Читаем Back of Beyond полностью

He shrugged the voice away. That had never been difficult, he always won that contest. At first, his belly clutched painfully, as if it were shutting down and rejecting the alcohol. He grunted and leaned forward, doubling up, his forehead on the top of the steering wheel. Then the pain stopped and, as if he were welcoming an old friend, he could feel the familiar warmth radiate through him starting with his chest and spreading out to his arms and legs and head. It was as if he was filling his tank up with rocket fuel.

He sat back and the blackened image of the arm and bloated hand flickered on the inside of the windshield like the screen of a drive-in movie, and he said, “Hank, is this what happened to you? Is this what you did? You opened a bottle again? Tell me I’m wrong because buddy, I believed in you.”

He thought about it. He had another drink.

Then: “Hank, I’m going to find whoever did this to you.”

Cody drank fast on an empty stomach. When he put the cap back on the bottle half of it was gone. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, turned on the interior light, and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. He remembered that flushed face from scarred mirrors in bar restrooms and from his own bathroom when he got home after closing time.

He said, “Helloooo, handsome. And welcome back.”

And he suddenly had a plan.

Then he unwrapped and crammed three sticks of Stride Winterblue gum (every drunk’s secret gum) into his mouth and lit a cigarette. The combination would disguise his breath. He knew this from experience. And he opened the SUV door and once again was pelted by rain. If it weren’t for the furnace raging through him, he thought, it might feel cold outside.

* * *

Cody walked toward the plastic barrier and wriggled his fingers at Carrie as he pushed the crime-scene tape over his head and approached her car on the driver’s side. She didn’t respond so he leaned his butt against the front fender and drew in deep on his cigarette. He listened to the rain coursing through the pines and heavy drops plunking into surface puddles. Raindrops smacked his cigarette and he felt it important to smoke it to a nub before a lucky drop hit the cherry and drowned it out.

Finally, she rolled her window down. “Yes? Are you here to tell me I can go in?”

“Nope.”

“Then get off my car.”

He wouldn’t tell her he needed to lean against her car for a moment so he wouldn’t fall down. Instead, he laughed. “I don’t think I can make it look any worse than it does now.”

“Jesus,” she said. “You are such an-”

“Sticks and stones,” he said in a way that even charmed him. And he noted she hadn’t rolled her window back up.

“Carrie, do you remember when you asked me to be a source? Remember? It was in the Windbag.”

She was quiet. Cautious. “Yes.”

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Are you jerking me around?” Her voice was attractive, kind of husky.

“No, ma’am.”

“Are there conditions?” she asked. Her voice had become businesslike. Which for some reason made him want to take her home again, but he’d settle for another cigarette. He slapped his raincoat until he found the pack and matches.

“Those things will kill you,” she said.

“Bring it on,” he laughed. “Bring it on.”

“Cody.”

He got the cigarette lit and turned and dropped to his haunches so he was eye-level with her in the car. She didn’t draw back away from him, he noticed. He wished he could see her face better.

“Promise me what I tell you will be confidential,” he said. “My name can’t be in the story and you have to promise you won’t even hint at where this comes from.”

She hesitated, then said, “Okay. But it’s got to be of substance.”

“It’s of substance. And you can’t do one of those ‘an unnamed source in the sheriff’s department’ kinds of things. Or I’ll make your life so miserable you’ll have to leave Montana.”

That made her wince, and she sat back. “Don’t threaten me like that.”

“No threat,” he said. “Just what it is. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear.”

He looked around. Although he couldn’t see everyone at the cabin, he did see flashlight beams bouncing around.

“This isn’t an accident, whatever the sheriff or Skeeter tells you. It’s a murder.”

“Jesus.”

“And whoever did it tried to cover his tracks by burning the place down. The victim was a great man named Hank Winters, and we’re gonna find who did it.”

She shook her head. “Why would the sheriff or Skeeter want to cover that up? I don’t understand.”

He whispered conspiratorially, “Because it’s important to them not to call it a murder. It’s political, and it’s big. Bigger than hell. This could be the story that gets you on the map if you play it right.”

“Oh, Cody,” she said, reaching out of her window and touching his arm. Her eyes glistened in the reflection of the flashlights at the scene.

“Look,” he said. “The murderer left a clue to his identity. I can’t tell you what it was but we’re going to follow it to the killer once we get some outside experts up here with some special equipment. And we will get him. He’s on borrowed time until the analysis comes back.”