The Perk (15 page)

"A good judge could change that, Beck."

When Adams became Ranch Road 16, Jodie accelerated.
The wind noise was too loud to talk, so Beck leaned back and thought. He thought
about the law and he thought about justice.

And he thought about Miguel Cervantes.

The spoils of Texas politics have long
been divided equally between Republicans and Democrats. The two-party system
makes life so much simpler for lobbyists; at all times political they know
exactly whom to bribe with campaign contributions, parties, trips, dinners, golf,
and girls.

Independent candidates confuse lobbyists—something
to be avoided at all costs—so Republicans and Democrats, in a rare showing of
bipartisanship, passed election laws making it difficult (if not downright impossible)
for an independent candidate to get his or her name on the ballot in Texas. The
major obstacle is the petition requirement.

To get his name on the 2006 ballot for governor
of Texas, Kinky Friedman had to get signatures of registered voters equal to
one percent of the total votes cast in the prior gubernatorial election; in his
case, 45,540 signatures. Those voters could not have voted in either the
Republican or the Democratic primary that year; and all 45,540 signatures had
to be collected in the sixty days following the primary election. He did it.

Of course, Kinky lost.

Under the election code, Beck had needed the
"lesser of five hundred or five percent of the total vote received in the
district, county, or precinct, as applicable, by all candidates for governor in
the most recent gubernatorial election." The votes cast for governor in Gillespie County in the prior election totaled 8,403, so 420 registered voters in the
county had to sign his petition.

He hadn't liked his odds.

But if a Jewish country-western singer whose
biggest hit was "They Ain't Makin' Jews Like Jesus Anymore" could
convince 45,540 Texans to sign his petition, surely a local football legend and
honors graduate of Notre Dame Law School could convince 420 voters in Gillespie County to sign his petition. He did it. Or, actually, Jodie and Janelle did it.

Beck Hardin had decided to run for judge.

He had specialized in complex civil litigation
at a seven-hundred-lawyer corporate law firm in Cook County, Illinois. But the
most complex civil cases in Gillespie County, Texas, were divorces contesting
whether husband or wife would get the hunting lease. Which rendered an
$800-an-hour trial lawyer about as useful in Fredericksburg as a goat rancher
in Chicago. He needed a job, but he wasn't running for a job. He was running
because he didn't want his children to be afraid of the law. He was running
because no one should be afraid of the law.

He was running because of Miguel Cervantes.

So at 4:45
P.M.
on August 15th, Beck was
standing at the counter in the district clerk's office in the Gillespie County
Courthouse on Main Street and completing the filing form for an independent
candidate. The filing deadline was 5:00
P.M.

Beck handed the filing form to the district clerk.
Mavis Mooney was pleasant and plump with a beehive hairdo. She reached to her
hair and pulled out a pen like a magician pulling a rabbit out of her hat. She
glanced around then whispered, "Jodie asked me to sign your petition. I
would've, but I'm elected, too." She looked over the form then said, "Please
take the oath."

Beck recited from the form: "I, John Beck
Hardin, Jr., of Gillespie County, Texas, being a candidate for the office of
the 216th District Judge, swear that I will support and defend the Constitution
and laws of the United States and of the State of Texas. I am a citizen of the
United States eligible to hold such office under the Constitution and laws of
this state. I have not been finally convicted of a felony for which I have not
been pardoned or had my full rights of citizenship restored by other official
action, nor have I been declared mentally incompetent as determined by final
judgment of a court."

"If you think you can win, you're damn sure
mentally incompetent."

Beck turned to the voice behind him. The
Gillespie County District Attorney was standing there wearing a stylish suit
and a smirk. He was younger and shorter than Beck; he looked like a fraternity
boy dressed up for a night at the country club.

"It's just the two of us then," the
D.A. said.

Beck extended his hand, and they shook. "Beck
Hardin."

"Niels Eichman … Junior. So the football
legend wants to be the judge?"

"Is that a problem?"

"It'll be a problem for you to get
elected." He smiled. "You've been gone twenty-four years, Beck, and
this town's changed—but not that much. The names on Main Street might not be
German anymore, but the name of every elected official in this county damn sure
is, from the mayor to the dogcatcher. Full-blooded Germans, every one of
them. And you're not German."

"My mother was."

"You daddy isn't. And public offices here are
handed down father to son, not mother to daughter. We don't elect non-Germans
and we don't elect women."

"Except Mavis."

"That judgeship was mine from the day I was
born."

"Your father was the D.A., not the
judge."

"Stutz doesn't have a son."

"So what, he adopted you?"

"You could say that. He's backing me. All
the Germans are."

"Yeah, well, the football coach is backing
me."

"Him and the town lesbians, there's a
winning team."

"Four hundred twenty-two voters signed my
petition."

The D.A. snorted. "The Main Street crowd.
Democrats spitting in the wind. They never win."

He shook his head.

"Come on, Beck, you grew up here, you know
how it is. Germans have controlled this town and everything in it for a
hundred sixty years, since the Baron settled this place. Still do. We still
say what will be or won't be in this town and out in the county and over at the
schools. Sure, you'll get the newcomers' votes, but the Germans will mobilize
to defeat you just like they've defeated every other non-German stupid enough
to waste good money running for public office here. You may be a legend, Beck,
but you'll never be the judge."

Beck turned back to the district clerk.

"We good, Mavis?"

"Yep. Say hi to J.B."

Beck started to walk out, but thought of
something. He turned back to the D.A.

"What do you know about Heidi Geisel?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Aubrey and I, we go back to high school."

"And he wants you to find her killer?"

"Something like that."

"Knowing Aubrey, exactly like that. Well,
you've got until New Year's Eve to find him and indict him, because when the
clock strikes midnight, that guy won't ever turn into an inmate."

"You really think an illegal Mexican killed
her?"

The D.A. shrugged. "Who knows? But it makes
for a good stump speech. A scared voter votes."

"Playing the race card?"

"It's a winning hand here. Illegal
Mexicans, they're a hot-button issue, so I'm pushing that button hard."

"Watch out you don't push it too
hard."

"Beck Hardin!"

Beck had just walked out the rear exit of the
courthouse when a thick man wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and leaning against
a pickup truck called out to him. The man stepped over and stuck a meaty hand
out to Beck; they shook. His arm didn't taper down to the wrist; from shoulder
to hand, it was one size, like a log. He smelled of goats.

"Stanley Jobst."

"Stanley …"

"Jobst. I married Mary Jo."

"Oh, yeah, Stanley. Good to see you again."

"Saw you going into the courthouse, figured
I'd wait for you. Mary Jo said you were back in town."

Beck smiled. "Yeah, I saw her over at the
Wal-Mart. I was trying to buy clothes for my kids and—"

Stanley wasn't smiling.

"Look, Beck, here's the deal. I know you
and Mary Jo had a thing going back in high school. But I love her and she's
happy now and I—"

Beck gave him a timeout signal.

"Whoa, Stanley, hold on. It's not like
that anymore."

"It's not?"

"No. I love my wife."

"Thought she died?"

"She did."

"Oh. Well, so I got nothing to worry
about?"

"Just getting arrested for wearing that
shirt in public."

Beck smiled; Stanley didn't.

"No, Stanley, you've got nothing to worry
about from me."

Stanley seemed relieved. "Well, that's
good to hear, Beck, 'cause if I ever found out you were screwing Mary Jo again,
judge or no judge, I'd kill you and bury you where the best tracking dog in the
county couldn't find you."

Beck maintained eye contact with Stanley for a long moment, hoping he'd break into a smile. He finally did, then slapped
Beck on the arm so hard that Beck had to regain his footing.

"Hell, Beck, I'm just joshing you. About
the killing part, not the screwing part."

"Won't happen, Stanley."

"Well, fine then. That's just fine and
dandy. Wanted to clear the air, that's all."

"Consider it cleared."

"All righty then, you have a good day."
Stanley Jobst walked back to his truck and said over his shoulder, "Say hidi
to J.B."

Beck shook that off and continued across the asphalt
parking lot and went inside the Gillespie County Law Enforcement Center, a squat one-story building with a brick façade the color of goat crap. It housed the
county jail and the sheriff's office. A young woman sat behind the counter.
Her head was down, and she was writing.

"Be with you in a minute," she said
with the enthusiasm law enforcement personnel saved for defense lawyers. After
a very long minute, she finally looked up.

"I'm Beck Hardin. Is the sheriff
available?"

She glanced at the clock on the wall.
"It's after five."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"That's Doreen's way of saying 'come back tomorrow.'
But she don't know she might be talking to our next judge."

Standing there was the
Gillespie County Sheriff. Grady Guenther had been a deputy sheriff back when
Beck was in high school; he would be in his early fifties now. He sported a
bratwurst-and-beer physique, and he was chewing on a toothpick and fiddling with
a little pocketknife; the legs of his trousers were partially tucked into his
tan cowboy boots. In his green-and-tan uniform, he looked every bit like Rod
Steiger from
In the Heat of the Night
. A small-town Texas sheriff, just
like his daddy before him; the old man had inspired fear in the kids back when
Beck was in high school. Apparently, the sheriff had inherited the job from
his father, same as the D.A. They shook hands.

"Grady Guenther."

"Sheriff … Beck Hardin."

"Just Grady. So, you running?"

"Just filed my papers."

"Well, you don't have a snowball's chance
in hell of winning, but I'll vote for you anyway."

"Why would you vote for me?"

"Have you met the D.A.?"

"Just now, in the courthouse."

"And?"

"Some ageing will do him good."

"Getting his ass kicked would do him more
good." Grady smiled at that. "Junior took over from his daddy. Real
ambitious boy, figures on being governor one day. Course, ambition ain't
generally a good thing in a D.A. So, what can I do you for?"

"Heidi Geisel."

Grady nodded like he had expected that answer.

"Aubrey want you to solve her case?"

"Something like that."

"Few years back,
he tried to get that
America's Most Wanted
to do a show on her. When I
read you were back in town, knew it wouldn't be long before he got you
involved. Old debts never go away, do they?" To Doreen, Grady said,
"Bring me Heidi's file."

He motioned with the pocketknife for Beck to
follow. They walked down a hallway and into the sheriff's office.

"Take a load off."

Beck sat in a visitor's chair. Grady remained
standing until Doreen arrived with a thick file. He took the file from her and
dropped it with a loud thud on the desk in front of Beck. Then he sat behind
his desk.

"Did everything we could," Grady
said. "Called in DPS to work up the crime scene, handle all forensics—we
ain't had but one murder in Gillespie County the last thirty years and that was
a mental case, so we use criminologists from the Department of Public Safety.
They came up empty. Travis County M.E. did the autopsy, got the DNA, but we got no matches from the FBI database or our local samples."

"Aubrey thinks you're holding back on him,
not telling him everything you know."

"He's right."

"
Why?
"

" 'Cause he don't want to know what I know."

"And what do you know?"

"I know Aubrey."

"Grady, I'm his lawyer."

Grady glanced around at the objects in his
office—two stuffed deer heads on the wall, framed hunting photos, and a
glass-fronted case holding hunting rifles. He exhaled and looked back at Beck.

"They found two DNA samples on her."

"You mean semen?"

Grady nodded. "From two different
men."

"On the same night?"

Another nod. "One sample was from her
vaginal cavity, I figure that's our man. The other was from her shirt. Way I
figure, she gave oral to the first guy, then the guy that killed her came
second … so to speak. She had intercourse with him."

"Why not the other way around?"

"Well, according to the autopsy, she died
within fifteen, twenty minutes of inhaling the cocaine. Massive heart
failure. Apparently she was taking diet pills, which are stimulants, so the
effect of the cocaine was multiplied. Soon as she snorted the stuff, it was
like she had slit her wrists and was just waiting to bleed out. Anyway, unless
the guy likes to screw dead girls, I figure she was alive when they had
intercourse. And the autopsy report said the amount of semen still in her
vaginal cavity meant she wasn't upright for any extended period of time
following intercourse. Gravity. They call it 'drainage.' Pleasant, huh?
Anyway, I figure the second guy gave her the alcohol and cocaine, they had sex,
and then she died. Probably her first time. The coke, not the sex."