Folsom crossed his Popeye forearms. “If this is about that Asian chick, I have nothing to say. Besides, I thought they found the guy who killed her. It’s been all over the news tonight.”
“I wouldn’t believe everything you hear. The case continues to be under active investigation.”
“Are you saying I’m still some kind of suspect?”
“There’s evidence linking you to the death of two young women.”
The bartender leaned close enough that I could smell liquor on his breath. Folsom was one of those barkeeps who helped himself to his own spirits. “So I used Smitty’s pay phone a few times? So what? I wasn’t anywhere near Parker Point that night.”
“The J-Team doesn’t care. As far as they’re concerned, these new killings just prove Nikki’s murderer is still on the loose. And your name is on their list.”
“I never committed a crime in my life.” Folsom’s muscled chest had begun to heave, and he seemed on the verge of tears. “Do you know what it’s like being called a sex killer? It nearly killed my mom to read that shit in the papers.” One of the waitresses dropped a plate, which shattered on the floor. We both watched as the cook scolded her for her clumsiness. When Folsom looked at me again, his eyes were dry. “What does it matter to you anyway?”
“I was the one who found Ashley Kim. I think there’s some connection between her death and what happened to Nikki Donnatelli.” I framed my next words with care. “Jefferts and Nikki had a sexual relationship, didn’t they?”
“That’s a lie,” Folsom sneered. “Nikki was a good girl from a good family. She wouldn’t have been interested in a scumbag like that.”
I sensed that he wasn’t being entirely truthful. “How can you be so sure?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Because I knew her, and you didn’t. I resent your talking about Nikki like she was some kind of slut.”
Interesting choice of words, I thought. But I didn’t want to provoke a fistfight with a former Marine, especially with one hand tied behind my back, so to speak. “What do you think happened to Nikki after she left work that night?”
“For seven years, I’ve been asking myself that question. Jefferts must have surprised her or something.” He pinched his nostrils as if to keep them from running and looked down at the greasy kitchen floor. “You don’t know what it’s like having people think you’re a murderer.”
“Actually, I do.”
Folsom shook his head as if I was just being agreeable and not stating an essential truth of my life. “I was having a good night tonight,” he said. “Why’d you have to come in here and fuck it all up?”
I suspected the bartender was withholding information about Erland and Nikki. But whatever Bell thought of him, Mark Folsom didn’t strike me as a man capable of raping and murdering a young woman. If anything, he seemed like a man carrying a heavy grief. I wondered if he blamed himself for Nikki’s death.
I reached for my wallet. It was then that I felt a certain lightness inside my skull. The beer seemed to be affecting me in a profound way. “What do I owe you?”
Folsom waved his hand. “Nothing. Just get the hell out of here.”
On my way out the door, I glanced over at the Driskos’ table. Father and son were alone now, laughing and backslapping as if they’d just won the lottery. The man they’d been sitting with had vanished.
Dave spotted me, nudged his son, and pointed in my direction.
I pointed back at them, making a pistol of my left hand and pulling my thumb down as if firing it.
I needed to make a detour to the rest room. I stood in front of the urinal for what seemed like half an hour, emptying my bladder.
While I was there, another guy came in and stood beside me at the next urinal. He unzipped but seemed to have a hard time getting going. When I flushed, he flushed, too, and began washing his hands at one of the sinks. We looked at each other in the dirty mirror. He was lanky, prematurely bald, and the bones in his face were very prominent, from his cheekbones to his jaw.
“You’re Stanley Snow,” I said.
“Warden Bowditch,” he said in his surprisingly high voice. “I heard you were the one who found Hans.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for doing that.” He wadded the wet paper towel in his hands into a ball. “The cops finally let us back into the house. But Jill said she can’t stand to sleep there, so she’s staying at the hotel. I think she’s going to sell the place.”
“Please give her my condolences.”
He gave me a closed-lipped smile and tossed his paper towel at the trash can. It landed on the floor instead, but he ignored it and went back out to the restaurant.
I looked at the wadded piece of paper for a moment and then stooped and retrieved it and dropped it in the trash. People’s thoughtlessness never ceased to amaze me. Then I wandered back out to the saloon.
When I passed the bar again, I noticed Folsom making a call on his cell phone. He gave me a dark glance, which raised the hairs on my neck as I stepped outside.
I met the Driskos again in the parking lot. They were both seated casually on the hood of my Jeep. How they knew it was my vehicle was a mystery.
“Warden Bowditch!” the son slurred. “It’s a surprise to see you here.”
“We didn’t figure you for a barfly,” said Dave, looking glassy-eyed and sour.
My left hand went into my jacket pocket and found the textured grip of my pistol. “Get off my Jeep.”
“Is this yours?” said Dave. They laughed simultaneously and, without even looking at each other, slid off the hood in unison.
“Dude, what happened to your hand?” asked Donnie.
“I was in an ATV accident.”
“That was you? Fuck! We heard it on the scanner. Barter’s little kid is like a vegetable or something.”
“You must feel like shit,” said his father. In the moonlight, his mustache seemed to be crawling like a black caterpillar along his upper lip.
“If you ever need an ATV lesson, you should give us a call,” Donnie added. “We can teach you how to ride better.”
These men had absolutely no fear of me. Their disrespect ate at my heart.
“Do you know what I just realized?” said Dave with sudden vehemence. “Now all three of us are on disability!”
Father and son looked at each and started to cackle.
“You boys seem happy,” I said.
“You have no idea, man,” said Dave. “You have no idea.”
“You might want to talk with the detectives sooner rather than later,” I said. “The DNA evidence I took is going to show that you swiped that deer.”
“Misdemeanor,” said Donnie with a smirk.
“That ain’t an admission of guilt by the way,” added his father.
“Well, I would expect to get a visit from Detective Menario if I were you.”
“Cops are assholes,” said Dave. Then he added with a smoke-stained smile, “Present company excluded.”
I advanced on Dave, who stood probably half a foot shorter than me. “I don’t appreciate hearing you talk that way about law-enforcement officers.”
“You’d better get out of my face,” the runt warned.
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll be sorry is what.” Donnie stepped forward to present a unified front.
I didn’t back down. “I think you boys have been lying to me from the start, and I bet you know a lot more about what happened to Ashley Kim than you’re admitting.”
“Fuck you.” Donnie made fists of his hands.
“Back off, Donnie,” I said.
