"I remember," I said.
I could almost feel him thinking on his end of the phone. "I'd almost say send your people home, but we'll need them to corroborate your story."
"You don't believe me?"
"I do, but I won't be first on the scene, Anita. Do you understand?"
"I think so, I'm going to need an alibi to explain how I just happened to find the next murder victim when they've got people patrolling all the clubs. They're going to think that someone tipped me to it."
"Yeah," he said.
"You believe me, Zerbrowski."
"Yeah, but I know you. If any woman could go out to a strip club trolling for guys and accidentally find a murder victim, it's you."
"I was not trolling for guys," I said.
"Oh, yeah, I'll be sure and tell all the guys here at RPIT that you were just doing a favor for a friend."
"You bastard, don't tease me about this."
"Would I do that?"
"Fuck you, Zerbrowski."
"I'd say yes, but what would Katie say?" His voice got serious all of a sudden. "I'll put the call in, tell them that one of our people is on the scene, but if the sheriff gets there first, be nice."
"I'm always nice," I said.
He laughed. "Yeah, and hell is cool in the summertime. Just try to behave until we can get there to back you up."
"I'll behave, if he does," I said.
"Great. I'll be there as soon as I can, Anita."
"I know you will."
"Long damn night," he said.
"Yeah," I said.
He hung up. I hung up and started walking. I heard sirens before I even made it back to the parking area. I had time to give Nathaniel and Micah a thumbnail sketch of what had happened and what was about to happen. Ronnie was sitting on the ground, moaning and holding her head. I'm not sure she would have heard me even if I'd tried to talk to her. Then cars squealed into the gravel parking lot, and in the lead car was Sheriff Melvin Christopher. There wasn't a state cop in sight. Perfect.
73
The EMTs, emergency medical techs, had given Ronnie a blanket. They seemed to think she was suffering from shock. That wasn't it. She was sobering up. Sobering up in the middle of a murder investigation, when she'd drunk more in one night than she'd consumed in the entire six years I'd known her. They had her sitting in the open back of their ambulance. I think partly it gave them something to do. It's good to keep busy.
Physically Ronnie felt the worst, but none of us were having a good time. Sheriff Melvin Christopher's opening shot to me had been, "Almost didn't recognize you with more clothes on, Miss Blake."
I smiled sweetly and said, "That's Marshal Blake to you, sheriff, and you are awfully interested in women's clothing for a heterosexual man in a rural area." It had gone downhill from there. I even admit that part of it was my fault. I shouldn't have made the comment about women's clothing, or questioned his sexual orientation, but, hey, his face got all the way to this awful maroon color before he started yelling at me. For a second, I thought I'd given him a stroke or something. Deputy Douglas had to separate us and take his boss for a little walk around the parking lot.
It gave me time to go check on Micah and Nathaniel. Micah was saying calmly, patiently, but in a tone that said it wasn't the first time he'd said it, or the second, "I do not work at this club."
The deputy who was questioning him was too tall for his body, as if his joints and hands and feet hadn't had a chance to catch up yet. He was either well under twenty-five, or needed to eat more. "What club do you work at, then?"
Micah looked at me. The look said, help me.
I tried. "Deputy," I said.
He looked at me. His eyes flicked to the badge in my hand, but since his boss hadn't been too impressed with the badge, it was hard for him to be impressed, either. The boss sets the tone. He had pale bluish eyes. They weren't friendly, almost mean. "I'm questioning a witness here."
I smiled and tried to push it all the way up into my eyes, but probably didn't manage it. "I see that, but, Deputy," and I read his name tag, "Patterson, the witness has answered your question several times."
"He won't tell me where he works."
"You never asked where I worked," Micah said.
Deputy Patterson looked back at him, pale eyes narrowed in what he probably thought was a hard look. It wasn't. "I did ask where you worked, and you won't answer."
"You asked what club I work for, I do not work at a club of any kind. I do not strip for a living, is that clear enough?" Micah asked. His voice had an edge of impatience. He was one of the most easygoing people I knew. What had Patterson been saying to put that tone in Micah's voice?
Patterson's face showed that he didn't believe it. He was really going to have to work on the blank cop face, right now everything he thought spilled across his face. "Then what were you doing inside this place?" A look of near evil joy crossed his face. "Oh, I get it. You like to look at other people's beans and wienies."
"Beans and wienies," I said, "what the fuck does that mean?"
"Dick and balls," he said, with a tone that implied everyone knew that.
Micah looked at me, and even through the dark glasses, I could picture the look. I was beginning to see what had gotten on his nerves.
"Patterson, I allowed you to question my friends out of courtesy. This is my crime scene, not yours, and if you can't ask a single question that could help us solve this crime, then you need to go somewhere else."
I don't know what he would have said, but I felt Sheriff Christopher coming up behind me, even before I saw the look of satisfaction on the deputy's face. His look said clearly that the sheriff would sort me out, and he'd enjoy a ringside seat.
Patterson said, "He won't tell me where he works, Sheriff. Says he's not a stripper. Says he just came to watch a little fag wag."
I made a small sound in my throat. "I'm going to say this just one more time. We got a call from my friend Veronica Simms that the bartender at this club told her she was too drunk to drive and she needed a ride home. Micah came along so that he could help me with her."
"And what about the other one?" Patterson asked. "He says he's a stripper at Guilty Pleasures."
"Nathaniel came along to keep us company," I said.
Sheriff Christopher gave me a flat cop look. It was a real look. He might be a prejudiced, woman-hating, good ol' boy, but he was a cop, too. Underneath all the crap was someone who could be good at the job, when his personal agenda wasn't getting in the way. It made me feel better, that look, but of course, his personal agenda was raining all over us.
"Why'd you need two friends," and he stressed the friends, "to help pick up one drunk girlfriend?"
"Nathaniel had just gotten off work, and we hadn't gotten to talk, so he came along, so we could visit."
Sheriff Christopher frowned at me. "You said you were home."
"I was."
"I thought this one was your boyfriend." He pointed at Micah.
"He is."
"So what's that one?" he asked, pointing a thumb in Nathaniel's direction. Nathaniel was talking to the last deputy. He seemed to be having an easier time of it than Micah or me, maybe his deputy was smarter, or just less prejudiced.
"My boyfriend," I said.
"They're both your boyfriends?"
I took in air, let it out slow. "Yes."
"Well, my, my," he said.
I said a small prayer that Zerbrowski would get here soon. "We've got another victim, Sheriff, or don't you care?"
"Yeah, that's another thing," he said, and he put those hard cop eyes on me. If he thought it was going to make me flinch, he was wrong, but it was still a good look. "You just accidentally found our serial killer's next vic."