by Mark Gimenez
And one from October:
J.B., they can't stop this shit! It's pissing me off!
Sorry. I scream and curse now, when I'm alone. I've been reading about treatments in Mexico. Coffee enemas. (Never thought about doing that with my espresso!)
Beck can't raise my children alone. He doesn't have a clue.
TWENTY-FIVE
By the next morning, Beck had put the Slade McQuade case out of his mind. The papers had been signed, the money paid, the case closed. Justice had been done for Julio Espinoza, or as close to justice as the law allows. Heidi Fay Geisel now occupied his mind. There were only seventy-six days to find her justice.
She haunted him.
Maybe because of the debt he owed her father … maybe because of his fear that his own daughter might end up in a ditch … or maybe because there had been no justice in life for his mother or his wife. Whatever the reason, Heidi Fay Geisel was part of his life now.
So Beck was driving to Austin to see Randi Barnes. He drove down a Main Street still vacant at eight-thirty and accelerated to fifty-five when Main became Highway 290 East and crossed over Baron's Creek—but he abruptly braked and pulled over onto the grass shoulder at the city limits sign. Aubrey had already been out with fresh flowers for the white cross.
Beck got out.
He walked down into the low ditch where Heidi's body had been found. He squatted and ran his hand over the grass. Four years, nine months, and sixteen days before, a girl had died here. But the grass beneath her body had not. The grass had continued to grow, the sun to rise and set, the world to turn. Life had gone on without her. Just as life had gone on without Annie. But he knew how Annie's life had ended.
How had Heidi's life ended?
Beck ran through the likely scenario of that night again: Kim and Heidi go to the brew pub. (Grady had interviewed the wait staff, but no one recalled seeing them.) Kim leaves and Heidi has an encounter with the first guy, then she meets the second guy, maybe a college kid from Austin here for a New Year's Eve party. They drink, snort cocaine, and have sex in his car. She passes out. He tries to wake her, but discovers that she's dead. He panics. He wants out of town fast, so he drives out 290 toward Austin. He's got a dead girl in his car, and he wants her out. It's late and raining hard now. When he comes to the first desolate stretch of highway, he pulls over. He runs around to her side. He checks for traffic, then pulls her from the car. He rolls her down into the ditch. Then he jumps back into his car.
Beck got back into the Navigator, started the engine, and drove east again.
Just as the guy had that night, trying to think clearly: Could the cops tie her to him? Would anyone at the pub remember seeing him with her? It was crowded, and he had paid with cash, so they couldn't trace him through his credit card. No, they would never connect her to him. He's home free. He smiles and reaches over to turn up the radio and … he sees her purse and shoes there on the floorboard. Evidence that puts her in his car and him in prison—that connects her to him.
He panics again.
Seventy miles lay between him and Austin; state troopers are out patrolling for drunk drivers on New Year's Eve. What if he's stopped? They'll give him a breathalyzer; he'll fail miserably. They'll arrest him and search his car. They'll find her purse and shoes. They'll find her. He'll be charged with her murder. He pulls over again.
Beck pulled over again.
Directly in front of him was the bridge over the Pedernales River, two miles east of the ditch where Heidi had been found and Baron's Creek, where Grady's men had searched and found nothing—because there was nothing to find. The guy hadn't thrown Heidi's shoes and purse into Baron's Creek; he had thrown them into the Pedernales River. He was an outsider, so he wouldn't have known about the drought. It was raining, so he probably assumed the river ran deep and the current strong. But in a drought, it would have taken more than one rainy night to fill the Pedernales.
Beck cut the engine and got out. He walked down to the embankment. Except for a sliver of water flowing twenty feet below the bridge and down the center of the riverbed, both bed and bank were dry and rock hard, baked like a desert by the drought.
He was now glad he had opted for jeans and boots instead of a suit and tie. The bank was steep, and he slipped and fell twice as he worked his way down to the riverbed. He slapped the dirt off his jeans and got his bearings with the bridge; he figured how far the guy might have thrown a purse and shoes. He walked south to that point and turned around. He slowly walked back toward the bridge down the west bank, searching.
He found nothing.
He repeated the search on the east side. Nothing. He walked under the bridge to the north side of the highway. The purse and shoes might have been carried downriver; the river must have run stronger at some time since that night. He followed the river on the west bank two hundred yards. Nothing. He crossed the narrow river and worked his way back toward the bridge on the east bank. He stopped.
Lodged in a clump of debris was a black shoe.
He cleared the debris away. It was a high-heeled shoe. Black leather. Dirty. He used his pen to pick the shoe up. He carried the shoe out in front of him just as he had carried Meggie's wet clothes to the washer that morning. He arrived at the bridge and climbed up the bank. He placed the shoe on the hood of the car and found a plastic trash bag in the console. He put the shoe into the trash bag and tightened the draw string. He got back into the car and put the bag on the passenger's seat. He started the engine and pulled onto the highway heading east toward Austin. He glanced at the trash bag.
Was that Heidi's shoe?
The pink granite Texas State Capitol at Congress Avenue and 11th Street marks the northern boundary of downtown Austin. Ten blocks due south, the Colorado River forms the southern boundary; in town, the river is called Lake Austin. Seven blocks to the east, Interstate 35 runs north-south through town. People without money live east of the interstate; people with money live west. People with a lot of money live on large lots fronting Lake Austin.
Randi Barnes lived on one such waterfront lot on Lakeshore Drive. Was she the former Randi Barnes Geisel? Beck turned into the circular driveway. He parked behind a late-model silver Mercedes-Benz coupe under a porte-cochere. He got out with the black trash bag. It was 11:00 A.M. His appointment with the Travis County medical examiner wasn't until one, so he had decided to try Randi first. He had not called ahead. He wasn't sure why.
The house was a Mediterranean-style villa with a white stucco exterior, a red-tiled roof, and palm trees and lush tropical plants lining both sides of the slate walkway to the front door. Beck rang the bell. The door opened on a short middle-age Hispanic woman dressed in a black uniform and a white apron.
"Hi. Is Randi home?"
"Señora, she is still in bed. Maybe you come back later?"
She started to shut the door, but Beck said, "Would you tell her Beck Hardin is here?"
"Señora does not like to be wakened."
From inside, a familiar voice: "Who is it, Lupe?"
Lupe pushed the door almost shut, but Beck heard her say, "Beck Hardin."
The door suddenly swung wide. Standing there on a white marble floor in a thick white bathrobe was Randi Barnes—the same Randi Barnes, although she had aged since Beck had last seen her. But it was obvious where Heidi had gotten her looks; Randi had her daughter's blonde hair and blue eyes, but the wear of forty years showed on her face. She had put on some weight, but she appeared as solid as the goat rancher's daughter she had been twenty-four years before. She had always created quite a stir at the goat auction. She held her arms out to him.
"Beck!"
He stepped into her arms, and they hugged.
"Come on in." She looked down at the black bag. "Trash?"
Lupe closed the door behind them, and they walked into an expansive sun-drenched living room with white walls, a white vaulted ceiling, and white furniture. A bank of windows looked out onto a pool shimmering in the morning light and the blue w
ater of Lake Austin beyond. Randi led him to a fluffy couch by the windows. They sat at opposite ends.
"It's been a long time, Beck."
"Twenty-four years."
"You visiting or staying?"
"Staying. In Fredericksburg."
"Thought you were never coming back?"
"My wife died."
"Oh, Beck, I'm sorry."
"I've got two kids, five and ten. I needed help."
"From J.B.? Is he still alive?"
Beck nodded. "He's changed."
"You and him talking again?"
"He wouldn't talk back then, now he won't stop."
"That's good. How's Aubrey?"
"Not so good."
"I haven't seen him since the divorce, but I still check the paper to see if he won. Not sure why."
"They're favored to win state."
Randi picked up a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, tapped it against the back of her hand several times, then lit it. She took a long drag then exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"I guess you're here about Heidi?"
Beck nodded. "Aubrey asked me to look into it."
"Paying off an old debt?"
"Maybe. I'm the judge now."
She smiled. "Did Stutz finally die?"
"Unfortunately, no. He found a better-paying job."
"He needs to find dirt six feet down. How'd you get elected out there?"
"By default."
She gestured at Beck's jeans. "Speaking of dirt …"
Beck had carried the dirt from the river onto Randi's white sofa. He jumped up and dusted the dirt off the sofa.
"Don't worry about it, Beck. You been playing in the dirt?"
"The river. Where I found this."
Beck placed the trash bag on the couch and opened the top to expose the shoe.
"Randi, is this Heidi's shoe?"
"What?"
Randi leaned over and held her hand out as if to touch it.
"Don't. Might have fingerprints."
Randi examined the shoe closely. "Where'd you find it?"
"The river, where it crosses 290. Her shoes were never recovered, so I figured the guy might've tossed them. River seemed like a good place."
"And it was still there?"
"Downstream about a hundred yards. Is it hers?"
"I think so."
Randi stood and walked to the windows. She was quiet for a while.
"She was so beautiful, Beck." She turned back to him. "Did Aubrey show you her pictures, at the house?"
Beck nodded. "Yeah."
"She could've been a star, Beck."
"Then how did she end up in that ditch?"
Randi stepped over to a potted plant and stuck the cigarette butt into the soil. She motioned for Beck to follow. He stood and followed her up a marble spiral staircase with a wrought-iron railing and into an all-white bedroom. The walls were covered with glamour shots of Heidi: Heidi's face; Heidi bent over to show off her cleavage; Heidi looking twenty-five and sexy; Heidi the sexpot; Heidi the semi-nude Playmate wannabe.
"Kim showed me her portfolio."
Randi didn't flinch. "I took those. She had a perfect body. She could've been Playmate of the Year."
"You wanted her to pose in Playboy?"
"Don't look so shocked, Beck. It's a straight shot to Hollywood. We were going together."
Her eyes glistened. She turned away and went over and sat on the bed.
"I died with her."
Randi put her face in her hands and sobbed. Beck wasn't sure what he should do, so he went to her and sat beside her. He put her arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him.
Randi and Aubrey had double-dated with Beck and Mary Jo. But Randi had always touched Beck or brushed against him or looked at him in a way that had made him uncomfortable. She now turned her face up to him and looked at him that way. Then she stood before him and dropped her robe. She was naked. She sat on his lap and kissed him hard. He smelled her perfume and tasted her last cigarette. She leaned into him, and they fell back onto the bed. He rolled her off him and got out of the bed.
"Randi, I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Either way."
Beck walked out and went downstairs and out onto the covered patio fronting the pool. Beck stood at the edge of the patio and inhaled the cool breeze off the lake. Rowing teams were gliding downstream out in the center and several small sailboats tacked in the distance, their white sails capturing the wind and the sun.
"I'm sorry, Beck."
Randi was now wearing a tee shirt and jeans.
"Heidi never called you that night?"
"No. I figured she was at Kim's."
"Why didn't you call to check?"
She sighed. "It was New Year's Eve, Beck. I was drinking and fell asleep on the couch. Didn't wake up until the call."
"Your statement said she was wearing jeans. But she was found wearing a skirt."
"She changed."
"You knew?"
"I figured. I did the same thing when I was her age. So did Mary Jo, remember?"
Beck nodded. "Aubrey wants to find this guy."
"He needs to find a life."
"He wants you back."
"I'm never going back there."
"He'll come here."
She laughed. "Aubrey in Austin? I don't think so."
Beck had seen no sign of a man of the house, so he went fishing.
"What are you doing these days?"
But his real question was, How can you afford this place?
Randi didn't answer.
The Travis County Forensic Center is located at 12th and Sabine a few blocks east of the capitol; the three-story white limestone building abuts the interstate that divides Austin into crime-free and crime-ridden.
"Closer to our customer base," Travis County Deputy Medical Examiner Dr. Leonard Janofsky said, apparently a morgue joke. He was a board certified forensic pathologist, and he was wearing Longhorn burnt orange scrubs and New Balance sneakers. His hair was gray, and he had the gaunt look of a runner. "Never had a judge come in. Must do things differently in the country."
"It's different all right," Beck said.
"You ever find the guy?"
"Not yet."
"How long you got?"
"Seventy-six days."
"That's right. New Year's Eve. Well, we preserved tissue and blood from the victim in case you do."
"Why?"
"DNA testing gets more sophisticated every year. We've solved a lot of cold cases with old DNA and new tests."
"Tell me about Heidi."
They were in the deputy M.E.'s office. Beck was sitting in the visitor's chair, Dr. Janofsky behind his desk. He was looking at his autopsy report.
"Let's see, the body arrived on January 1, 2003, at 1:17 P.M., and was positively identified by Aubrey Geisel, father of the deceased, and Randi Geisel, mother of the deceased."
Beck had seen his wife's dead body, but he couldn't imagine walking into a morgue to identify his daughter's body.
"External examination … Deceased is clothed in a white blouse, black skirt, black undergarment. Hands and feet are bagged. Jewelry … silver loop earrings, ankle bracelet. Body is that of a normally developed female. Height, sixty-eight inches. Weight, one-ten. No wounds, scratches, or bruising evident. No defensive marks on her hands. Genitalia … no evidence of bruising or injury. Pubic hair has been shaved."
"Did you find any pubic hairs from the guy?"
"No. I found a few threads, cotton, from a towel. She wiped herself or he wiped her."
"Was he trying to remove evidence?"
"Why bother? He left a lot of himself inside her." Back to the report. "Internal examination … No injury to any organ. No perforation of the nasal septum."
"What does that mean?"
"It means she wasn't a user, or at least not a regular user. She had no damage to her nasal passages, which is a sign of repetitive cocaine insufflating."
> "Insufflating?"
"Snorting. It might've been her first time."
"Why do you say that?"
"Cocaine particles were evident in and around her nostrils and on her breasts and on the inside of the blouse."
"Which means?"
"She sneezed. Regulars don't sneeze when they snort cocaine. Wasteful. But no dirt particles were found in her nasal passages."
"And that means?"
"She didn't inhale dirt. She was dead before she was dumped into the ditch."
"Could she have walked to where she was found?"
"No dirt on the soles of her feet. No shoes arrived with the body."
"Cause of death?"
"Cardiovascular failure caused by acute cocaine intoxication. Her heart stopped. She insufflated a significant amount of cocaine, enough to cause sudden death."
"How do you determine that?"
"We analyze the liver. See, the liver's function is to clear the body of toxins, so it tells us what was in the body just prior to death. We found very high levels of benzoylecgonine."
"Which is?"
"Which is what cocaine breaks down into once it enters the liver."
"So if the level of this benzo … stuff is high, that means she had snorted a lot of cocaine?"
"Exactly. The liver was trying to clear it when she died."
"How does that work, a person dying from cocaine?"
"When a human being snorts cocaine, the onset of the effects occurs within five minutes and peaks at about thirty minutes. The cocaine acts to block the catecholamine reuptake and that causes sympathomimetic syndrome. So the central nervous system and cardiovascular systems become highly agitated. Tachycardia. A heart attack. And investigators found diet pills in her room. Stimulants. Would have exacerbated the effect."
"Did she suffer?"
The doctor shook his head. "There's a very rapid progression from inhalation to death. She passed out before she suffered respiratory arrest. She just went to sleep."
"When?"
"Time of death was between ten and midnight."
"And your official opinion as to manner of death?"
"Accidental overdose."
