“Do you believe he won’t hurt her—or much—or was that for her sister’s benefit?”
“I don’t see why he would, unless he’s bored, or loses his temper. He’s got control, but he’s also got a switch. That’s what I saw when I stumbled on him in New York. How he is when the switch gets flipped. I’m going to try to keep him from being bored—and keep his temper on me. And if I can’t, it’s all the more likely he’ll snatch a kid. Nikos is wrong there. An adult woman, an older partner, that’s mommy sex, so it’s habit, it’s ingrained. But they can’t give him what he really needs, and what he feels entitled to.”
“And again, what his mother helped acquire for him.”
“Exactly. Forty-eight hours, by my take—no more, and probably less. If we don’t have him, he’ll feed the need.”
Roarke pulled into a lot peppered with potholes, slid in beside the Dallas police.
“Entrance is around front,” Annalyn told them. “She claimed he grabbed her out here, when she came out the back. Held the knife on her until she’d unlocked, then did her right on the floor.”
“There’s a security cam.”
Annalyn looked up as Eve did. “There wasn’t. The owner installed one after the fact. The place isn’t much, but he’s a decent guy. He was pretty upset about the whole deal, and steamed that it happened in his place.”
They walked around front where Eve agreed, the place wasn’t much. When they stepped in she judged it as a bar for serious, nofrills drinking. Long bar, swivel stools, a scatter of tables with hard plastic chairs, crap lighting. No food service, and no amusements other than the ancient, flickering, and palm-sized screen hanging from a hook at the end of the bar.
It didn’t lack for customers. She counted eleven, half of them in cowboy boots, and most of them solo drinkers.
The man running the stick had a gut like a whale and a bald streak straight down the center of his skull. He gave them a look, a nod, then came down the bar to meet them.
“Detectives. Don’t tell me you found that fucker—excuse my language—who raped Sarajo?”
Bree took the lead. In Eve’s estimation, her partner let her.
“The woman you knew as Sarajo Whitehead is wanted for questioning on another matter. It turns out she was using false identification when she worked for you, Mr. Vik. And we now believe, on strong evidence, she faked the rape.”
“Goddamn it, excuse my language.” He shifted his feet. The enormous gut rolled like a tsunami. “I gave her a week’s pay after that happened, to tide her over. Felt responsible ’cause she closed the place for me that night, and I didn’t have security on the back. Why the hell would she do something like that?”
“The thing is, Mr. Vik, we think she had relations with someone here that night. I know we asked you, and everyone who worked that night before, but with this new angle, can you think of anyone she might have let in after closing?”
“Wasn’t a regular, I’ll tell you that. I grilled every last one of them my own self.” He swiped a rag over the bar. “There was that guy, passing through. He didn’t look nothing like the guy she said. She said he was big, had some Mex in him, dark hair and eyes. This guy was white as an Irishman’s ass—excuse my language—and scrawny. Yellow hair.
Talked too damn much to suit me. Here for his daddy’s memorial, hated the old man anyway, and was heading back to Kentucky when it was over. I left about midnight. He was still here. But the flat fact is, he wasn’t carrying no knife, and Sarajo could’ve squashed him like a bug if he tried anything. I never gave him a thought.”
“Did he mention his name?”
“Maybe did. Let me think.” Vik closed his eyes. “Chester. Yeah, he said how he was named after the old man. Didn’t say the rest, not to me. But he ran a tab, and I held the plastic like I do at the register. If he paid that way, I can find him.”
“It would really help us out, Mr. Vik.”
“You hold on. Want a drink?”
“No, we’re good, but thanks.”
“Laroo! Take the bar.” Vik and his massive gut wobbled their way to a back room.
“How white is an Irishman’s ass?” Eve wondered aloud.
“You should know, darling.”
That got a snicker out of Annalyn. “I dated a guy named Colin Magee way back in the day. He was mostly Irish. His ass was pretty white.”
“You dated everybody back in the day,” Bree said, but her eyes stayed fixed on the door to the back room, as if she could will Vik to return with what they needed.
“I’ve always preferred the sampler menu. Take a few bites, then try something else. So how’s juggling cop and marriage?” she asked Eve.
“You’re never hungry. Tell me, is this Vik’s memory as good as he makes it sound?”
“Every bit,” Annalyn confirmed. “He rattled off the name of every regular when we first came in, and his opinion on same. Detailed the work schedules, gave us former employees in case one of them had come back and done it out of spite.”
He waddled through the door again with a printout. “Used the plastic. Chester H. Gibbons.”
He passed the printout to Bree.
“Thanks, Mr. Vik. This is a big help.”
“She did what you say, I hope you get her good. After she didn’t come back, I tried to get her on her ’link, even went over to her place. Worried about her—and felt guilty, too. She’d cleared out, and I figured she was too upset to stay.” He shook his head, eyed Roarke. “You don’t look like a cop.”
“I’m not, and thank you for noticing.”
“Irish, are you? Never knew a Mick—no offense—didn’t know how to drink. You come back any time, we’ll fix you up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’ve got a couple questions,” Eve began.
“Now you look like a cop.”
“I am, thanks for noticing.”
Vik’s smiled flickered in appreciation. “But you ain’t from around here.”
“New York. You’ve got an impressive memory, Mr. Vik. When did Sarajo start working for you?”
“Would’ve been middle of August last year. She came in—Saturday night, it was, looking for work. Business was good, so I said she could work then and there. If she did good, I’d give her some hours. You could tell she’d worked bars before. She knew how to get the drinks out, when to talk, when to shut up. Good-looking. Even drunks like having a good-looking woman serve them drinks.”
“You didn’t ask her any questions?”
“Not then, but sure, before I hired her on official. She said her man left her in Laredo, and she wanted a fresh start. She did the job. Wasn’t especially friendly, but she did the job.”
“An observant sort such as yourself would’ve known she was a user.”
He lifted his shoulders; his gut flowed like the tide. “Maybe I figured she gave herself a boost here and there. I didn’t see it, and it didn’t screw with her work. So not my business.”
“How often did she lock up?”
“Once, maybe twice a week. After she’d worked here awhile, she asked if she could work that shift a couple times a week, or more if I wanted. Two of the other waitresses, they got kids. She didn’t. It worked out. What the hell you want her for? This isn’t for crying rape or using some boosters.”
“No, but they both play. She won’t come back here, Mr. Vik, but if you happen to see her anywhere in your travels, don’t approach her. Contact Detective Jones or Detective Walker. We could use witnesses like you in New York.”
“Couldn’t get me there with a bowie knife at my throat or a cattle prod up my ass—excuse my language. Full of thieves, murderers, and lunatics. No offense.”
“None taken.”
When they stepped outside, Eve turned to Bree. “I’d like to walk down to the clinic, talk to the doctor who examined the partner. I can take this one if you want to start working on finding Chester.”
Bree looked to Annalyn.
“Yeah, no point traveling in a pack. We’ll let you know what we find when we find it.”
“Same goes. Since you’re headed back, maybe you could update the feds.”
“Yeah, what the hell. The clinic’s about four blocks, that way.” Annalyn gestured.