When she called him, he didn't know for sure whether she'd learned her lesson, or she was fucking with him somehow. All he knew for sure was that he didn't feel right. Maybe he should have just done her when he had the chance and moved on.
"Hi, Kyle. Hey, I'm at work, baby, and you know that big tall guy who came in the other day with the blonde cop? He was back in here today, asking me questions and it scared me, you know, what you said, about you getting into trouble by hanging out here?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Marci," he'd said, trying to calm her, though there was something in her voice that sounded more like she was acting spooked instead of being afraid. And he knew her well enough now to know she didn't scare easily. Hell, she wasn't even scared the other night. She might have been pissed. She might have even known that if she hadn't done what he wanted he would have killed her right there like the rest of them. But she didn't come off scared. He liked that in a woman.
"OK, listen. What the hell did the guy say?" he asked.
"He was talking about missing bartenders," she said. "Girls that had worked at a bunch of places, up on OPB and down off Seventeenth Street and even here that that blonde cop thinks were kidnapped."
Kidnapped, he thought. Christ, Marci, you're such a child.
"Yeah, well, those are a bunch of rumors, Marci. They're like urban legends that assholes like to sit around at the bar and yak about like it's all intriguing when it isn't anything more than girls walking away from their job, gone down to Key West or someplace. Don't tell me you never wanted to just walk away and get the hell out of there?"
That fucking Richards, he thought. Still pushing that shit and now she's got some goddamn P.I. into it because nobody in real law enforcement will believe her.
"But this guy says that he found some kind of evidence. Some kind of body part or blood or something that's going to prove who did it and all they had to do was find out when certain people were in the bar when Suzy disappeared," she'd said.
"Body parts? That's what he said? Body parts?"
Christ, he thought, don't lose it. Just get it out of her.
"He said a bunch of stuff but I don't want to talk about it over the phone, Kyle, you know. Can't you come over? I'm scared."
And this time when she said it, she did sound scared and he didn't want to hear the rest of it over the phone, anyway, he wanted to look into her eyes and hear it.
"I'll be over in an hour," he told her. "Just be calm, baby. I'm coming over." These goddamn women can get so emotional.
On the drive over there he'd let his own head start cranking. Body parts. That's bullshit. There's no way Richards or some P.I. went out in the middle of the goddamn Glades and found body parts. Shit, the gators out there would have taken care of that long ago. Sure, somebody might have found a corpse or part of one out there. Fucking mopes were dumping dopers or bad business partners out there all the time. Shit, that asshole who beat up his old lady and killed his own kid went and dumped the body in one of the canals at a boat ramp out there just last summer and a fisherman came up with part of the body. But that was stupid, in close, where people hang out.
So they might have found something, but why come and ask Marci about it? Marci didn't know shit unless they were trying to manufacture a case and were going to use her to set somebody up just to clear the case. That would be so typical of the detective bureau, use some poor innocent girl to make a case for them.
He'd parked at the shopping center on the other side and then walked over to Kim's. Don't be in such a hurry, he told himself. You draw attention to yourself. Why the hell did you bring the squad, anyway? That wasn't too bright, somebody sees you coming into the place in broad daylight. Jesus, Kyle. What happened to careful?
Inside there was that group of magazine smart-asses at one end of the bar and the Schnapps guy in the middle. He went to the end and then around the corner, under the TV, instead of in his usual spot. Marci waited a minute or so before she came down and pulled a beer out of the cooler for him on her way.
There was something very tense about her. Maybe this guy really had shaken her up.
"OK, Marci. Tell me about it again, the whole thing, babe. Right from the point that the guy walks in here, OK? Nothing left out."
She pretty much repeated herself and he let her until she got to the mention of the so-called body parts and hesitated.
"Slow down now, Marci," he said. "You're sure he said 'body parts'?"
"Well, I uh, it was something that he said was DNA evidence. He might not have said 'body parts' exactly but where the hell else do you get DNA for Christ's sake?"
Jesus, he thought.
"Baby, it could be anything, hair from a comb, a goddamn toothbrush, a fucking Band-Aid tossed in the trash," he told her. "Did he say where he found it?"
"No. Just that he had it and they were trying to get some kind of verification."
"Did they ask you for any kind of sample? Blood or a swab of the inside of your mouth?"
"No. Why would they want something from me?"
That flash of tenseness was back in her eyes, he could see it in there, her fighting it.
"Exactly," he said to her. "He's fishing for stuff, baby. He's probably done this to every goddamn girl in town who serves drinks."
He took a pull on his beer, didn't like the taste and put it down. He tried to make himself relax, get her to match him. She excused herself and went down to the other end and made up some pansy- ass Shirley Temples or whatever the hell it was the alternative boys were drinking.
He tried to get a picture of the big, lanky guy who'd walked in that night before Richards. He'd sat at the other end and acted like he was friendly with Laurie. Tanned guy, he remembered. Not an office man. He looked more like a boat captain or construction foreman. All he'd noted was that the guy was drinking his brand of beer and then that bitch had come in and he had to bolt.
Marci came back down to him, exhaled, was more relaxed.
"No big deal, baby," he said. "Nothing for you to worry about. I'll find out from the inside what the rumor is and let you know, OK?"
She nodded her head.
"This guy didn't say anything about me, did he? I mean, he didn't ask if any other cops had been in here or drank regular here?"
"No," she said. "But I wouldn't have told him anyway."
"Atta girl," he said and she had an odd look on her face when he said it, one that held some kind of inside smile, like she'd accomplished something. He ignored it, thanked her in his customer voice and walked out into the late sunlight and back to his patrol car.
He was running a plan through his head while he sat at the first traffic light on Sunrise. Should he ignore the whole damn thing? If they had anything to connect him to the dead girls, wouldn't they be on his ass already? They'd have called him into his sergeant's office for a little face time to at least warn him that the Richards bitch was coming down on him.
But what if this P.I. was teamed up with Richards and they were trying to show she was right and prove everyone else wrong? Then why come to Marci? Showing up twice meant they didn't get enough from Laurie to keep them away, and that wasn't good. When the light changed he went west on Sunrise and pulled his visor down to block the glaring sun.
The P.I. said "DNA evidence"-he kept tumbling Marci's words in his head. Of course she didn't get the conversation exact. Body parts. DNA evidence. What the fuck did the guy have, if anything? Shit. He'd just ended it with Suzy. Her body would still be pretty fresh, even if the gators did get to it. He ought to just go out to the spot now, see if there was any sign that anyone had been out there. Answer the goddamn question so he'd at least know what he was dealing with. It'd be better than most of the mopes that he arrested who just sat there waiting for shit to come through the door and then it was too late, then you were already playing their game.
He was watching half a block ahead like he usually did and saw the traffic starting to jam up on the left and he knew some dipshit was trying to make a left against the light like they always did and he slid over to the right lane. He would have gotten snared up, too, but he used his lights and a couple of hits on the siren and skirted by the on the right.
"Fucking lemmings," he said aloud and then looked up into his rearview to watch the mess and registered in his head the midnight blue pickup truck that had just run a red light half a block back. He kept driving. Maybe he ought to wait. But shit, he'd be back on shift tomorrow and that would only give him the daylight hours to get out to the Glades site and back in time, and he was even more wary about doing anything in the daylight. Only bad shit happened in the light, he thought. Right now he could stop out there and check for fresh tire tracks or signs of disturbance with a flashlight and be a hell of a lot less conspicuous.
He went through the intersection at Ninth Avenue and glanced at the old bagman starting across the street. Christ, I just busted that guy for carrying dope two weeks ago and he's already back on the street, he thought and looked back to see for sure if it was the same guy pushing the same old grocery cart. That's when he saw it again, the blue pickup, charging through the intersection, but then easing back. Following.
At the next light he made a hard right and watched his mirror. He saw the pickup hesitate and then make the same turn.
"Son of a bitch," he said and slowed down, watching his mirrors, trying to see the single driver, his image behind the windshield high up over the one car between them. A minute later he snatched up his radio.
"Two-fourteen. Two-eighteen. This is two-oh-four in need of assistance. Switch over to tack channel three," he said into the microphone.