Willy, however, in keeping with his darker outlook, had already gone beyond such a prize. He frowned and nodded slightly, before suggesting, "Yeah, and where there's a name, there might be a cop. 'Cause whoever shot it knew enough to pick up all but this one tag-and why."
Sammie Martens watched from her car as the teenage woman she was waiting for left the restaurant after closing, waving to her fellow employees and adjusting her coat against the cold winter breeze. It was almost midnight.
Beth Ann Agostini-Andy Griffis's former girlfriend-was on foot, despite the weather and the lack of sidewalks on Route 9 beyond West Brattleboro. She didn't live far away, true-in an affordable-housing complex only a mile down the road-but any pedestrian travel was quasi-suicidal, given the speed and accuracy of some of the late-night motorists out here. Still, Sam knew that Agostini took this route every night and was probably an expert at keeping an eye peeled for traffic.
Either way, it wasn't a relaxing walk, especially after a long day. Which was exactly what Sam hoped to have working to her advantage. She'd done her homework, as usual. Beth Ann didn't like the police much, had had her run-ins with them over the years, but, according to Sam's informant, had yet to become too hard-bitten.
If approached correctly.
As Beth Ann reached the halfway point across the restaurant's broad parking lot, Sam put her car into gear, turned on her headlights and casually drove up alongside the woman.
Agostini looked over her shoulder warily.
Sam had already rolled her window down. "Hey. Beth Ann?"
Agostini's response was guarded. "Yeah."
Sam stuck her hand out the window for a shake. "Samantha Martens. I'm with the Vermont Bureau of Investigation."
Reluctantly, Beth Ann took the hand in her mitten and gave it a limp tug before letting it drop.
Sam stopped the car and got out, still talking. "I'm sorry to bother you. I was just hoping you might be able to help me out with something."
"What?"
"I want to learn a little about Andy Griffis."
"He's dead."
As was the tone of her voice.
"I know," Sam admitted regretfully. "I was sad to hear about that. Would you mind if we talked a bit? I'd be happy to buy you a cup of coffee, or at least drive you home."
A sudden gust of cold wind made the girl hesitate. "What's to talk about?"
"I was wondering what was happening in his life towards the end. You two were close. It must've been a real shock when he died."
Beth Ann shook her head, staring at the ground.
"You still miss him, I bet," Sam suggested.
"He was a nice man," Beth Ann said simply.
Sam reached out and touched her arm gently. "Let me drive you home."
Beth Ann looked into her face, saw nothing but sympathy, and finally nodded. "Okay."
Sam waited until they were both settled in the front seat of the warm car before she asked, "Would you like me to treat you to a coffee somewhere? Or a piece of pie?"
That drew a tired smile. "Ugh. Food doesn't do much for me right now. Not after all day in there." She gestured toward the restaurant.
Sam laughed. "Good point. I hadn't thought of that. You probably just want to take a load off. I'll drive you home and get out of your hair as fast as I can."
"Thanks."
Sam pulled out of the parking lot and headed west. "How long had you and Andy known each other?" she asked, wondering if the ice had been successfully broken between them. She was struck once more by her companion's lack of curiosity. Sam had long ago found that most people of Agostini's background were used to being questioned by authority figures and were generally, even if listlessly, compliant.
Beth Ann was looking out the side window. "A few months. We met at a bar. The only two people who didn't want to be there."
"You were with friends?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Him, too. We joked about that later, how it was like we had a radar for each other. He said we should form a group called Loners Anonymous, except that nobody would show up for meetings."
Sam laughed. "That's good. He sounds like a funny guy."
Beth Ann turned toward her, and Sam feared she might have put her foot in it. But the girl had understood her intent. "He was sometimes, when he was feeling up. But it was hard to tell. He could be real uneven."
Sam paused before suggesting, "That must've been tough."
"It had its moments."
"What was he like when he was down?"
"Quiet, mostly. He never got violent or drunk or anything like that. That's where the loner thing kicked in. He would go off and be by himself."
"At his apartment?"
She nodded in the darkened car. "Yeah. Did you ever see that place?"
Sam was surprised by the question. "No."
"It was weird. Like a cell. You know he was in prison, right?"
"Yeah, I read that."
"Well, his apartment looked just like that to me. I only went there once. Never again."
"Did you ever talk about it with him?"
"The time I visited, I did. I mean, I said something like 'Wow, this sure is empty,' or something. I didn't actually tell him it looked like a jail cell. But it did-bare walls, a cot, almost nothing in it."
"How did he react?"
"He looked around like he'd never been there before, and then he said, 'I like it this way. Makes me feel safe.' It was weird to me, 'cause I had just the opposite feeling about it. I felt totally cut off from the world in there, like it was a spaceship or one of those explorer balls they drop into the ocean with people inside."
Sammie nodded, entering the apartment complex parking lot. "His record says he was only in jail for three years," she stated. "I wonder if he was that way before."
But Beth Ann shook her head emphatically. "No. It was prison that did it. That was a bad time. He said it changed everything. When he was in the dumps, that's all he talked about, how it ruined his getting along with his family, or being comfortable with other people. I had to be real careful what I said to him afterward, 'cause he would, like, almost disappear right in front of me." She paused before adding, "That's when he'd go to that apartment. I was never sure what to do then. Wait for him to come back or go after him and try to get him out."
She leaned forward in her seat and pressed her hands against her eyes. Sam pulled into a parking space and placed her palm on the other woman's back. Beth Ann wasn't crying, but she was silent for a long time.
Then she said through her hands, "I feel like I could've stopped it. I just didn't know what to do."
"It's not your fault, Beth Ann," Sam said softly, feeling a sudden kinship. "I live with a man who gets down like that, and disappears into himself to work through it. And I'm not always sure he will."
Beth Ann looked at her gratefully. "Really?"
"It's tough. And lonely. They get so lost, they can't see you standing right in front of them."
She was nodding. "That's it. It was so frustrating. I couldn't make him understand that it didn't need to be that hard."
"My guy has a lot of ancient history to fight," Sam said. "What was Andy wrestling with?"
Beth Ann's straight and simple answer caught Sam off guard. "He was raped in prison."
"Jesus," she muttered, remembering not just what Dave Snyder had said about Andy's lapse into depression partway through his jail term, but how Andy hadn't been able to stay working for his family in Thetford afterward.
"He couldn't get over it," Beth Ann said softly.
Sammie stared out the window thoughtfully, reflecting on what had happened to Leo's car. "He may not have been the only one," she said.
Bart148: what do u do 4 fun? AnnGee: not much. U? Bart148: u hav a bf? AnnGee: yeah Bart148: u dont hav fun with him? AnnGee: sometimes Bart148: what kind? AnnGee: u know Bart148: tell me AnnGee: stuff. movies. music Bart148: u sound bored AnnGee: a little Bart148: u super tite with him? AnnGee: no Bart148: u could do better AnnGee: I lik that Bart148: me 2. maybe we could make that happen