Page 21 of Sting
“Nothin’.”
“She didn’t answer?”
He shook his head. “Just turned a cold shoulder.”
“What did you derive from that?”
“Derive?”
“How’d you take that? Like maybe she was expecting someone?”
“I dunno.” He gave them a stupid grin. “I wasn’t thinking too clear.”
Joe kept at it for a few more minutes, but it became apparent that the young man hadn’t been thinking clearly at all, that he’d had more than a “coupla drinks” with his pals. He saw a pretty lady and was goaded into approaching her with nothing more in mind than the prospect of getting lucky.
“Witnesses overheard her tell you to go to hell.”
“Turns out she wasn’t a friendly sort a’tall. Truth is, she was a snotty bitch. Who needs that? Actually, I’m glad she turned me down.”
Not believing that for a second, Joe looked at Hick, who snickered. He didn’t believe it, either. Going back to the young man, Joe asked, “How long between when she stormed out and you followed?”
“My friends were giving me shit for being shut down, so five minutes, maybe.”
Hick, referring to notes Morrow had taken, whispered to Joe, “His friends said it was more like ten minutes.”
Joe asked, “How’d you know where her car was parked?”
“Didn’t. I was just stumbling around out there in the dark, looking to see if I could catch up with her before she drove off.”
“Did you?”
His stringy hair flapped against his cheeks as he firmly shook his head. “Swear to God. Never saw her again. Didn’t come upon anything except the…the…you know, the body.” He swallowed so thickly that Hick asked if he needed the vomit bucket again. “No. I’m okay.”
“Did you touch anything?”
“Out there you mean? Hell no. Well, maybe the fender of the car. I think I propped my hand on it while I was bent over yakkin’.”
“You didn’t notice any headlights, or a vehicle leaving the parking lot?” Hick asked.
Another head shake. “Too busy puking.”
Joe asked, “Had you noticed Mickey Bolden in the bar?”
“That the dead guy?” After a nod of confirmation, he said, “Yeah. Right before he left, he went over to the jukebox and was talking to the other guy.”
“What did the other guy look like?”
He raised his bony shoulders in a shrug. “Like a guy.”
“Young, old, short, tall, black, white?”
“White. On the tall side. Older than me. Younger than you.” Then he looked at Hick. “Maybe ’bout your age.”
“Any tattoos, distinguishing clothing, facial hair?”
“Couldn’t tell you. I was eyeballing that gal’s rack, not lookin’ at some dude.”
Joe looked over at Hickam, who looked back, his wry expression saying, Nowhere to take that.
