer. ‘No sir, I don’t.’

Thiery breathed in deeply through flared nostrils, the sound of his own grinding molars echoing through his head. ‘Think Conroy knows?’

‘I’d bet money on it. He and Coody have a lot of the same friends.’

‘Not good,’ said Thiery, struggling to contain his growing anger, maintain his professional demeanour. ‘Let’s hope she goes back to the hospital. Anything else?’

Thiery’s phone beeped before he heard Dunham’s answer. He looked at the incoming call. It was Conroy. ‘Hey Chief,’ Thiery interrupted, ‘the Sheriff is calling me back. I’d better see what he has to say.’

‘Sure. Keep me in the loop, okay?’

‘You bet.’

Thiery switched over to Conroy as he walked quickly out to his parked car. It was the last one in the lot and dew had already settled on it like the proverbial wet blanket.

‘Good evening, Sheriff,’ Thiery answered in his best
how-the-fuck-you-doin’
voice.

‘Saw you called earlier and was getting back to you,’ he said, his tone weary and obligatory. ‘I got one tip from a teacher I know from the school. She didn’t know Weisz well, but remembered she said something about going to dance once at a country bar up in Lake Wales. Thought I’d check it out tomorrow.’

What a coincidence
, thought Thiery. ‘I’m in Lake Wales now, Sheriff. What’s the name of the bar?’

‘It’s a real winner,’ he offered. ‘Place called Highway 60 Saloon. Pretty rough. I’d keep my sidearm close.’

‘That bad?’

‘Last time I was up there was for a triple shooting, a couple years ago.’

Thiery thought about it for a moment.
Why was Conroy being helpful now? Was he trying to keep him away from his unauthorized posse?
‘Why would a woman go to a place like that?’

Conroy was silent, but Thiery could hear him breathing. ‘I was just thinking,’ the Sheriff finally said, ‘maybe she likes to live on the edge, so to speak.’

Thiery considered the implications of Conroy’s statement for a moment, then said, ‘Or, maybe she had a gun.’

Thiery reluctantly left the charm of Chalet Suzanne behind and drove a short distance to the dive called the Highway 60 Saloon, not surprisingly located on Highway 60. He wondered how long it took the owner to come up with that original name. The wood planks that made up the exterior walls were grey, their edges peeling away from the studs. A beer sign glowed red, and the sounds of loud music reverberated through the walls. The handle on the door was sticky to the touch.

As soon as he walked in and plopped onto a stool – wary eyes watching him from every corner of the smoky, dimly lit bar – he overheard the topic of conversation: the school shooting. The place reeked of spilled beer soaked into the wood floor, and billiard balls clacked together as the neon jukebox played Tim McGraw. Girls in too-tight jeans with muffin top midriffs clung to their cue sticks like pole dancers.

Thiery liked places with local colour, even if they were, at times, less than aseptic. It was getting late but he had to see what might lure Erica Weisz to a place that would, in all likelihood house bikers and local rednecks.
Maybe she liked that type?
Who the hell knew? What chafed at him more, at the moment, was why had Conroy called him back to give him this information?

Thiery had been yearning for a drink ever since he’d turned down that lonely woman’s offer for a beer earlier so
why not
? He was frustrated about the missing teacher. Without her, there was no way he was going to close this investigation. He could be living at the Sun Beam Motel for weeks, if not months. Stepping up to the bar, he ordered a Crown on the rocks with a lemon twist, and got a plastic cup, the booze with a little ice, and a chunk of brown-rimmed lime.
Close enough
, he thought, trying not to show his disdain. He hated plastic cups and old fruit served in dingy bars.

‘You don’t have glasses?’ he enquired.

The bartender, a thirty-something, bottle-blonde with smoky eyes and a world-weary look offered him an answer. ‘No, sir,’ she said. ‘They get broke in here.’

‘But you serve beer in bottles?’

She smiled and shrugged. ‘What can I say? It’s corporate.’

You drink Kool-Aid out of plastic cups at a kid’s birthday party
, he thought.
But, hey, it’s just a nightcap, right? Ask around, see if anything turns up. A quick drink and move on. It’s not exactly the preferred dark wood bar with good company and some good jazz or blues.

He tried not to be self-conscious about people staring at him. It was obviously a neighbourhood place, he was the new face, and his massive size didn’t help. He tried not to listen to the alcohol-fuelled opinions of the citrus pickers, farmers, truckers, and bikers holed up in the bar like bats in a cave, most since happy hour. A football game was on, and he allowed himself a moment to get caught up in the action. He couldn’t watch a game without thinking of his past on the gridiron. The memories came with a melancholy pang of self-doubt and the ever present question,
what if?
Still, he allowed the self-torture.

‘You gonna nurse that drink all night, or you want another?’ asked the bartender as she held up his near-empty cup. The plastic name tag on her tight, tank top read ‘Gabby.’ The side of her mouth turned into a crooked smile. She wore pale, pink, pearlescent lipstick and leaned over, her elbows on the bar top, her breasts brushing the caps of the chilled booze bottles.

Thiery smiled pleasantly while he pulled his phone out and thumbed through documents until he found the school board picture of Erica Weisz. ‘I’m just nursing tonight, Gabby,’ he answered. ‘But, I was wondering if maybe you remember seeing my friend.’ He held up the picture so she could see it.

Gabby squinted, then nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘On the news the past couple days, Sherlock. You a reporter?’

‘No. Just nosey.’

Gabby shook her head but smiled. She leaned forward with the bottle of Crown and refilled his glass anyway.

Thiery smiled back and nodded his gratitude. ‘You’ve seen her here?’

‘Maybe.’

Thiery looked around the smoky, blue-collar bar. He figured a bartender might make about forty dollars on a good night serving the clientele. None appeared to be big tippers. Not enough to keep the lights on at the trailer, he supposed. He pulled a crisp fifty out of his wallet and slid it across the bar to her.

She looked up, pursing her mouth and widening her eyes. ‘Drinks are only four bucks, and it’s two-for-one night.’

‘’S’okay,’ said Thiery. ‘I’m rich.’

Gabby grinned at him and the fifty vanished. There was a customary bell behind the bar. She turned and rang it a few times, signifying she had received an ample tip. She spun around back to him, grinning ear to ear. ‘I don’t get to ring that bell much.’

‘I’m glad I could help,’ said Thiery, knowing it sounded corny.

She loved it. Leaning forward conspiratorially, she said, ‘She came in here, that girl. Once. I was working. I remember, ’cause she had beautiful black hair, all glossy and nice, nice clothes, too, but she was wearing running shoes instead of nice flats or heels. I remember the poor thing don’t know how to dress right.’

‘You talk to her?’

‘No, other than to get her a beer she ordered. It was one of those ultra-light beers. They taste like water, you know.’

‘Anything else?’

Gabby shook her head. ‘No. She just danced.’

‘Who did she dance with?’

‘That’s the thing. She didn’t dance with anybody. She just danced. Coupl’a guys hit on her, but she blew ’em off. She’s here maybe half-hour, forty-five minutes, then left with a guy that came to meet her. Pretty girl.’ She began to fill Thiery’s cup again, but he capped it with his hand.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m good. Do you remember what the man looked like?’

Gabby smiled coyly. ‘Like you, a cop,’ she answered, ‘but a lot older.’

‘What makes you think I’m a cop?’

‘You all look alike. Cops have sad eyes, like maybe they regret something they’ve done. He looked sadder than you, though; kind of a basset hound face. Hair was silver streaked, slicked back. Not as tall as you, but a good six feet. Suit and tie, maybe like a Fed?’

From a nearby corner of the room, a hawk-nosed man, long and lean, and red faced from the sun, was on a soapbox, his voice booming in spite of his emaciated look. As his voice rose, Thiery and the bartender couldn’t help but glance in his direction. His creased leathery neck undulated as he spoke; his hands still greasy from whatever mechanical work he was doing, the scent of oil and baked-on sweat wafting off him. His long, grey-streaked hair pulled back in a ponytail. There was a long knife in a scabbard attached to his tooled leather belt. He wore Army fatigues, though it was obvious to Thiery he wasn’t a soldier.

Beware of civilians wearing camouflage
, thought Thiery.
No good can come from them.

The recipient of the thin man’s wisdom was a big man, as wide as he was tall, his pudgy face so fat it looked as if it might explode, his eyes bugging out like a bufo toad, his head pinched up into a cap that looked as if it might belong to a child, that was, if it didn’t say:
Be Kind To Animals, Kiss A Pussy.
He ate up every word from the thin man as if he were listening to the governor himself, a bulge in the back of his lower shirt telling Thiery he was packing, too.

‘Tha’s right,’ said the thin man, ‘we don’t know wha’ happened inside that school an’ who was shootin’ who, but I cain’t see no reason for that teacher to run off. Maybe one of those shooters was her boyfriend, an’ she was fuckin’ around, an’ he came to make it right. Who knows?’

‘Uh, huh,’ said the fat one. ‘See the picture of her on the news? I’d take a run at that. She’s got that “come hither” look and I’d
cum
hither all over that.’ He snorted and, hooking his heels into the rung on the barstool, managed to stand and grab his crotch, then perform a masturbatory gesture.

Gabby shrugged, turned away, and busied herself with wiping off the sticky bar.

The thin man tried to copy his buddy, and, in an attempt to situate his heels on his own stool while grabbing his crotch, lost his balance and fell backward. Some of his drink splashed on Thiery and a few other patrons at the crowded bar. Seemingly unhurt, the man sat up, still holding what was left of his beer. Noticing he’d made a mess on Thiery’s jacket, the thin man pulled the wet bar rag out of Gabby’s hand and headed for the detective’s coat sleeve.

‘Cool it, Mr Clean,’ Thiery announced, pulling the rag out of the man’s hands and passing it back to the bartender, while shooting the drunk a levelling a stare that would turn antifreeze to ice.

‘Well, excuuuuuse me, sir,’ he said moving into Thiery’s space. ‘It’s not like you’re at the opera tonight, right. You’re in
our
bar, and sometimes it gets a little messy in here.’

‘It’s going to get a lot messier if you don’t back away,’ said Thiery.

He knew he should leave, but his frustration had grown and, with the two drinks in his system, his patience had diminished. He felt hot blood begin to well up from some place below his collar, rise up the thermometer that was his neck, and push against the back of his eyes. He turned back to the television, tried to cool down, but football was on and that sure as hell wasn’t going to help.