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“You can’t,” Danny says. “You have no proof that I killed Yvonne Wicker, because I didn’t. I only reported the body. So don’t tell me there would be consequences.”
“Actually, there would be,” Ball says, almost apologetically. “A suit for false arrest. Filed by me.”
“I strongly advise you to stay where you are,” Heller says. “Leaving would only make you look more guilty.”
From the corner, in a mild voice, Jalbert says, “He is guilty.”
Danny takes a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and hands it across the table, not to Heller but to Davis. “It says, ‘Get out you fucking murderer. Or else.’ It was wrapped around a brick. The brick was thrown at the side of my trailer in the middle of the night. That’s a consequence of getting my name in the paper, Mr. Heller. The well has been poisoned.” He again flicks his eyes to Jalbert. “The next brick could be at my head.”
Ramsey says, “Where are you going?”
“I’m thinking Colorado. I have a brother there and I don’t see him enough.”
“It won’t matter where you go,” Jalbert says. “Miss Wicker will follow you like a bad stink. One that won’t wash off.”
Danny knows this is probably true. He looks at Ramsey. “Are you pursuing any other suspects? Any at all? Maybe a boyfriend she dropped and wasn’t happy about it? A bad home situation?”
Ramsey says, “The OHP Investigative Division isn’t in the habit of sharing information with suspects.”
Danny didn’t expect any better. He has an idea that OHP isn’t pursuing any suspects in Oklahoma, and for good reason. He thinks that there is no connection between Yvonne Wicker and her killer. She was hitchhiking, got picked up by the wrong person, and it cost her her life.
He stands up. “I’m leaving.”
No one stops him, but Jalbert says, “You’ll be back.”
38
In the parking lot, Danny shakes hands with his lawyer, who drove his big honker of a Honda from Manitou. He said very little… except for that zinger about suing for false arrest. That was a good one. Otherwise, what was there to say?
“Are you sure you want to take a chance on Davis?” Ball asks.
Danny shrugs. “You’re thinking she’ll arrest me for possession when I show her the coke? Compared to what’s hanging over me, that’s a minor risk.”
Ball rocks back and forth on his feet. “If you didn’t kill her, you’re the most divine liar I’ve ever come across. Even better than my Uncle Red, which I would have thought impossible.”
“I didn’t,” Danny says. He’s getting tired of saying it.
39
It’s only a couple of miles from the KBI station to where he’s supposed to meet Ella Davis, but Danny goes the long way through Great Bend’s paltry downtown, checking his rearview mirror, doing his best to make sure no one is following him. When he finally arrives at the Coffee Hut, it’s eight-thirty. There’s a paved parking area in front, dirt in the back. That’s where Danny parks, pulling up next to a RAV4 sport utility. He’s pretty sure it belongs to Davis. There’s an action figure on the passenger seat that he recognizes, thanks to Darla Jean. It’s Elsa Oldenburg from Frozen.
He goes inside. Davis is in a booth around the corner from the counter, where she can’t be seen from the main parking lot.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” she says. “I was getting ready to leave.”
“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t followed. Sure as I could, anyway.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You really are paranoid, aren’t you?”
“It was for your benefit as well as mine. I don’t think Jalbert would like you meeting me behind his back.”
She’s spared a response by the arrival of a waitress. Danny, who hasn’t had anything to eat since his sandwich at lunch, orders country ham with gravy and a Coke.
“That will clog your arteries,” Davis says when she’s gone.
“Beats a brick in the head.”
“Frank Jalbert thinks you wrote that note yourself.”
