“What about a DNA test? That would be the clincher.”
“Yeah, I almost forgot. He went for that, too. We took some blood and a buccal swab and sent it all to the lab. I imagine that’ll take a couple weeks. By the way, if I haven’t said it already: Thanks for talking to Corey. He sure got a lot more cooperative when you were done with him.”
Marlin looked through the kitchen window at a passing bluejay. “It must be my charming personality. Plus the fact that I didn’t hit him with a nightstick.”
“Ouch,” Garza said. “Low blow, and Wylie isn’t even here to defend himself.”
“Which brings up another thing,” Marlin said. “How come Wylie didn’t just ask Corey for permission to search?”
“Judgment call. He didn’t want to make Corey jittery, give him a chance to destroy evidence. Hey, he had a hard enough time just asking you to talk to Corey. You know how proud he can be sometimes.”
“Pigheaded is more like it.”
Garza chuckled. “And that’s what makes him such a good cop. If nothing else, give him that. But we’re getting off-topic, aren’t we?”
“All I’m saying is that he’s always the last to admit when he’s wrong. So if Corey comes back clean, you know I’m gonna have to ride him a little about it.”
“Yeah, yeah. But right now, that’s looking like a pretty big ‘if.’” He lightened his tone. “You know, I’m glad we had this little chat, John. You’ve got a sharp mind, even for a redneck. You sure you don’t want to come work with me at the sheriff’s office?” Garza had asked Marlin that question several times in the last year.
“I prefer hanging around with animals,” Marlin deadpanned. “They’re much nicer than people.”
“This is insane, you know that?” T.J. asked, killing the engine on his boat. Darkness was settling over the water now, the surface of the lake as smooth as glass. “You know how deep this water is? And besides-you’ve never even scuba dived.”
“How hard can it be to find a fuckin’ car?” Vinnie replied as he pulled on the wetsuit.
T.J. took a hit from his ever-present joint. “Speaking of cars, I hear there’s catfish as big as Volkswagens down there. Swallow you whole. Better watch your ass.”
“Just shut the fuck up, will ya? I don’t need you psychin’ me out with that shit.”
Vinnie was feeling a little nervous, on edge, his guts tumbling around inside him. He had never scuba dived before. But when he had stolen the gear from the scuba shop-a little mom-and-pop operation up by Lake Buchanan-he had found a brochure with a checklist for scuba beginners. It said something about remembering to breath normally, especially on your way back up. And you were supposed to come up slower than your slowest bubble. Sounded pretty easy.
“Gimme the rope.”
T.J. handed him the end of a hundred-foot line, which Vinnie cinched around his waist.
Vinnie said, “Keep it tight, but don’t yank on it, for chrissakes. Might be the only way I’ll know which way is up.”
“Gotcha.”
Vinnie pulled the scuba mask on and adjusted it for comfort. A few seconds later, he tugged his flippers on, gave T.J. a thumbs-up, and dropped backward off the boat into the cold water.
Marlin slipped through the side door of the gymnasium just as Inga Mueller was taking the microphone, standing on a small stage underneath one of the basketball goals. There was a much larger crowd than Marlin had expected-probably close to three hundred.
“Ladies and gentleman, I want to thank you for coming tonight.” Marlin spotted Phil Colby waving at him from the lower row of bleachers and took a seat next to him.
“Howdy, stranger,” Marlin said.
“I figured you’d show up,” Colby replied. “She’s just getting started.”
Marlin turned his attention to the stage. Inga was wearing a short black skirt, low-heeled boots, and a clingy gray turtleneck.
Inga strolled slowly around the stage as she spoke into the handheld microphone. “I would like to talk to all of you tonight about a sensitive topic, one that requires serious thought from every citizen in Blanco County. Now, I know that many of you don’t know me, and that’s because”-she slipped into a Texas accent for a moment-“I’m not from ’round these parts.”
Mild laughter rippled through the audience.
“I wish I was, though, because Texas looks like a beautiful place to live. The people are so friendly, and proud, too. I met a man yesterday who showed me a picture of his new baby. He told me the baby weighed ten pounds, but he used to weigh twenty. I asked him what happened, and the man said he had him circumcised.”
Marlin smiled. He hadn’t even seen that joke coming. For a brief moment, the crowd was silent, maybe a little startled, as if everyone was taking a moment, waiting to see if it was okay to laugh at such an off-color joke. Like: Did she really just say that? Then the chuckles began and rolled quickly through the crowd. Some guy yelled “Everything’s bigger in Texas, honey!”-which produced another round of laughter.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Inga replied with a coy smile, letting the laughter slowly fade away. “And I can see that when you do something around here, you do it in a
Inga knelt at the front of the stage and flipped the switch on a slide projector. A large square of light appeared on the wall behind her.
She pulled a device from her skirt pocket and punched a button. “This,” she said melodramatically, “is the evil cedar tree.”
A scrubby Ashe juniper-commonly called a cedar in Texas-appeared on the screen. Inga playfully gave the tree a thumbs-down sign and hissed loudly. The audience chuckled, and many members joined in with a chorus of boos.
Marlin shook his head and smiled. Yesterday, he’d figured Inga would offend the audience-either by not being very tactful or simply by being an outsider. But now she had them in the palm of her hand. Clever gal.
“Now we all know what a pain in the, uh, derriere these things can be. They choke out all the hardwood trees, ruin your pastures, and hog all the water. I’ve read that an average-sized cedar uses about thirty-five gallons of water a day. And that seems to be the biggest complaint around here.”
For the next ten minutes, Inga went on to discuss the water shortage in Blanco County, and the continuously low level of the aquifer. Marlin thought she was doing a great job; she obviously had a knack for keeping the interest of large groups, and her looks certainly didn’t hurt.
As Inga continued, Marlin glanced around and saw a mixed crowd of people he knew: rural residents and city dwellers, schoolteachers and day laborers, Realtors and ranchers, young and old alike. Everyone appeared to be listening intently.
“… so I understand the need for brush-clearing,” Inga was saying. “I mean, protecting the aquifer just seems like a smart move. But I wanted to talk to you about the impact the brush removal is having on the wildlife in the area.”
She turned toward the screen as she punched a button. A rather unattractive black bird appeared on the screen.
“Can anyone tell me what this is?” she asked the audience.
Someone shouted that it was a crow. Someone else said a raven.
“Not quite.” She flipped to the next photo. The same bird, but photographed from behind. Now you could see a faint ruby-colored half-band on the back of its neck. “Does that help?”
In the front row, a young girl-probably a student, Marlin guessed-said, “Red-necked sapsucker?”
“Exactly right!” Inga said. “Take a good look, because it may be the only time you’ll ever see one. These birds used to be found throughout the Southwest, but now they are found mostly in Central Texas, especially in Blanco County, and they are extremely rare. Nobody knows exactly how many are left, but the latest studies show there could be as few as just a couple hundred. Even more of a problem, the last dozen or so sightings have all been
