“Good luck, Dan.” I disconnected.
Nick said, “Detective Grant didn’t sound too promising to me. Said he’d question the dudes if he could find them.”
“Well, now he has a name,” Dave said.
Kim leaned her elbows on the bar, the lights from a car in the lot sweeping across her face. She said, “I just met the girl briefly when she stopped in here asking directions to your boat, but I got the feeling that Courtney isn’t what she appears.”
“What do you mean?” Dave asked, sipping a vodka over ice.
“I can’t put my finger on it. Working a bar, you develop a pretty good feel for people. I call it the bullshit meter. She seemed real, but somehow cloaked in … I don’t know exactly … she has a mysterious presence about her. Like she’s out of sync with people around here, and so saddened by something.”
“Murder can have that influence on people,” Nick said.
Dave nodded. “The carnival is at the county fairgrounds through Sunday. Maybe Grant will find one or both of them before the carnival pulls out.”
Kim sighed. “I wonder where the girl is right now.”
“Probably returned to the carnival,” I said.
Nick shook his head and reached for the Corona. “Why the hell would she go back there? Back to a place where evil rides the merry-go-round.”
I remembered the look in the girl’s eye as the police officers escorted her away. “She returned because she didn’t kill that guy, but she might know who did … she’s just not certain of that yet. Nick, when was the last time you were at a carnival?”
“Been years, man. Why?”
“Let’s see what Detective Dan Grant and his colleagues can find. They have Randal Barnes’ name. That’s a good start.”
“What if they go on and arrest the girl for murder?”
“If that happens, we can take in a night at the carnival and play a few games of chance.”
Nick sipped his beer and said, “Oh boy. I wonder if any shrimpers are here tonight.”
“Why?” Dave asked.
“Because, as my man Forrest Bubba Gump said — shit’s about to happen.”
Dave said, “I don’t recall that exact line.”
“Close enough,” Nick said, draining the last of his beer and looking straight at me.
13
The Bandini Brother’s Amusement office was in a million dollar, custom-made bus. It was parked less than one hundred yards from the midway, in a gravel lot, generators purring, the smell of diesel fumes acrid in the night air. Light spilled from all of the windows, venetian blinds pulled down behind the glass.
Courtney stood at the door marked Office, took a deep breath and knocked on the burnished aluminum. She could hear someone moving inside, a monotone conversation, and then the door opened wide. A man who went by the name of Johnny Johnson, someone Courtney had only seen a few times, stood in the light. He was more than six and a half feet tall, hair in a ponytail, heavy forehead, and flat nose with a faded pink scar across the bridge, shoulders and chest like a hammered armor under a black T-shirt. He wore a gold chain around his wide neck. He grunted. “What do you want?”
“To speak with Mr. Bandini.”
“He’s busy. Go away.” The man started to close the door, but paused, his leaden black eyes studying Courtney’s face in the light. “Wait a sec. You’re the chick who took an ice pick to my ride op, Lonnie Ebert. I heard you were arrested.”
“I wasn’t arrested because I didn’t do it.”
“Go on. Get the hell outta here.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I see Mr. Bandini. He hired me. If I’m fired, he needs to be the one who tells me that, too.”
“What’s going on?” came a question from behind the man blocking the door.
“Nothing, Mr. Bandini. Girl’s just leaving.”
“What girl?” Tony Bandini asked, stepping to the door. He was a foot shorter than the other man, head shaved, glossy with perspiration, lidless snake eyes that didn’t seem to blink. His narrow face was pastel, the color of old bones. He looked down and nodded when he recognized Courtney. “What do you want?”
“To talk about my job.”
“Johnny, check her.”
“Arms out,” Johnny said.
Courtney lifted her arms as he slowly patted her down, his breath reeking of marijuana and tuna. He felt around her breasts, down her waist to her buttocks, his hands moving like a serpent to her inner thighs.
Courtney looked directly in his eyes and said, “You move your hands any closer and I’ll kick in your teeth.”
“This one’s got some piss and vinegar.” Johnny grinned, his hands inching closer.
Bandini said, “That’s good enough. If she can hide a bug in there, she’s got some talent. Johnny, take a walk. Go get some smokes.”
“Sure, Boss, but you got a nut job standing here.”
Bandini gestured with his head. The man grumbled and walked away. Bandini looked at Courtney from head to toe in an appraising glance. “What do you want?”
“To talk with you.”
“About what, your job?”
“I don’t want to lose it. And I wanted a chance to explain to you what happened.”
“All I know is I got a dead worker and cops believe you stuck him. I’m gonna miss Lonnie. The kid had potential. Sounds like a hellava love fight between you two.”
“Maybe it was between you and Lonnie.”
Bandini didn’t blink. Face empty. “Didn’t know him that well. So you want to stay on here, huh?”
“Yes, I really need this job.”
He studied her for a few seconds, moistened his wet lips and said, “Never hurts to talk. Come on back to my office.”
From the shadows between the trailers, Isaac saw Courtney enter the office. As the door closed, he watched the custom bus. He could hear the screams from the townspeople riding the coasters. Then his eyes followed two bats in aerial acrobatics, flying in and out of light cast from a streetlamp. Isaac felt his scalp tighten, his skin taut as a drum across his wide forehead. He whispered a silent prayer and made the sign of the cross.
14
As Dave, Nick and I walked back down L dock toward our boats, I played a missed call voice message on my phone. “Sean, this is Courtney Burke. I don’t want to bother you, but when you gave me your card you said call if … look, you’d asked me if Lonnie was dealin’ drugs. A friend of mine here at the carnival says he was. Said Lonnie was a mule for Tony and Carlos Bandini, the owners of the carnival. He said Bandini may have been the one who killed Lonnie ‘cause Lonnie owned him money. Maybe you could like tell that detective, the one who knows you, Detective Grant, maybe you could tell him for me. Thank you … something else … do you have … never mind, it’s not important. Bye.”
I put my phone on speaker and replayed the message for Dave and Nick. When it concluded, Nick said, “Sounds like life is really turning to shit for the girl.”
“Maybe not,” Dave said, his eyes following a sixty-foot yacht, diesels humming, making the turn from the marina into the Halifax River, heading for Ponce Inlet and the Atlantic Ocean. “Maybe this will take the heat off Courtney and give police investigators a look into the real core of evil, the guy who slammed an icepick into the heart of the murder victim.”
I said, “She mentioned ‘something else’ and then disconnected. What was the ‘something else’ and why didn’t she leave it in her message?”
Nick shrugged. “Probably wasn’t that important.”
Dave said, “Someone could have walked into the room and she didn’t want them to hear what she was going to tell you.”
I watched the rotation of the light coming from the Ponce Lighthouse. “Maybe. I think she called me from the carnival because she said ‘here at the carnival.’ What else did she start to say?”