Cody’s hand, as if on its own, crab-walked across the bench seat until it paused near the day pack of the hiker. Cody didn’t look over. His hand had a mind of its own. It was out of his control. Then it grabbed the neck of the bottle of Jim Beam.
His other hand, also thinking independently, reached across his body and unscrewed the cap. He took two big gulps, as if it were water and he was thirsty, then he jammed the bottle between his thighs. Something inside him said,
He shrugged the voice away. That had never been difficult, he always won that contest. At first, his belly clutched painfully, as if it were shutting down and rejecting the alcohol. He grunted and leaned forward, doubling up, his forehead on the top of the steering wheel. Then the pain stopped and, as if he were welcoming an old friend, he could feel the familiar warmth radiate through him starting with his chest and spreading out to his arms and legs and head. It was as if he was filling his tank up with rocket fuel.
He sat back and the blackened image of the arm and bloated hand flickered on the inside of the windshield like the screen of a drive-in movie, and he said, “Hank, is this what happened to you? Is this what you did? You opened a bottle again? Tell me I’m wrong because buddy, I believed in you.”
He thought about it. He had another drink.
Then: “Hank, I’m going to find whoever did this to you.”
Cody drank fast on an empty stomach. When he put the cap back on the bottle half of it was gone. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, turned on the interior light, and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. He remembered that flushed face from scarred mirrors in bar restrooms and from his own bathroom when he got home after closing time.
He said, “Helloooo, handsome. And welcome back.”
And he suddenly had a plan.
Then he unwrapped and crammed three sticks of Stride Winterblue gum (every drunk’s secret gum) into his mouth and lit a cigarette. The combination would disguise his breath. He knew this from experience. And he opened the SUV door and once again was pelted by rain. If it weren’t for the furnace raging through him, he thought, it might feel cold outside.
Cody walked toward the plastic barrier and wriggled his fingers at Carrie as he pushed the crime-scene tape over his head and approached her car on the driver’s side. She didn’t respond so he leaned his butt against the front fender and drew in deep on his cigarette. He listened to the rain coursing through the pines and heavy drops plunking into surface puddles. Raindrops smacked his cigarette and he felt it important to smoke it to a nub before a lucky drop hit the cherry and drowned it out.
Finally, she rolled her window down. “Yes? Are you here to tell me I can go in?”
“Nope.”
“Then get off my car.”
He wouldn’t tell her he needed to lean against her car for a moment so he wouldn’t fall down. Instead, he laughed. “I don’t think I can make it look any worse than it does now.”
“Jesus,” she said. “You are such an-”
“Sticks and stones,” he said in a way that even charmed
“Carrie, do you remember when you asked me to be a source? Remember? It was in the Windbag.”
She was quiet. Cautious. “Yes.”
“I’m ready,” he said.
“Are you jerking me around?” Her voice was attractive, kind of husky.
“No, ma’am.”
“Are there conditions?” she asked. Her voice had become businesslike. Which for some reason made him want to take her home again, but he’d settle for another cigarette. He slapped his raincoat until he found the pack and matches.
“Those things will kill you,” she said.
“Bring it on,” he laughed. “Bring it on.”
“Cody.”
He got the cigarette lit and turned and dropped to his haunches so he was eye-level with her in the car. She didn’t draw back away from him, he noticed. He wished he could see her face better.
“Promise me what I tell you will be confidential,” he said. “My name can’t be in the story and you have to promise you won’t even hint at where this comes from.”
She hesitated, then said, “Okay. But it’s got to be of substance.”
“It’s of substance. And you can’t do one of those ‘an unnamed source in the sheriff’s department’ kinds of things. Or I’ll make your life so miserable you’ll have to leave Montana.”
That made her wince, and she sat back. “Don’t threaten me like that.”
“No threat,” he said. “Just what it is. Are we clear?”
“We’re clear.”
He looked around. Although he couldn’t see everyone at the cabin, he did see flashlight beams bouncing around.
“This isn’t an accident, whatever the sheriff or Skeeter tells you. It’s a murder.”
“Jesus.”
“And whoever did it tried to cover his tracks by burning the place down. The victim was a great man named Hank Winters, and we’re gonna find who did it.”
She shook her head. “Why would the sheriff or Skeeter want to cover that up? I don’t understand.”
He whispered conspiratorially, “Because it’s important to them not to call it a murder. It’s political, and it’s big. Bigger than hell. This could be the story that gets you on the map if you play it right.”
“Oh, Cody,” she said, reaching out of her window and touching his arm. Her eyes glistened in the reflection of the flashlights at the scene.
“Look,” he said. “The murderer left a clue to his identity. I can’t tell you what it was but we’re going to follow it to the killer once we get some outside experts up here with some special equipment. And we
“What kind of analysis?”
“That I can’t tell you yet.”
With that, Cody stood and patted her hand back. “Remember,” he said, “you didn’t hear this from me.”
After a beat, she said, “Thank you, Cody. I owe you.”
“Just no scratching this time,” he said as he turned to walk away.
As he passed under the crime-scene tape he nearly ran into Larry, who stood in the dark with his flashlight off. Cody felt the familiar grip of guilt that came with secret drinking.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Larry said in an urgent whisper. “I heard what you told her, you son of a bitch.”
Cody reached out for Larry but Larry backed away. Cody said, “I’m baiting the trap.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What was that about special equipment and analysis?”
Cody found himself grinning maniacally, and couldn’t douse it out. He held out his hand to Larry, and said, “I’m pretty sure she bought it.”
Larry stared at him, unmoving. They faced off for over a minute with no words.
Finally, Larry said, “You found a bottle, didn’t you?”
“Yup.”
“And now you’re going to self-destruct and try to take me with you.”
Cody shrugged. “You don’t have to come, Larry.”
“You asshole. You stupid jerk.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot tonight.”
Larry said, “What am I going to do with you?”
Cody suddenly felt sober. It happened at the weirdest times, he thought. He said, “Help me find the guy who
