Marcie's Murder (13 page)

“So you don’t know yet who the waitresses were,” Hank said.

“Not yet.”

“Nor the customers.”

Hall shook his head. “Not
for sure
.”

“Then let’s go have a talk t
o this Mullins,” Hank said.

Hall
struggled to his feet
.

“You okay?” Hank asked.

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

Hank led the way toward the little swinging cattle door at the end of the counter. He veered off suddenly and went into Askew’s office.

“Hey,” Hall protested, following, “what’re you doing?”

Hank stopped in front of Askew’s desk and looked around.
The furnishings themselves were modest enough
. Hank looked at a
metal desk painted black, large chair upholstered in black vinyl with black plastic arms, two metal visitor’s chairs in front of the desk, a four-drawer filing cabinet with a small assortment of photographs on top, and a little table in the corner with a coffee machine, a can of coffee, a jar of whitener, a saucer holding packets of sugar
,
and a few plastic spoons. A waste paper basket in the corner with nothing in it. Behind the door, a coat rack on which a windbreaker was hanging. The windbreaker had a Harmony Police Department crest on the left breast and CHIEF emblazoned in yellow letters across the back. Askew had a typical power wall going that featured an array of plaques from the Virginia State Police acknowledging this and that, FBI course certificates, years of service awards
,
and other such tokens of recognition. There was a small window on the
opposite
wall t
hat looked out into the street.

On
e of
the
framed photographs on the
filing cabinet
caught his eye. It
was a
picture
of the woman he’d seen outside Gerry’s Bar on Saturday night. He picked it up. It was a beautiful photograph, taken in a back yard somewhere, under a tree. Marcie Askew smiled at the camera like a sultry angel. Hank felt a tightness in his throat. Swallowing, he turned and showed the photograph to Hall.

“That’s her,” Hall said. “That’s Marcie.”

Hank nodded. “She’s the one I saw.”

“She was a knockout, all right,” Karen said, looking at the photograph over Hall’s shoulder.

Hank put the photo down.
“Let’s go.”

They
went outside and
piled into Hank’s
Grand Cherokee
.
Karen took the passenger seat up front
,
and Hall sat in the back on the driver’s side.
Hank and Karen had already discuss
ed
whose car to use for the day and who would do the driving, but she still
wasn’t happy about it
.

They drove to Gerry’s
.
Hank parked in the same spot next to the sidewalk that he
’
d used on Saturday night. The parking lot was empty except for a black Cadillac Escalade parked
near
the back. They walked through the parking lot toward it. Hank glanced up at a small window near the rear of the building
. It
was likely
the window through which Pete Jablonski had seen Brother Charles. They rounded the corner and saw that the wooden gate to the
garbage
corral was open
. A
short fat man was throwing a bag into the dumpster
inside the corral
.
The crime scene tape had already been removed
. T
here was no sign at all that a murder had occurred here only a few days before.

“Mr. Mullins?” Hall called out. “Can we talk to you for a minute?”

The fat man shut the gate and turned to face them. He was balding and ugly, with a fringe of long
gray
hair around the back of his egg-shaped head. His nose was large, his eyes were small
,
and his thick lips twisted unpleasantly.

“Fuck you want, Hall?
Cain’t you see I’m busy?”

“Very sorry to bother you, Mr. Mullins. We need to ask you a couple things
about the murder
, if that’s okay.”

“No, it hain’t okay.” Mullins was leading them across the pavement from the corral to the back door into the kitchen. He had a business-like waddle that told them he had no time for them and no interest in what they needed to ask.

“Were you here at any time Saturday night?” Hank asked, catching up to Mullins.

“Beat it,
” Mullins said over his shoulder, reaching for the door knob.

Hank moved quickly and hip-checked
Mullins
away from the door. He reached out, grabbed the fat man’s shirt at the shoulders to keep him from falling and swung him around so that his back bumped against the kitchen door. It wasn’t a violent bump, but it wasn’t gentle, either.
It was firm enough that it focused all of Mullins’
s
attention on Hank for the first time.

Hank smiled down at him.
“Sorry, almost knocked you over. Now answer the question. Were you here on Saturday night?”

“If you
like being sued
,
b
uddy,
then
just keep doing what you’re doing
.
”

“You can file it as soon as we’re done talking, but right now you’re going to answer the question. Were you here on Saturday night or weren’t you?”

“Ansell,” Mullins said, looking sideways at Hall, “do you really want this kind of trouble in your life?”

Hank glanced at Hall and was surprised to see emotion flare in the detective’s eyes.

“Answer the question, Mr. Mullins. Trouble’s a two-way street and you’d sure hate to
be
on the wrong side of the law. Were you here?”

Mullins pushed at Hank, who didn’t move. He glared and shook his head. “You fucking idiots
are wasting my time. I wasn’t here, that’s what I hire people for, to work them ki
nd of fucking hours so I can be at home
.”

“Your manager, Bickell, was on,” Hank said. “Who were the two waitresses?”

“I don’t know
.
I don’t have the fucking schedule memorized.”

“Well, let’s go take a look
at it
.”

“You hain’t setting foot in this establishment, mister.”

“Let me take a look,” Hall said. “It’ll just take a minute.”

Mullins pushed at Hank again, who took a step back. “Get your fucking ass in here,” he said to Hall, “before I change my mind.”

He opened the door and Hall walked inside. Karen started in after him but Mullins barred her way.

“Where you think you’re going, missy?”

“Where the
hell
do you think, pal?”

“I don’t know you,” Mullins said. “You’re with him,” nodding at Hank, “
which
means you’re staying outside.”

He walked inside and slammed the door.

“What the
shit
.” Karen tried the doorknob. “
I
t’s locked.”

“Never mind.” Hank took a few steps around, looking at the pavement. “This was apparently the primary scene.
”

“Yeah.
Someone met her back here, strangled her, started
dragging her,” she cast her eyes around
, “somewhere. I can’t see any marks. It’s been swept.”

Hank nodded. “The whole area back here’s been swept. We’ll have to rely on
the
photos.”

“Hopefully Hillbilly Central took a few Polaroids
before it was too late
.”

Hank said nothing, walking toward the back. Karen followed. They found the opening in the brush and started down the path.

“There,” Karen said, pointing at a spot where the undergrowth had been flattened and trampled.

They looked around but learned nothing new. Hank went further down the path to the bottom of the slope, where he emerged into a rocky crease through which a footpath wound
away to the left and right
. The ravine was perhaps
fifty
feet across at the bottom. There was no path leading
out of the ravine
on the other side.
Presumably you’d have to turn either left or right and walk for a
distance
before finding another path up out of the ravine again
on the street side
.
He turned around and
walked back
up
to where Karen was waiting with Hall.

“Jablonski was by himself in the back after eight
o’clock
,” Hall
told them
.
“
Bickell makes two, and the waitresses were Mary Crutchfield and
Debbie
Stump.”

“Bickell ta
kes his orders from Tub-o-lard
,” Karen said, “
but
what about the waitresses? Maybe they’re not
too
scared for their
damned
lives to talk to us.”

Hall shrugged. “
I don’t know
Debbie
Stump, but Mary lives a few blocks over. We could go see her.”

Mary Crutchfield li
v
ed in a rundown bungalow on Spruce Street at the other end of town. A rusted Toyota Corolla sat in the driveway, partially blocking the sidewalk. Hall led the way up the cement walk to the front porch. The screen door was locked. Hall knocked loudly and they waited.

The inside door opened and a teenaged boy looked at them through the screen door.

“Is Mary home, Tommy?”

“She’s asleep,” the boy said.

“We need to talk to her right now,” Karen said impatiently over Hall’s shoulder. “We’re from the police.”
What the hell is it with these fucking people?

The boy looked at Hall and shut the door again.

They waited.

“Where’s the fuckin
’
SWAT when you need them?” Karen muttered.

Finally the inside door opened again and a middle-aged woman in a housecoat
and carpet slippers
looked through the screen door at Hall. “What is it, Ansell?”

“We’re here to ask you a few questions,” Hall said. “About Marcie’s murder.”

“Some other time,” Mary said. “I’m sleeping. I have to work
four hours this afternoon at the Kwik Serve and six hours tonight for Mullins
. Can
’t
you come back later?”

Karen held up the
wallet
containing her badge and ID.
“My name’s Detective Karen Stainer and this
here’s
Lieutenant Hank Donaghue
.
We’re assisting Detective Hall in the investigation of a homicide and your cooperation would be greatly appreciated. Just a few minutes of your time.”

Mary sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Can we come in?” Karen pressed.

Mary hesitated and then unlocked the screen door. Hall opened it and held it for Karen and Hank.

They
entered
a short hallway.
On the left was a half-open door into a bedroom. Hank looked in at an unmade bed. Mary led them through an archway on the right into a small cluttered living room.
Hank looked at a television that was tuned to a game show. Watching the television was a man sitting in a
n
armchair. He was in his late forties. He wore jeans, a white
sleeveless
undershirt
,
and plaid carpet slippers
. H
e was drinking from a coffee mug with a drawing of a cow on the side. He kept his eyes on the television
as
they walked into the room.
Next to
the television was a wooden chair that looked as though it might have been passed down through
several generations
. It was piled with clothing. Mary
moved
the clothing and motioned for Karen to sit down. On the other side of the television was a green and yellow sofa. A dinner plate with the remains of an egg sandwich and
potato wedges
sat on one of the cushions of the sofa. Next to the plate was a gas tank from a motorcycle and an unidentified part that looked like a
piston
or something. The other cushion was free
.
Hall sat down there.
Hank remained in the doorway while Mary stood uncertainly in the approximate middle of the room.