The Perk (39 page)

Beck blew out a breath. "Damn."

"I see these cases all the time," the
doctor said. "Cocaine, heroin, now methamphetamines."

"Anything else?"

Dr. Janofsky looked over his report. "Samples
thought to be semen taken from her blouse and hair. Genital system showed evidence
of recent sexual intercourse. Vaginal fluid samples were saved for analysis.
Evidence of prior D&C and—"

"D&C?"

"Dilation and curettage."

"What's that?"

"She had an abortion."

In Fredericksburg, Texas, you can buy guns and rifles of
every kind and caliber, but you can't buy an iced caramel macchiato at a Starbucks.

You can buy hand-embroidered Levi's 501 jeans
for $300, an authentic handcrafted Zuni turquoise-and-silver Squash Blossom
necklace for $5,000, a hand-carved life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary and
Baby Jesus for $14,129, a handmade mesquite pool table with a burnt orange UT
Longhorn playing surface for $22,000, and twenty-five homes for over $1
million, but you can't buy a foreign-made automobile for any price.

You can find twenty-eight churches—Southern
Baptist, Bible, Catholic, Charismatic, Church of Christ, Mormon, Evangelical,
Lutheran, Methodist, Pentecostal, Presbyterian, Seventh-Day Adventist, and even
a New Wine Church—but you can't find a synagogue.

You can get a horse shoed, a cow serviced, and a
deer processed into sausage and its head mounted on your wall, but you can't
get your body pierced or tattooed.

You can get microdermabrasion, botox, spider
vein reduction, liposuction, a facelift, and breast implants, but you can't get
an abortion. You have to go to Austin for that. Which is what Heidi Fay Geisel
had done when she was sixteen.

"Her mom took her," Kim said.
"She said she wasn't going to let Heidi ruin her life like she ruined
hers."

Kim was sitting behind the desk at the gas
station writing out checks to pay the monthly bills. She forged her father's
signature, with his permission.

"After that, she went on the pill. Her mom
took her to Austin to get them. Doctors here, they won't give you the pill
until you're eighteen. Praise the Lord and keep our girls virgins."

"Was Heidi promiscuous?"

Kim looked up from the checkbook and laughed.

"
Promiscuous?
How old are you?"

"Is that a yes?"

"We had sex … not with each other, with
guys."

"A lot?"

She shrugged. "Hooking up, it's no big
deal."

"Since when?"

"Since we've been alive."

"Did you and Heidi practice safe sex?"

"Guys hate wearing rubbers."

"Haven't you heard of AIDS?"

She shook her head as
if to say again,
God, you are so old.

"So who was the father of her baby?"

"I don't know."

He looked at her, and she looked away. She was
lying again.

"Your statement said she was wearing jeans
and sneakers. But she was found wearing a skirt."

"She probably changed."

"Did she do that often?"

"All the time. Coach wouldn't let her out
of the house in what she really wore."

"Did she wear this shoe?"

Beck pulled out the shoe, but Kim couldn't
identify it. She said, "Maybe it'll be in one of her videos."

"What videos?"

"Her audition videos."

She reached down below the desk and came back up
with her laptop. She opened the top and tapped several times and Heidi's face filled
the screen over the words "Heidi Fay."

"This is her music video."

Heidi was singing, and not that badly. Her
voice was sharp, and the music had a throbbing beat. She was wearing a bustier
and miniskirt; she was thrusting her hips as if simulating sex. The video was
intercut with other images of a sexy Heidi. It looked professional, except—

"You caught yourself in the mirror."

For a brief moment, a face had been visible in
the mirror on the wall behind Heidi.

"You wanna see her striptease act?"

"No." Beck pointed at the screen. "She's
wearing high heels."

When the heels were in view, Kim froze the
frame. They looked just like the shoe in the trash bag.

"Kim, you're pretty good with computers,
making videos. You ever thought about working at that?"

"They've got some courses over at the
community college."

"Might be a job in Austin for someone with
those skills."

"You think?"

Beck drove back down Main Street and caught the red light
at Crockett Street. A female jogger ran past on the sidewalk in front of city
hall. Her legs were muscular and her bottom firm. Lately his mind kept
switching back and forth between thoughts of law and sex as if he were channel
surfing, and he felt guilty every time: How does a man remain faithful to his
dead wife? When the light changed, he accelerated and glanced her way—
Jesus,
it was Jodie.
She saw him and waved; he waved back.

He shook his head:
Looking like that at a
lesbian.

Beck parked behind the courthouse and took the
trash bag with the shoe into the Law Enforcement Center. It was after hours
now; Grady was gone, but a deputy was on duty. Beck wrote a note to Grady.
The deputy signed for the shoe. Beck then walked over to the courthouse. He
found the cleaning lady in his chambers.

"I come back," she said. "Is
okay, I am here all night."

"No, no, Carlotta, go ahead."

Carlotta was Hispanic and middle-aged. Beck sat
in his chair, removed Heidi's case file from a drawer, and placed it on his
desk. He opened the file and wrote his notes of that day. He stared at the
crime scene photos of her body lying in the ditch.

"
Muy bonita.
"

Beck looked up. Carlotta was pointing at the
photos.

"The
señorita
from the ditch. She was very pretty."

"You remember her?"

"
Sí
. The
old judge, he was
muy enojado
. Mad. He say a Mexican killed her. But
I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because of the long black car."

Beck sat up. "What long black car?"

"In the street. I was cleaning this office
that night, it was very late. Outside, there was the rain, and much
lightning. A long black car, it stopped in the street, right there."

She pointed out the window. Beck stood and went
to the window that faced north. Main Street was not more than thirty yards from
where they were now standing.

"The driver, a
big
hombre
with the bald head, he ran to the back and climbed in. But
the door, it was still open. The light inside and the Christmas lights and the
lightning, I see him."

"See him what?"

"Like on the TV. Kneeling and
pushing."

"Pushing?"

"
Sí
."

She held her hands together and moved them up
and down as if she were bouncing a ball.

"Kneeling over someone and pushing … He
was doing CPR!"

"Then he got out and ran to the front. He
turned the long car right there, he make the, uh … what you say?"

"U-turn?"

"
Sí
. Then
the car drove that way."

She was pointing east. Toward Austin.

"Do you remember what time it was?"

"
Sí
, the clock.
Uno
."

"One
A.M.
?"

"
Sí
."

"Why didn't you tell anyone about this back
then?"

"I am illegal. The old judge, he would deport
me."

"Why are you telling me now?"

"Because you are not like the old judge. You
do not hate the Mexicans. You are the good judge."

The black limo Carlotta had seen that
night had made a U-turn on Main Street and headed east toward Austin. So a
week later, Beck was again driving to Austin. There were no limousines to be
had in Fredericksburg, Texas.

An hour later he pulled into the parking lot at Limos
to Go, which was tucked between two tattoo shops on South Congress in Austin. It was a renovated gas station with tall palm trees where the gas pumps had been;
two black limos sat out front. Beck parked next to the limos, went inside, and
introduced himself to the receptionist. A short stocky middle-aged man soon appeared;
either his cologne was Pennzoil 30-weight or he had spilled motor oil on
himself. He said, "You a judge?"

Beck had again skipped the suit in favor of
jeans and boots.

"Beck Hardin."

"Shorty. What can I do for you?"

"On New Year's Day, 2003, a sixteen-year-old
girl was found dead on the side of Highway 290 just outside Fredericksburg.
She died of a cocaine overdose."

Shorty shook his head. "Dope is the
devil."

"It's a cold case. All we have is the suspect's
DNA."

"Like on those
CSI
shows."

"Exactly. We're trying to find this guy
before the statute of limitations runs out."

"When's that?"

"Midnight, New Year's Eve."

"Not much time."

"Sixty-nine days."

"So where do I come in?"

"The night she died, a black stretch limo
was seen on Main Street in Fredericksburg. That's unusual. Closest place to
get a limo is here or San Antonio. I started here because the girl was dumped
on the highway heading toward Austin."

Beck showed Heidi's photo to Shorty.

"Pretty girl. I got a daughter her
age." He gave the photo back to Beck. "I've never rented a limo to
go out to Fredericksburg, but I've had people take my limos to Dallas then call me to pick 'em up. Come on, I'll check my records."

Beck followed Shorty back to his office, which sported
a NASCAR decor. Shorty sat behind a computer perched on a desk, put on reading
glasses, and tapped on the keyboard with two fingers like a kid playing the
piano. He leaned back in his chair and pointed at the computer screen.

"Hell, I wasn't thinking. That's the year
they held the film festival over the last weekend of the year, finished up on
New Year's Eve. Sixth Street was a real zoo. After that, they moved the
festival to October, two weeks ago. It's a big deal now. We get movie stars,
directors, producers. I rent out a lot of limos."

"You supply the drivers?"

Shorty nodded. "For the B-list and even
some of your name directors. The big stars, they bring their own, bodyguards
too."

"Who did you rent to that night?"

Shorty eyed the computer screen through the
reading glasses.

"No names you'd recognize. Movie people,
they got lawyers, so they put everything in corporate names."

"They pay with credit cards?"

"Oh, yeah. I don't take checks from those
bastards." Shorty snorted. "Those people, they're animals."

"How so?"

"What they do to
my limos. One weekend with a movie star in it and we gotta clean the car like
a goddamn OR. Carpets soaked with whiskey and beer, leather seats got burn
marks from their joints, inside looks like someone blew up a baby powder
factory. We find used rubbers, bottles, drugs, clothes—they're drinking,
doping, and screwing in my limos. What is it about screwing in a limo? They
got fancy hotel rooms, but they get into a limo and all of a sudden they're
dogs in heat." He shook his head. "Hell, I collect more DNA from my limos after one weekend with a movie star in it than they do in a whole season on
CSI
."

He had amused himself.

"Where do they get the drugs from?"

"Not from me, Judge. My limos are stocked
with liquor and beer. They want drugs, they gotta find it on their own.
Course, most of them bring their dope with them. There ain't no carry-on
restrictions on private jets."

"The movie stars using your limos, they
pick up girls?"

Shorty smiled.
"Oh, yeah. Sixth Street looks like a goddamn hooker convention, college
girls hoping to get discovered, like that
American Idol
show. Except
they ain't singing."

"Did you drive anyone on New Year's Eve that
year?"

Shorty checked his records and nodded. "Director,
B-list, maybe sixty. Pathetic. He couldn't pick up a gal at a nursing home,
but he was begging girls to get into the limo. No go. Those girls, they ain't
stupid. They do their homework, they know who can open doors in Hollywood and who can't. They ain't gonna waste their pussy on nobodies. They're only
screwing stars."

Sixth Street in downtown was lined with lounges, bars, tattoo
parlors, pubs, and the live music clubs that had made Austin the "Live
Music Capital of the World." Beck had shown Heidi's photo to every
bartender on the north side of the street. He was now on the south side. He
walked into the Coyote Ugly bar. It was midday and the music was loud. The
bartender was a big bald guy with tattoos and nose rings; he was wearing a black
Coyote Ugly
tee shirt. He didn't recognize Heidi from the photo.

"You should've been here two weeks ago for
the film festival. A thousand girls just like her were lined up outside, hoping
to get discovered on Sixth Street." He shook his head. "I think those
girls never got over watching
Cinderella
when they were kids. They all
want Prince Charming to pluck them out of obscurity and make their lives
perfect, like Tom Cruise did for Renée Zellweger. He picked her out of a face
book for
Jerry Maguire
. Look at her now."

"Difference is, he didn't pick her up in a cheap
bar for a one-night stand."

The bartender said, "Hey, our drinks ain't
cheap."

Heidi wanted to be a star. That was her dream. But only a
star can make that dream come true. So Heidi Fay Geisel would have gone to the
film festival. She would have gone to Austin to meet a movie star, someone who
could make her dream come true. She would have gone to Sixth Street and lined
up for the stars, wearing a see-through shirt and a tight miniskirt and stiletto
heels. She would have stood out among the other girls. She would have been
picked up. She would have gotten into the star's long black limo. She would
have drunk alcohol and snorted cocaine and had sex with him. She would have
done anything to be a star.