“I’m inclined to believe a woman who makes her living as a reporter over two elderly diner owners,” Willis said. “But I’d like to hear how positive you are.”
“Was Natalie sexually molested? Off the record.” I set down my pen.
He sat silent for a second, twirling his beer bottle.
“No.”
“I’m positive her eyes were open. But you were there.”
“I was,” he said.
“So you don’t need me for that. What’s the second thing?”
“What?”
“You said, ‘first of all…’”
“Oh, right. Well, the second reason I wanted to speak with you, to be frank—a quality it seems you’d appreciate—is that I’m desperate to talk to a nontownie.” The teeth flashed at me. “I mean, I know you’re from here. And I don’t know how you did it. I’ve been here off and on since last August and I’m going crazy. Not that Kansas City is a seething metropolis, but there’s a night life. A cultural…some culture. There’s people.”
“I’m sure you’re doing fine.”
“I’d better. I may be here for a while now.”
“Yes.” I pointed my notebook at him. “So what’s your theory, Mr. Willis?”
“That’s Detective Willis, actually.” He grinned again. I finished my drink in another swallow, began chewing on the stunted cocktail straw. “So, Camille, can I buy you a round?”
I jiggled my glass and nodded. “Bourbon straight up.”
“Nice.”
While he was at the bar, I took my ballpoint and wrote the word dick on my wrist in looping cursive. He came back with two Wild Turkeys.
“So.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “My proposal is that maybe we can just talk for a little bit. Like civilians? I’m really craving it. Bill Vickery isn’t exactly dying to get to know me.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Right. So, you’re from Wind Gap, and now you work for a paper in Chicago. Tribune?”
“Daily Post.”
“Don’t know that one.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“That high on it, huh?”
“It’s fine. It’s just fine.” I wasn’t in the mood to be charming, not even sure I’d remember the drill. Adora is the schmoozer in the family—even the guy who sprays for termites once a year sends doting Christmas cards.
“You’re not giving me a lot to work with here, Camille. If you want me to leave, I will.”
I didn’t, in truth. He was nice to look at, and his voice made me feel less ragged. It didn’t hurt that he didn’t belong here either.
“I’m sorry, I’m being curt. Been a rocky reentry. Writing about all this doesn’t help.”
“How long since you’ve been back?”
“Years. Eight to be precise.”
“But you still have family here.”
“Oh, yes. Fervent Wind Gapians. I think that’s the preferred term, in answer to your question earlier today.”
“Ah, thanks. I’d hate to insult the nice people around here. More than I already have. So your folks like it here?”
“Mm-hmm. They’d never dream of leaving here. Too many friends. Too perfect a house. Etcetera.”
“Both your parents were born here then?”
A table of familiar guys about my age plopped down at a nearby booth, each sloshing a pitcher of beer. I hoped they wouldn’t see me.
“My mom was. My stepdad’s from Tennessee. He moved here when they got married.”
“When was that?”
“Almost thirty years ago, I’d guess.” I tried to slow my drinking down so I didn’t outpace him.
“And your father?”
I smiled pointedly. “You raised in Kansas City?”
“Yep. Never dream of leaving. Too many friends. Too perfect a house. Etcetera.”
“And being a cop there is…good?”
“You see some action. Enough so I won’t turn into Vickery. Last year I did some high-profile stuff. Murders mostly. And we got a guy who was serially assaulting women around town.”
“Rape?”
“No. He straddled them and then reached inside their mouths, scratched their throats to pieces.”
“Jesus.”
“We caught him. He was a middle-aged liquor salesman who lived with his mother, and still had tissue from the last woman’s throat under his fingernails. Ten days after the attack.”
I wasn’t clear if he was bemoaning the guy’s stupidity or his poor hygiene.
“Good.”
“And now I’m here. Smaller town, but bigger proving grounds. When Vickery first phoned us, the case wasn’t that big yet, so they sent someone mid-range on the totem pole. Me.” He smiled, almost self-effacingly. “Then it turned into a serial. They’re letting me keep the case for now—with the understanding that I’d better not screw up.”