“Just me and about fifty of my closest friends.” He makes a sweeping motion that encompasses everyone in the bar.
“Can anyone else vouch for you?” I pull out my notebook. “I want names.”
His eyes narrow. “Usually I know why you guys are fuckin’ with me. This time, I don’t have a clue.” He grins. “Whatever you’re pissed about, I really didn’t do it.”
Grinding my teeth, I try not to think about the Plank family, their bodies slowly decomposing atop the stainless-steel gurneys at the morgue. “Names. Now.”
He rattles off six names. Some I’m familiar with. Some I’ve never heard before. I plan to contact all of them. Drew had better hope they have good memories. “What time did you arrive?”
“Six or so.”
“Did you leave at any time?”
“No, ma’am. I drank. Played some pool. Danced with a couple of chicks. That’s it. I swear.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I have a lot of girlfriends.”
“Do you know Mary Plank?”
He stares at me, realization dawning. “I know I ain’t got the greatest reputation in this town, but I ain’t no killer. I didn’t have nothing to do with those murders.”
“How do you know about the murders?”
“Everyone’s talking about it.” He grimaces, but it looks rehearsed and insincere. “Look, I didn’t have anything to do with that. I don’t even know those people. Are you guys fuckin’ desperate, or what?”
I get in his face. “That’s right. We’re desperate. We can make things desperate for you, too, since you’re on parole. So if I were you, I’d get real serious about cooperating.”
“Okay, okay.” For the first time, he appears uncertain. “Look, I got off work around four. Went home to shower and change—”
“Where’s home?”
“I live with my brother. On the farm.”
“Then what?”
“I came here. Had a few drinks. Stayed until closing.”
“Do you know any members of the Plank family?”
“I’m not trying to be a smart-ass or anything, but the Amish and I don’t run in the same circles.”
“Are any of your drug-dealing buddies whacked out enough to kill an entire family?”
He looks at me as if I’ve just asked him to chop off his little toe. I know the one thing he won’t talk about are his druggie friends. Even among thieves, there is a code of honor. If that’s what you want to call it, anyway.
“Look it, I got a job now. I’m legit.”
I roll my eyes. “Everyone knows you and your brother are cooking meth at the farm.”
“That’s bullshit. A bunch of damn rumors from people who don’t like us.”
“Do yourself a favor and answer the question, Drew. Have you heard anything? Are any of your freaky friends desperate enough to do something like that?”
“I don’t have any freaky friends. I’m outta the drug business. I learned my lesson.” For the first time he looks rattled. Joe Cool losing his cool.
“You’re full of shit.” I jab my finger in his shoulder hard enough to send him back a step.
“Hey.” He knows I’m daring him to make a move, but he doesn’t take the bait. He’s too smart to hit a cop.
“What about your brother?” I ask.
“He don’t run with the dealers no more, either. I swear.”
“Give me a name.” I jab his shoulder with my finger again, harder this time. Vaguely, I’m aware people are staring at us. Happy hour revelers giving us a wide berth. “Give me one name.”
“I don’t know anyone.” He takes another step back. “Not even the hardcore guys would do something like that. Seven people? And for what? Fifty bucks? No way.”
He’s right, but I’m not ready to let him off the hook. I have a particularly strong dislike for drug dealers. “Don’t leave town, Drew.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Sooner or later, you will.” I step closer and whisper. “When you do, I’ll be waiting.”
His face darkens. A tick quivers beneath his right cheekbone. In that instant, I catch a glimpse of the man beneath the I’m-just-a-farm-boy fa?ade, and I know that if I didn’t have a badge and a gun he’d wrap his fingers around my neck and kill me with his bare hands.
I smile at him. “See you around.”
His cheek quivers; he doesn’t smile back.
As I walk away, I hear him mutter something nasty about Amish cops behind my back. Pickles starts toward him, but I snag his jacket and keep him with me. “Let it go.”
“I don’t like that son of a bitch’s mouth,” he grumbles.
“Don’t worry, Pickles. If either of the Krause boys had anything to do with this, they’ll get what’s coming to them even if I have to dish it out myself.”
CHAPTER 9