Marcie's Murder (14 page)

“This is my husband, Ned,” she said.

Everyone looked at Ned. He kept his eyes on the television and said nothing.

“What did you want to know?” Mary asked again, clutching her housecoat a little
tighter
to her neck.

“We’d like you to tell us who all was there at
Gerry
’s on Saturday night,” Hall said
over the noise of the television
. “Late, when Marcie was
.
. .
”

Mary walked over to Ned’s armchair, picked up a remote control and muted the sound on the
TV set
. Ned looked at
her
resentfully and then returned his attention to the
program, which he could apparently still follow without sound
.

“Who was at
Gerry
’
s,
you said?” Mary
slipped
the remote
into the pocket of her housecoat
. “
Debbie
and me were both on, and Bickell. And Pete. That was all.”

“
D
on’t know
this
Debbie
,” Hall
said
. “Wh
ere’
s
she live
?”

“She’s a student at the college. F
rom Kentucky, I think. She lives up above the barber shop near the tracks on Bluefield. I gave her a
ride home one night after work
.”

“Okay, thanks,” Hall said. “That’s good. Now, at 11:30
p.m.
or thereabouts
on Saturday night
you still had customers, right?”

She nodded.

“Tell me who they were, if you remember.”

She thought for a long moment. “A few people, I guess. A couple of guys from town. I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“Regulars?” Karen prompted. “Guys you know from town?”

Mary looked at her. “I really don’t pay much attention, I’m sorry. I know it could be important.”

“What about him?” Karen lift
ed
her thumb in Hank’s direction.

Mary looked from Karen to Hank and back again, confused.

“
H
e
was
there
, right
?”
Karen
prompted
.

Mary bit her lip. “He might have been.
”
She looked at Hank.
“
Were you?”

It was obvious that Mary was so tired, worn out, and run down that she was barely aware of her su
rroundings at any given moment.

“I was,”
Hank said
, “but that’s all right.”

“Do you know any of the monks
from Burkes Garden?” Karen tried
.

Mary shook her head.

“Ever see anyone around Gerry’s who looks like
the lieutenant, here
? Bushy beard, big like
him
, but from the area?”

She shook her head again.

“Thanks for your time,” Hank said. “We’re sorry to have bothered you.”

Mary
returned
the remote control to Ned and followed them out into the hallway. As Hall opened the screen door
,
they heard the sound come back on the television behind them.

Mary stepped out with them onto the front porch. “
S
orry about Ned. He’s not rude
, h
e’s just very depressed these days.”

“That’s all right, Mary,” Hall said. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“He work
ed
for FabriCorp. He hurt his neck and went on disability, but it just took the life out of him, not being able to work.
I worked part time at the flower shop
,
but after he got hurt it wasn’t enough so I got hours at the Kwik Serve and
from
Mullins to make ends meet. My son left school and he’s looking for something. Maybe I can quit Mullins if he can get some hours somewhere.”

“Thanks for your time,” Hank said again.

Back in the car, Hank
looked at
Hall.
“What’s FabriCorp?”

“They’re the largest employer in the area. They make mining machinery and equipment. Without them
most of the
county
woul
d be on welfare.”

“I thought it was all coal mining around here,” Karen said.

“Not any more,” Hall said. “Not for a while.”

Hank drove back to Bluefield Street. “I turn right to go down to the tracks, correct?”

“Yeah,” Hall said.

“What’s the college here?” Karen asked, twisting in her seat so she could look back at Hall.

“Lewis Collins
College
. Liberal
arts.
I guess they teach the usual stuff.”

“Branham said they have a criminal justice program,” Karen said. “You guys send somebody over for their recruitment seminars just before graduation.”

“Could be,” Hall said.

“So this
Debbie
Stump is a student there,” Karen went on, turning to Hank. “Remember seeing her?”

Hank slowed to let a truck creep out into the lane ahead of him from the driveway of a store that sold carpets and flooring. The load in back was covered with a tarpaulin.

“Yeah,” Hank said. “Young, cute, flirty. Either a sophomore or a junior, I’d guess.”

Karen looked at him. “Flirty, huh? She came on to you?”

“She did not.”

“I spoke to Meredith before I left, by the way,” Karen said. “Told her you were going to be spending a little more time in Virginia and you’d update her. You better call.”

“Tonight,” Hank said. Meredith Collier was Hank’s
friend
. He refused to use the word
girlfriend
to describe her, because he felt it was demeaning to a 47-year-old woman. The word
partner
didn’t fit because it implied that they lived together, which they did not.
Friend
,
however,
failed
to describ
e
how he felt about her.

They had known each other for
four months
. Hank had met her while investigating the murder of her only child, Martin Liu.
Her husband had died a few years ago and she lived alone.
After
her son’s case
was
closed
,
they went out together a few times and became better acquainted. The attraction was clearly mutual
,
and for the first while they took turns asking the other out, although they refused to call them dates. Middle-aged people didn’t date, did they? That was for kids. High school sweeties.

“Hank,” Karen said.

“What?” He
’d
been driving on autopilot, not really focused on where they were going.

“Barber shop,” she said, pointing.

“Right, got it.” He swung into a parking spot in front of a plumbing and heating storefront two doors down from the barber shop. They got out of the
Grand Cherokee
.
Hank locked it with the remote.
He fed a quarter into the parking meter, which bought them fifteen minutes.
They walked
past
a vacant store. The window and door were covered with yellowed newspaper and there was litter and debris accumulated in the recessed doorway suggesting that the front door had not been opened in some time.

Reflected in the window of the barber shop Hank saw a cube van pass in the street behind them, followed by a black pickup truck. Looked like a Dodge Ram. The barber shop was open and Hank could see three chairs, the kind you’d expect to see in any barber shop in America, chrome jobs on swivels with footrest hoops, red upholstery and white linen draped over the back, ready for a customer. But there was no one visible inside. The barber
might be
sitting in the back, out of sight, reading the paper or listening to the radio
to pass
the time.

The sign above the door said:

Barber Shop

C. Mastrella

They walked
to the next
door at the edge of the building. There was a small black tin mail box attached to the wall with the names
Stump
and
Meese
printed with
a felt
-
tip black marker on strips of masking tape. Hall tried the door knob and the door opened.
A
flight of
wooden
stairs led up to the second floor of the building. Hall
went first
. Karen took a step back to allow Hank to go ahead of her. The step took her a foot or two into the driveway.

A tiny horn beeped at her. She stepped forward again just in time to avoid being hit by a
red and black smart
car that flew out of the driveway and
turned left onto
the street. The young woman driving the car waved airily as she hummed away.

“Christ,” Karen said to Hank, “I almost got run down by Minnie Mouse in a bumper car.”

They followed Hall up the stairs.

There was a small landing at the top of the stairs and a single door in front of them. Hall knocked.

“Just a minute!” a female voice called out.

Standing behind Hall, Hank looked at Karen.
S
he
raised her eyebrows
. He nodded.

The door opened and
Debbie
Stump stood there looking at them.
Her
long black hair caught up in pigtails. She wore a black t
-
shirt
with the word
Wumpscut
on it. The t-shirt did not completely cover her stomach, which was a little fleshy. She wore faded jeans low on her hips. Her feet were bare.
She was about twenty years old.
She smiled
at Hall
.

“Hi,
looking for Rache? You just missed her.”

“She just missed me,” Karen said.

“Pardon?”

“Are you
Debbie
Stump?” Hall asked.

“
Yep.
”

“I’m Detective
Hall; t
his is Lieutenant Donaghue and Detective Stainer. Can we ask you a few questions about Saturday night?”

Hank and Karen held up their identification
wallet
s above Hall’s shoulders so that she could see them.

“
Okay.
”

“May we come inside for a moment?”

“Sure.” She opened the door all the way. “Yes, of course. Please, come in.”

They
walked into
a small kitchen that was worn
out
but neat.
Hank looked at
an old white stove and
battered
refrigerator, a sink and counter,
and
a few cupboards with mismatched doors
. A
space above the cupboards held wine bottles,
some empty and some unopened,
a glazed ceramic jug, and three small marksmanship trophies. There was
a kitchen table and chairs
upholstered in cracked yellow vinyl
.
The floor was covered with ancient linoleum, the walls had been painted
many
times
,
and the woodwork was chipped and scarred
.
I
t could go either way with students, but these two young women
appeared to be
conscientious housekeepers who kept the place neat and respecta
ble.

The smell of food cooking on the stove was almost overpowering.

“Is it all right if we talk in here?”
Debbie
asked. “I’m in the middle of this and I can’t leave it right now.” She gestured at the counter, which was covered with vegetables, some chopped and some still whole.

“What are you cooking?” Hank approach
ed
the big kettle that was bubbling on the stove.

“
Nice to see you again
,”
Debbie
said. “
I didn’t know you were a cop
. This here’s my mawmaw’s burgoo. Rache and I are having a few people over tonight and I promised them some genuine Kentucky cuisine.”