“Well, I’ll let him know you said it was okay, then,” Marlin said. He paused and looked around the drab room. “Not exactly the Hyatt, is it? They treating you all right?”
Corey shrugged. “Yeah, no problem. But I need to get back to work. I’m self-employed, and when I don’t work, I don’t get paid.”
“You want anything? Maybe a Coke…” Marlin slid the Red Man toward Corey. Time for the test. Was Corey a tobacco user or not? “Or a chew?”
Corey glanced at the package. “Naw, not right now. Maybe later.”
“All right, Jack,” Marlin said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marlin had finished dinner and was headed out the door when Bobby Garza called. The sheriff said, “Listen, if you’ve got a minute, I wanted to talk to you about Jack Corey.”
Marlin glanced at the clock. Six forty-five. Inga’s assembly started in fifteen minutes. “What’s up?”
“Well, Wylie is right in the middle of this thing, but I just wanted to hear your thoughts. You talked to Corey this morning?”
“For about fifteen minutes. Went over it with Wylie on the phone.”
“Well, you know how he is. He didn’t share much with me. What was your impression?”
“Corey seemed a little nervous about being arrested, and damn pissed off at Wylie. But to be straight up with you, I think he’s wrong for it. Gut feeling, but I’ve known him for a long time.”
“Yeah, me too, but I never really got close with the guy. You probably know him better since y’all were in the same class.”
“Could be. Anyway, he said that he was more than ready to have his truck and home searched and I told Wylie-”
“That’s where he is as we speak,” Garza cut in. “First thing he did-just a couple of hours ago-was compare the tire prints to Corey’s truck. If you can believe it, Corey had four different brands of tires on that old heap. And one of them looked like a pretty good match. So then Wylie started going though the house, looking through all of Corey’s work boots and hunting boots. He found a pair of Red Wings on the back porch, covered with mud. I hate to say it, but those look like a match, too.”
“That’s a pretty common brand of boot.”
“That’s true,” Garza conceded. “Anyway, we’ll know more when we get the results back from DPS.” The Texas Department of Public Safety performed most of the forensic testing and analysis for smaller law-enforcement agencies throughout the state. Garza said, “We sent the tire, the boots, and the plaster casts down there. Asked ’em to put a rush on it, but we’ll see about that. Those guys are up to their eyeballs around the clock nowadays.”
“What about a DNA test? That would be the clincher.”
“Yeah, I almost forgot. He went for that, too. We took some blood and a buccal swab and sent it all to the lab. I imagine that’ll take a couple weeks. By the way, if I haven’t said it already: Thanks for talking to Corey. He sure got a lot more cooperative when you were done with him.”
Marlin looked through the kitchen window at a passing bluejay. “It must be my charming personality. Plus the fact that I didn’t hit him with a nightstick.”
“Ouch,” Garza said. “Low blow, and Wylie isn’t even here to defend himself.”
“Which brings up another thing,” Marlin said. “How come Wylie didn’t just ask Corey for permission to search?”
“Judgment call. He didn’t want to make Corey jittery, give him a chance to destroy evidence. Hey, he had a hard enough time just asking you to talk to Corey. You know how proud he can be sometimes.”
“Pigheaded is more like it.”
Garza chuckled. “And that’s what makes him such a good cop. If nothing else, give him that. But we’re getting off-topic, aren’t we?”
“All I’m saying is that he’s always the last to admit when he’s wrong. So if Corey comes back clean, you know I’m gonna have to ride him a little about it.”
“Yeah, yeah. But right now, that’s looking like a pretty big ‘if.’” He lightened his tone. “You know, I’m glad we had this little chat, John. You’ve got a sharp mind, even for a redneck. You sure you don’t want to come work with me at the sheriff’s office?” Garza had asked Marlin that question several times in the last year.
“I prefer hanging around with animals,” Marlin deadpanned. “They’re much nicer than people.”
“This is insane, you know that?” T.J. asked, killing the engine on his boat. Darkness was settling over the water now, the surface of the lake as smooth as glass. “You know how deep this water is? And besides-you’ve never even scuba dived.”
“How hard can it be to find a fuckin’ car?” Vinnie replied as he pulled on the wetsuit.
T.J. took a hit from his ever-present joint. “Speaking of cars, I hear there’s catfish as big as Volkswagens down there. Swallow you whole. Better watch your ass.”
“Just shut the fuck up, will ya? I don’t need you psychin’ me out with that shit.”
Vinnie was feeling a little nervous, on edge, his guts tumbling around inside him. He had never scuba dived before. But when he had stolen the gear from the scuba shop-a little mom-and-pop operation up by Lake Buchanan-he had found a brochure with a checklist for scuba beginners. It said something about remembering to breath normally, especially on your way back up. And you were supposed to come up slower than your slowest bubble. Sounded pretty easy.
“Gimme the rope.”
T.J. handed him the end of a hundred-foot line, which Vinnie cinched around his waist.
Vinnie said, “Keep it tight, but don’t yank on it, for chrissakes. Might be the only way I’ll know which way is up.”
“Gotcha.”
Vinnie pulled the scuba mask on and adjusted it for comfort. A few seconds later, he tugged his flippers on, gave T.J. a thumbs-up, and dropped backward off the boat into the cold water.
Marlin slipped through the side door of the gymnasium just as Inga Mueller was taking the microphone, standing on a small stage underneath one of the basketball goals. There was a much larger crowd than Marlin had expected-probably close to three hundred.
“Ladies and gentleman, I want to thank you for coming tonight.” Marlin spotted Phil Colby waving at him from the lower row of bleachers and took a seat next to him.
“Howdy, stranger,” Marlin said.
“I figured you’d show up,” Colby replied. “She’s just getting started.”
Marlin turned his attention to the stage. Inga was wearing a short black skirt, low-heeled boots, and a clingy gray turtleneck. Man, if her goal is to get attention, she’ll definitely succeed, Marlin thought. It was like dropping a supermodel into the middle of a PTA meeting.
Inga strolled slowly around the stage as she spoke into the handheld microphone. “I would like to talk to all of you tonight about a sensitive topic, one that requires serious thought from every citizen in Blanco County. Now, I know that many of you don’t know me, and that’s because”-she slipped into a Texas accent for a moment-“I’m not from ’round these parts.”
Mild laughter rippled through the audience.
“I wish I was, though, because Texas looks like a beautiful place to live. The people are so friendly, and proud, too. I met a man yesterday who showed me a picture of his new baby. He told me the baby weighed ten pounds, but he used to weigh twenty. I asked him what happened, and the man said he had him circumcised.”
Marlin smiled. He hadn’t even seen that joke coming. For a brief moment, the crowd was silent, maybe a little startled, as if everyone was taking a moment, waiting to see if it was okay to laugh at such an off-color joke. Like: Did she really just say that? Then the chuckles began and rolled quickly through the crowd. Some guy yelled “Everything’s bigger in Texas, honey!”-which produced another round of laughter.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Inga replied with a coy smile, letting the laughter slowly fade away. “And I can see that when you do something around here, you do it in a big way. Like all the cedar-clearing that’s taking place in Blanco County…which is what we’re here to talk about tonight. The cedar tree, and its effect on the water supply…among other things.”