am I.”
“Hey. Come on.” Smiling, he raises his hands. “I’m just kidding around.”
“Here’s a newsflash for you, slick,” Pickles says. “We’re not amused.”
“I’m getting that.” Sobering, he looks from me to Pickles and back to me. “What can I do for you?”
“Where were you last night?” I begin.
He assesses me, a wily teenager poking fun at his clueless, overbearing parents. The bartender moves to within earshot, picking up a glass I know is already dry, and running his dingy towel over it.
“I was here,” Drew replies.
“Can someone substantiate that?”
He looks at the bartender. “Hey, Jimmy. Where was I last night?”
The man behind the bar, rail thin and sporting a goatee that’s going gray, concentrates on his glass. “You were here, running your mouth and your tab, as usual.”
I give Jimmy a hard look, wishing I’d gotten Drew outside where we could be alone with him. Get him out of his element. Away from all his fair-weather friends. If he’s the man with the drugs, there’s no doubt his regulars would lie, cheat or steal to maintain a steady flow.
I glance at Pickles, lower my voice. “Go talk to the skinny shit behind the bar. I’ll take Mr. I-didn’t-do-it.”
Reaching over a row of shot glasses lined up on the counter, Pickles snags the barkeep’s shirt. “C’mere, slick.”
I turn my attention back to Krause. “What time were you here?”
“Till closing.”
“Were you alone?”
“Just me and about fifty of my closest friends.” He makes a sweeping motion that encompasses everyone in the bar.
“Can anyone else vouch for you?” I pull out my notebook. “I want names.”
His eyes narrow. “Usually I know why you guys are fuckin’ with me. This time, I don’t have a clue.” He grins. “Whatever you’re pissed about, I really
didn’t
do it.”
Grinding my teeth, I try not to think about the Plank family, their bodies slowly decomposing atop the stainless-steel gurneys at the morgue. “Names. Now.”
He rattles off six names. Some I’m familiar with. Some I’ve never heardbefore. I plan to contact all of them. Drew had better hope they have good memories. “What time did you arrive?”
“Six or so.”
“Did you leave at any time?”
“No, ma’am. I drank. Played some pool. Danced with a couple of chicks. That’s it. I swear.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I have a lot of girlfriends.”
“Do you know Mary Plank?”
He stares at me, realization dawning. “I know I ain’t got the greatest reputation in this town, but I ain’t no killer. I didn’t have nothing to do with those murders.”
“How do you know about the murders?”
“Everyone’s talking about it.” He grimaces, but it looks rehearsed and insincere. “Look, I didn’t have anything to do with that. I don’t even know those people. Are you guys fuckin’ desperate, or what?”
I get in his face. “That’s right. We’re desperate. We can make things desperate for you, too, since you’re on parole. So if I were you, I’d get real serious about cooperating.”
“Okay, okay.” For the first time, he appears uncertain. “Look, I got off work around four. Went home to shower and change—”
“Where’s home?”
“I live with my brother. On the farm.”
“Then what?”
“I came here. Had a few drinks. Stayed until closing.”
“Do you know any members of the Plank family?”
“I’m not trying to be a smart-ass or anything, but the Amish and I don’t run in the same circles.”
“Are any of your drug-dealing buddies whacked out enough to kill an entire family?”
He looks at me as if I’ve just asked him to chop off his little toe. I know the one thing he won’t talk about are his druggie friends. Even among thieves, there is a code of honor. If that’s what you want to call it, anyway.
“Look it, I got a job now. I’m legit.”
I roll my eyes. “Everyone knows you and your brother are cooking meth at the
“Hey. Come on.” Smiling, he raises his hands. “I’m just kidding around.”
“Here’s a newsflash for you, slick,” Pickles says. “We’re not amused.”
“I’m getting that.” Sobering, he looks from me to Pickles and back to me. “What can I do for you?”
“Where were you last night?” I begin.
He assesses me, a wily teenager poking fun at his clueless, overbearing parents. The bartender moves to within earshot, picking up a glass I know is already dry, and running his dingy towel over it.
“I was here,” Drew replies.
“Can someone substantiate that?”
He looks at the bartender. “Hey, Jimmy. Where was I last night?”
The man behind the bar, rail thin and sporting a goatee that’s going gray, concentrates on his glass. “You were here, running your mouth and your tab, as usual.”
I give Jimmy a hard look, wishing I’d gotten Drew outside where we could be alone with him. Get him out of his element. Away from all his fair-weather friends. If he’s the man with the drugs, there’s no doubt his regulars would lie, cheat or steal to maintain a steady flow.
I glance at Pickles, lower my voice. “Go talk to the skinny shit behind the bar. I’ll take Mr. I-didn’t-do-it.”
Reaching over a row of shot glasses lined up on the counter, Pickles snags the barkeep’s shirt. “C’mere, slick.”
I turn my attention back to Krause. “What time were you here?”
“Till closing.”
“Were you alone?”
“Just me and about fifty of my closest friends.” He makes a sweeping motion that encompasses everyone in the bar.
“Can anyone else vouch for you?” I pull out my notebook. “I want names.”
His eyes narrow. “Usually I know why you guys are fuckin’ with me. This time, I don’t have a clue.” He grins. “Whatever you’re pissed about, I really
didn’t
do it.”
Grinding my teeth, I try not to think about the Plank family, their bodies slowly decomposing atop the stainless-steel gurneys at the morgue. “Names. Now.”
He rattles off six names. Some I’m familiar with. Some I’ve never heardbefore. I plan to contact all of them. Drew had better hope they have good memories. “What time did you arrive?”
“Six or so.”
“Did you leave at any time?”
“No, ma’am. I drank. Played some pool. Danced with a couple of chicks. That’s it. I swear.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I have a lot of girlfriends.”
“Do you know Mary Plank?”
He stares at me, realization dawning. “I know I ain’t got the greatest reputation in this town, but I ain’t no killer. I didn’t have nothing to do with those murders.”
“How do you know about the murders?”
“Everyone’s talking about it.” He grimaces, but it looks rehearsed and insincere. “Look, I didn’t have anything to do with that. I don’t even know those people. Are you guys fuckin’ desperate, or what?”
I get in his face. “That’s right. We’re desperate. We can make things desperate for you, too, since you’re on parole. So if I were you, I’d get real serious about cooperating.”
“Okay, okay.” For the first time, he appears uncertain. “Look, I got off work around four. Went home to shower and change—”
“Where’s home?”
“I live with my brother. On the farm.”
“Then what?”
“I came here. Had a few drinks. Stayed until closing.”
“Do you know any members of the Plank family?”
“I’m not trying to be a smart-ass or anything, but the Amish and I don’t run in the same circles.”
“Are any of your drug-dealing buddies whacked out enough to kill an entire family?”
He looks at me as if I’ve just asked him to chop off his little toe. I know the one thing he won’t talk about are his druggie friends. Even among thieves, there is a code of honor. If that’s what you want to call it, anyway.
“Look it, I got a job now. I’m legit.”
I roll my eyes. “Everyone knows you and your brother are cooking meth at the
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