“Say if somebody hurt his feelings, he’d withdraw. I think it was because he was shy. Somebody said one wrong thing to him, he’d just clam up. Just up and leave. That’s why he was always bouncing around between Bisbee and here. He didn’t like being criticized, took it to heart.”
“He ever get in fights?”
“Nope. When something bothered him, he’d pack up his stuff and take off.” Beau Taylor stared at the shimmering white heat beyond the open doorway.
“You’re sure he was friends with Chuck Lehman.”
“Oh yeah. It was always Chuck this and Chuck that. Guy knew everything. Nobody else knew shit. But that all changed a couple of weeks ago.”
“They had a falling out?”
“Kid wouldn’t talk about it, but you should’ve seen the look on his face when I asked about him.”
“This was a couple of weeks ago?”
“Last time he came down here.”
“Could you pinpoint the date?”
“I think it was a Sunday. We’re closed Sundays, plus we go to church.” He rolled his chair over to the counter under the window and consulted a greasy-looking desk calendar. “Sunday. End of June.”
“Did he fight with his girlfriend much?”
“They had their set-to’s. But he was in love with her and in love with her family—couldn’t say what he loved more. His mother wasn’t worth much, and he always wanted a family.”
“Cary was eighteen. An adult. How come he wasn’t out on his own?”
“He attached himself to people. He was needy and a loner at the same time.”
“Was Jessica a friend of Lehman’s, too?”
“I’m pretty sure she was. Cary mentioned a couple of times they did things together.”
“Didn’t it seem strange to you? A man that much older hanging out with kids?”
“I didn’t have a say in it. As you said, he was an adult.”
Laura opened her mouth to say that Jessica wasn’t an adult—and that was when her cell phone chirped.
Sylvia Clegg, standing on a chair in the closet, felt hard plastic behind the piles of folded blankets stored for the summer.
She pulled down a videotape just as she heard the toilet flush.
The tape was called Pubic Enemy No. 1. The heart-warming story of a gangster who finds love in a hot sheet motel with two vertically-challenged girls.
“What’s that?” said Detective Buddy Holland from the doorway.
“Buddy, you didn’t use the bathroom, did you?”
He held up his hands, gloved in latex. “You gotta go, you gotta go. What’s that? Porno?”
“You’re in here now, you might as well come and look at this.”
She held the tape out to him. He didn’t touch; just looked. “What do you think?”
“Girls could be twenty, or they could be sixteen. Hard to tell these days.”
“Definitely not little girls, though.” She stepped back up and reached into the closet, pulled out more of tapes.
Buddy remained in the room, hands on his hips, watching her.
“Where’s Chuck?” she asked him.
“He’s still out back, stewing.” He added, “The DPS guy left, has to witness the autopsy.”
“You really aren’t supposed to be in here.”
“I know.” He made a slow circuit of the room, peering at things without touching. “Anything besides the porno?”
“Not that I can see.”
“Too bad.” Buddy shone his MagLite at the back of Chuck Lehman’s dresser.
“Buddy, what are you doing?”
“There’s a gap between the dresser and the wall.”
“So?”
He looked at her. “Did you look to see if anything fell back there?”
Sylvia felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I’m not done yet.”
Buddy continued to stand over the dresser. He was looking at something.
Sylvia got down off the chair and set the videotapes down on the floor. “What is it?”
Buddy pointed his flashlight behind the dresser. She came to stand next to him and peered down. Something there. A cylinder.
