“And you know who Steve Pritchard is?”
“I know the name.”
“I’m trying to find out where he was on the night of July twelfth. He says he was staying with Marnie.”
“So you are a cop.”
“My understanding is she’s married to Cody Blackburn. Are they separated?”
She blinked at him, glanced around a bit, perhaps to see if anyone was watching, while saying, “Look, I got to go deliver these. I’ll come back in a minute.”
She moved off before he could say anything else. Mike watched her go then pulled out his phone. He googled Mohawk marriage customs, in case there were any big differences he should know about. The Mohawk Nation had to approve of a marriage, and in order to do so, the betrothed had to be from separate clans, to promote genetic diversity. After the ceremony, the groom went to live with his wife’s family. Other than that, it all seemed pretty normal. Divorce was frowned upon.
The ageless waitress – Mike still hadn’t gotten her name – returned to the table. He held up his mostly full drink and pointed at it, playacting a displeased customer for the cameras. She played along, asking, “Something the matter, sir?”
“So, Officer Blackburn lives with Marnie? Or her family?”
“At this point, she’s got her own place. I think they’re legally separated.”
“And what do you know about the night of the twelfth? Almost one week ago?”
The waitress sighed, picked up Mike’s drink, and set it on her tray. Raised her voice a little, as if people were listening in, too. “So, I’ll get you something else, then?”
“Was Pritchard there, or not?”
“She talked about it. Told me a couple days ago the tribal police had come around, asking her if he’d been there.”
“Know what she told them?”
“No. But she told me that she was working until midnight, went home, and he was there – Pritchard – passed-out drunk. They just had this thing, and it’s over… That’s all I know.”
“She wants to get back with her husband?”
“I don’t know if she wants that either.”
“How did Pritchard meet her in the first place?”
“Here,” the waitress said. “About – I dunno – couple months ago? There was still some snow on the ground.” She scanned the area again. Mike noticed the security guard, standing with a bald man in a suit, gold name tag shining. Looked like a manager.
The waitress saw them, too, raised her voice again for show. “Alright, sir. I’ll be right back with that.” She walked toward the bar as the security guard and manager made their way to Mike.
He stayed seated, looking up as they gathered around.
“Sir,” said the manager-type. His name tag read P. Merriweather. “I’m the head of security here at the casino. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Like I told your associate, here—” Mike nodded at the heavyset guard with the ponytail “—I was just in town, thought I’d see about an old friend.”
“Uh-huh.” Merriweather exchanged looks with the guard then said, “Sir, I’ve pulled video and watched your arrival to the casino. Your plates are state police. I respectfully request that you coordinate with Chief Perkins for matters concerning an investigation.”
Mike bowed his head, nodded. “I understand that.” He rose from the table and both Merriweather and the security guard took a step back. Mike pulled out his wallet, fished out a twenty, and dropped it on the table.
Merriweather stared at the money. “Sir, drinks are complimentary.”
“This is for my waitress. What’s her name?”
“You mean Penny?”
Mike glanced at her as she loaded fresh drinks onto her tray. She was looking back at them with a worried face.
“I thought I’d ask Penny about Marlene Blackburn,” Mike said, “but she was very discreet, wouldn’t say anything.” He looked directly at the guard. “And you’re right, this has been police business. I have no relationship to Mrs. Blackburn.”
* * *
Outside in his car, Mike found the number online for the casino’s human resources department, gave them a call. He wanted Penny’s last name so he could question her further. The sun was almost down, blasting through the driver’s side window, making Mike squint. “Hi, I’m looking for a reference?”
“Sure. What’s the name?”
“Okay, it’s Penny… oh boy, well see, I can barely make out the last name. That’s not a good sign, is it?” He laughed.
“What department is she in?”
“Food and Beverage.”
“And the first name was Penny? Okay, so that’s Penny Zuliani.”
“Zuliani… There we go; that makes sense. A hard one to decipher.” He scribbled it down on his notepad, which was sitting open on the passenger seat.
“So, Penny has been here eighteen months. I’m not seeing any no-shows; she’s pretty reliable, a good worker. She’s, um – she’s applied with your…?”
“Wait a minute,” Mike said. “Oh, no. That’s not Penny, that’s Jenny. My mistake.”
“Okay… would you like me to—?”
“No, no. I’m so sorry. We just opened a new restaurant in Alex Bay and we’re scrambling. Too many applications. I must’ve gotten something mixed up.”
“Oh… Okay. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Mike rang off, dropped the phone on the seat, ran his hands through his hair, and looked out the window. He had to shield his eyes from the hard sidelight but saw that the security guard had come out the main entrance and was standing on the curb, talking into his radio, and looking at Mike.
Mike dropped the shifter in drive and pulled away, waving a hand at the guard as he passed.
* * *
It was dusk as he drove out of Hogansburg. He could choose a route that took him a bit further north to Fort Covington, then south to Lake Haven, but he decided to go through Bombay instead. The road was worse but it would be quicker.
Farm country. Flat, unlike the mountainous region of home. Long white barns, boxy country-style houses with black-shuttered windows, rusted tractors, long swathes of nothing.
Penny Zuliani. Now he had a name, a contact for the whole Marlene Blackburn thing. They could work Zuliani to pressure Blackburn into coming forward on her own, go on record that she couldn’t confirm Pritchard was at her place until midnight the night of.
He bumped over some railroad tracks, and his thoughts swung to his daughter Kristen, expected to arrive the next day. He thought of Lena too, and wondered if he would say anything to his daughter about the new woman in his life. Probably not. Maybe not yet. It was too early. Had it been just a fling? He’d been out of the game so long he didn’t know how it worked anymore. Lena had two kids of her own. What did that mean? That she had expectations? Or that she wanted to maintain her independence?
In the failing light, he noted the headlights trailing him. A couple hundred yards back, someone keeping pace.
Downtown Bombay was a crossroads, 95 and county road 1. There was an American flag sticking into a telephone pole, another poking out of a small yard, both of them listless in the end-of-day heat. Mike spun the wheel clockwise and veered onto the county road. A few seconds later, he checked the rear-view mirror and saw the vehicle behind do the same. A massive pickup truck, side mirrors sticking out like big ears.
He drove for a while, full dark fading everything out, the houses fewer and farther between, but the headlights behind him pulled closer. Mike plucked the radio from its handset, thought about talking to dispatch. He hung it back up without saying anything.
The lights were bearing down on him. Between South Bombay and Moira was another stretch of nothing. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck before it even happened – the headlights seemed to lurch forward, accompanied by the roar of an engine. Mike hit the brakes, jerked the wheel, and plowed into the dirt shoulder as the truck went roaring past.