He frowned, then his forehead creased. “Oh, that’s right. I remember cutting the police that tape back when it happened.”
“They never used it in the trial. You know why?”
“No.”
“Me either.”
One of the men eating glanced down the bar. He was plowing through some very tasty-looking pinto beans and cornbread with a chunk of raw onion. He forked up a piece of brisket.
“I’d like your help identifying the cars from that night,” she said. “I want to know who might have been driving them.”
“Sure.” The bartender leaned over the photo, curious.
He pointed. “This old Caddy, that was a guy who used to work in the kitchen back then. He was at the bar, ending his shift with a meal.”
“His name?”
She wrote it down.
“Know where to find him?”
“Nope. He quit years ago.”
“All right.”
The next one was easy. “This car, you can’t tell, but it was pink. One of them Mary Kay cars from back in the day. The lady was a drinker. I don’t recall seeing her for a long time.”
“Her name?”
“Marie. No, sorry. Mary.”
“Got an idea where I can find her?”
“Nope. But I remember her full name now. Mary Baldwin. She used to try to pay her tab with a credit card that always got declined.”
Ruby had a sudden, sharp memory of a girl in high school whose mom sold Mary Kay makeup. It was the original side hustle, along with Avon, Tupperware, and Amway. She blinked the memory away, hard.
“Any others?” she asked.
His finger stopped at a brown Datsun.
“I don’t know this car,” he said, and moved on.
The man down the bar ate his brisket, trying to listen.
“This car, piece of shit Gremlin? I remember this guy. He used to come in a lot. Wes Rogers. Heard he went to prison.”
“What for?” Ruby asked.
The man down the bar spoke up, his throat lubricious.
“Killed his wife.”
11.
“You’re pregnant.”
The matron was disappointed but not shocked. These poor bred like river rats, like dogs in the field. They were lucky their puppies were not put into burlap bags and drowned.
