Shot Through Velvet by Ellen Byerrum

And Wade pointed out he wasn’t handling the dangerous equipment. “I maybe had a bit more to drink than Rod.”
    “What happened?”
    “Guess I fell asleep. Musta hit my head or something’cause it’s pretty sore today. I got one hellacious headache.” Wade pointed to a spot on the back of his head. Lacey shined the light on it. “I was out cold.”
    “There’s a scab.” Lacey tried not to make a face. Did Rod actually get Wade drunk, then knock him out to make sure he wouldn’t see anything? Or was it the killer?
    “Did you see Rod leave?” Vic asked.
    “That a trick question? ’Cause I know Rod is dead. And I didn’t see him no more after I fell asleep. And I wouldn’t have seen him leave, I guess, ’cause somebody killed him after that. Somebody could have killed me! Anybody think about that? So don’t ask me to go shedding no tears for him, when I coulda died myself last night.”
    Now that Lacey looked closer at the man, she thought he might have already had a few drinks to get through this night. His hair was greasy and smoothed over a bald spot—and the scab. His shabby, unwashed clothes stank. His shoes were worn at the heels. He was drinking away what little money he had. It was hard to see what kind of relationship he’d had with Rod Gibbs. Old buddies from school?
    “How long were you asleep?” Vic asked.
    “Hell, I don’t know.” Wade tried to think. “Couple hours, maybe three, four. When I woke up it was getting toward light, so I left.”
    “Did you see anything?” Vic leaned down into Wade’s face. “Hear anything?”
    “I didn’t see nothing. I didn’t hear nothing. I just went home.”
    “Did you check the factory one last time, or complete your rounds?”
    “Man, my head was killing me. I couldn’t hardly see for the pain of it. I locked the door and got in my pickup and drove home.” Wade looked confused. “You want me to go home now? I’m supposed to be paid through this week. You firing me?”
    “You’ll get your pay,” Vic said. “But I’ll have someone else here with you the rest of the time, starting tomorrow. You can show him or her the ropes. No sleeping. No drinking. Got it?”
    It was better news than Wade had expected. “All right. It’s too much for me anyway. I work afternoons at the junkyard.”
    “You should have your head checked out,” Lacey said. “You might have a concussion.”
    “Oh no.” He pulled himself to his feet. “Not me. I got a hard head. I’ll be fine.”
    “Go see a doctor,” Vic said. “The company will pay for it. If you got hurt on the job, it’s covered under workers’ compensation. I’ll inform Kira Evans.”
    “Workers’ comp, huh? Well, all right. As long as I don’t have to pay for it.” Wade sat down at the desk and took a can of Coke out of the pocket of his parka and pulled the tab. He gulped it greedily. He was still slumped over, holding his head, when they left.
    They got in Vic’s Jeep and headed back to the motel.
    “What do you think, Vic?”
    “The man is pathetic. Either he’s lying about what he saw and heard and drank, which is a possibility, or Rod Gibbs wanted him drunk and out of the way. Rod knew his weak spot. But why bother even hiring this fool?”
    “Maybe to make sure no one more competent was in place,” Lacey suggested. “To hide whatever Rod was doing?”
    Vic just whistled. “Who knows, darling.”
    “Did our junkman Wade see something he didn’t report?” Lacey said.
    “If Wade was unconscious when Gibbs was killed, he wouldn’t have seen the body, because it was at the bottom of the dye vat. The half-dyed spool of velvet on top of the body wouldn’t concern someone like Wade. It wasn’t his job. If, on the other hand, Wade killed Rod, it was a pretty ambitious method for such a sloppy drunk.”
    “Doesn’t seem possible. And he’s the first person we’ve met who halfway liked Rod Gibbs.”
    Vic nodded. “As long as Gibbs was buying him beer. If Wade saw the