by Mark Gimenez
Beck blew out a breath. "Damn."
"I see these cases all the time," the doctor said. "Cocaine, heroin, now methamphetamines."
"Anything else?"
Dr. Janofsky looked over his report. "Samples thought to be semen taken from her blouse and hair. Genital system showed evidence of recent sexual intercourse. Vaginal fluid samples were saved for analysis. Evidence of prior D&C and—"
"D&C?"
"Dilation and curettage."
"What's that?"
"She had an abortion."
In Fredericksburg, Texas, you can buy guns and rifles of every kind and caliber, but you can't buy an iced caramel macchiato at a Starbucks.
You can buy hand-embroidered Levi's 501 jeans for $300, an authentic handcrafted Zuni turquoise-and-silver Squash Blossom necklace for $5,000, a hand-carved life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus for $14,129, a handmade mesquite pool table with a burnt orange UT Longhorn playing surface for $22,000, and twenty-five homes for over $1 million, but you can't buy a foreign-made automobile for any price.
You can find twenty-eight churches—Southern Baptist, Bible, Catholic, Charismatic, Church of Christ, Mormon, Evangelical, Lutheran, Methodist, Pentecostal, Presbyterian, Seventh-Day Adventist, and even a New Wine Church—but you can't find a synagogue.
You can get a horse shoed, a cow serviced, and a deer processed into sausage and its head mounted on your wall, but you can't get your body pierced or tattooed.
You can get microdermabrasion, botox, spider vein reduction, liposuction, a facelift, and breast implants, but you can't get an abortion. You have to go to Austin for that. Which is what Heidi Fay Geisel had done when she was sixteen.
"Her mom took her," Kim said. "She said she wasn't going to let Heidi ruin her life like she ruined hers."
Kim was sitting behind the desk at the gas station writing out checks to pay the monthly bills. She forged her father's signature, with his permission.
"After that, she went on the pill. Her mom took her to Austin to get them. Doctors here, they won't give you the pill until you're eighteen. Praise the Lord and keep our girls virgins."
"Was Heidi promiscuous?"
Kim looked up from the checkbook and laughed.
"Promiscuous? How old are you?"
"Is that a yes?"
"We had sex … not with each other, with guys."
"A lot?"
She shrugged. "Hooking up, it's no big deal."
"Since when?"
"Since we've been alive."
"Did you and Heidi practice safe sex?"
"Guys hate wearing rubbers."
"Haven't you heard of AIDS?"
She shook her head as if to say again, God, you are so old.
"So who was the father of her baby?"
"I don't know."
He looked at her, and she looked away. She was lying again.
"Your statement said she was wearing jeans and sneakers. But she was found wearing a skirt."
"She probably changed."
"Did she do that often?"
"All the time. Coach wouldn't let her out of the house in what she really wore."
"Did she wear this shoe?"
Beck pulled out the shoe, but Kim couldn't identify it. She said, "Maybe it'll be in one of her videos."
"What videos?"
"Her audition videos."
She reached down below the desk and came back up with her laptop. She opened the top and tapped several times and Heidi's face filled the screen over the words "Heidi Fay."
"This is her music video."
Heidi was singing, and not that badly. Her voice was sharp, and the music had a throbbing beat. She was wearing a bustier and miniskirt; she was thrusting her hips as if simulating sex. The video was intercut with other images of a sexy Heidi. It looked professional, except—
"You caught yourself in the mirror."
For a brief moment, a face had been visible in the mirror on the wall behind Heidi.
"You wanna see her striptease act?"
"No." Beck pointed at the screen. "She's wearing high heels."
When the heels were in view, Kim froze the frame. They looked just like the shoe in the trash bag.
"Kim, you're pretty good with computers, making videos. You ever thought about working at that?"
"They've got some courses over at the community college."
"Might be a job in Austin for someone with those skills."
"You think?"
Beck drove back down Main Street and caught the red light at Crockett Street. A female jogger ran past on the sidewalk in front of city hall. Her legs were muscular and her bottom firm. Lately his mind kept switching back and forth between thoughts of law and sex as if he were channel surfing, and he felt guilty every time: How does a man remain faithful to his dead wife? When the light changed, he accelerated and glanced her way—Jesus, it was Jodie. She saw him and waved; he waved back.
He shook his head: Looking like that at a lesbian.
Beck parked behind the courthouse and took the trash bag with the shoe into the Law Enforcement Center. It was after hours now; Grady was gone, but a deputy was on duty. Beck wrote a note to Grady. The deputy signed for the shoe. Beck then walked over to the courthouse. He found the cleaning lady in his chambers.
"I come back," she said. "Is okay, I am here all night."
"No, no, Carlotta, go ahead."
Carlotta was Hispanic and middle-aged. Beck sat in his chair, removed Heidi's case file from a drawer, and placed it on his desk. He opened the file and wrote his notes of that day. He stared at the crime scene photos of her body lying in the ditch.
"Muy bonita."
Beck looked up. Carlotta was pointing at the photos.
"The señorita from the ditch. She was very pretty."
"You remember her?"
"Sí. The old judge, he was muy enojado. Mad. He say a Mexican killed her. But I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Because of the long black car."
Beck sat up. "What long black car?"
"In the street. I was cleaning this office that night, it was very late. Outside, there was the rain, and much lightning. A long black car, it stopped in the street, right there."
She pointed out the window. Beck stood and went to the window that faced north. Main Street was not more than thirty yards from where they were now standing.
"The driver, a big hombre with the bald head, he ran to the back and climbed in. But the door, it was still open. The light inside and the Christmas lights and the lightning, I see him."
"See him what?"
"Like on the TV. Kneeling and pushing."
"Pushing?"
"Sí."
She held her hands together and moved them up and down as if she were bouncing a ball.
"Kneeling over someone and pushing … He was doing CPR!"
"Then he got out and ran to the front. He turned the long car right there, he make the, uh … what you say?"
"U-turn?"
"Sí. Then the car drove that way."
She was pointing east. Toward Austin.
"Do you remember what time it was?"
"Sí, the clock. Uno."
"One A.M.?"
"Sí."
"Why didn't you tell anyone about this back then?"
"I am illegal. The old judge, he would deport me."
"Why are you telling me now?"
"Because you are not like the old judge. You do not hate the Mexicans. You are the good judge."
TWENTY-SIX
The black limo Carlotta had seen that night had made a U-turn on Main Street and headed east toward Austin. So a week later, Beck was again driving to Austin. There were no limousines to be had in Fredericksburg, Texas.
An hour later he pulled into the parking lot at Limos to Go, which was tucked between two tattoo shops on South Congress in Austin. It was a renovated gas station with tall palm trees where the gas pumps had been; two black limos sat out front. Beck parked next to the
limos, went inside, and introduced himself to the receptionist. A short stocky middle-aged man soon appeared; either his cologne was Pennzoil 30-weight or he had spilled motor oil on himself. He said, "You a judge?"
Beck had again skipped the suit in favor of jeans and boots.
"Beck Hardin."
"Shorty. What can I do for you?"
"On New Year's Day, 2003, a sixteen-year-old girl was found dead on the side of Highway 290 just outside Fredericksburg. She died of a cocaine overdose."
Shorty shook his head. "Dope is the devil."
"It's a cold case. All we have is the suspect's DNA."
"Like on those CSI shows."
"Exactly. We're trying to find this guy before the statute of limitations runs out."
"When's that?"
"Midnight, New Year's Eve."
"Not much time."
"Sixty-nine days."
"So where do I come in?"
"The night she died, a black stretch limo was seen on Main Street in Fredericksburg. That's unusual. Closest place to get a limo is here or San Antonio. I started here because the girl was dumped on the highway heading toward Austin."
Beck showed Heidi's photo to Shorty.
"Pretty girl. I got a daughter her age." He gave the photo back to Beck. "I've never rented a limo to go out to Fredericksburg, but I've had people take my limos to Dallas then call me to pick 'em up. Come on, I'll check my records."
Beck followed Shorty back to his office, which sported a NASCAR decor. Shorty sat behind a computer perched on a desk, put on reading glasses, and tapped on the keyboard with two fingers like a kid playing the piano. He leaned back in his chair and pointed at the computer screen.
"Hell, I wasn't thinking. That's the year they held the film festival over the last weekend of the year, finished up on New Year's Eve. Sixth Street was a real zoo. After that, they moved the festival to October, two weeks ago. It's a big deal now. We get movie stars, directors, producers. I rent out a lot of limos."
"You supply the drivers?"
Shorty nodded. "For the B-list and even some of your name directors. The big stars, they bring their own, bodyguards too."
"Who did you rent to that night?"
Shorty eyed the computer screen through the reading glasses.
"No names you'd recognize. Movie people, they got lawyers, so they put everything in corporate names."
"They pay with credit cards?"
"Oh, yeah. I don't take checks from those bastards." Shorty snorted. "Those people, they're animals."
"How so?"
"What they do to my limos. One weekend with a movie star in it and we gotta clean the car like a goddamn OR. Carpets soaked with whiskey and beer, leather seats got burn marks from their joints, inside looks like someone blew up a baby powder factory. We find used rubbers, bottles, drugs, clothes—they're drinking, doping, and screwing in my limos. What is it about screwing in a limo? They got fancy hotel rooms, but they get into a limo and all of a sudden they're dogs in heat." He shook his head. "Hell, I collect more DNA from my limos after one weekend with a movie star in it than they do in a whole season on CSI."
He had amused himself.
"Where do they get the drugs from?"
"Not from me, Judge. My limos are stocked with liquor and beer. They want drugs, they gotta find it on their own. Course, most of them bring their dope with them. There ain't no carry-on restrictions on private jets."
"The movie stars using your limos, they pick up girls?"
Shorty smiled. "Oh, yeah. Sixth Street looks like a goddamn hooker convention, college girls hoping to get discovered, like that American Idol show. Except they ain't singing."
"Did you drive anyone on New Year's Eve that year?"
Shorty checked his records and nodded. "Director, B-list, maybe sixty. Pathetic. He couldn't pick up a gal at a nursing home, but he was begging girls to get into the limo. No go. Those girls, they ain't stupid. They do their homework, they know who can open doors in Hollywood and who can't. They ain't gonna waste their pussy on nobodies. They're only screwing stars."
Sixth Street in downtown was lined with lounges, bars, tattoo parlors, pubs, and the live music clubs that had made Austin the "Live Music Capital of the World." Beck had shown Heidi's photo to every bartender on the north side of the street. He was now on the south side. He walked into the Coyote Ugly bar. It was midday and the music was loud. The bartender was a big bald guy with tattoos and nose rings; he was wearing a black Coyote Ugly tee shirt. He didn't recognize Heidi from the photo.
"You should've been here two weeks ago for the film festival. A thousand girls just like her were lined up outside, hoping to get discovered on Sixth Street." He shook his head. "I think those girls never got over watching Cinderella when they were kids. They all want Prince Charming to pluck them out of obscurity and make their lives perfect, like Tom Cruise did for Renée Zellweger. He picked her out of a face book for Jerry Maguire. Look at her now."
"Difference is, he didn't pick her up in a cheap bar for a one-night stand."
The bartender said, "Hey, our drinks ain't cheap."
Heidi wanted to be a star. That was her dream. But only a star can make that dream come true. So Heidi Fay Geisel would have gone to the film festival. She would have gone to Austin to meet a movie star, someone who could make her dream come true. She would have gone to Sixth Street and lined up for the stars, wearing a see-through shirt and a tight miniskirt and stiletto heels. She would have stood out among the other girls. She would have been picked up. She would have gotten into the star's long black limo. She would have drunk alcohol and snorted cocaine and had sex with him. She would have done anything to be a star.
Instead, she died.
Beck tried to think it through. Why would a star who picked Heidi up in Austin have driven her back to Fredericksburg and then dumped her in that ditch? What could have happened that night?
Maybe Heidi had passed out in the limo. Maybe he discovered that she was underage. He couldn't just throw her out, someone might have seen her with him or gotten the limo's plates. Maybe he decided to take her home. Maybe they drove to Fredericksburg, and when he tried to wake her, she wouldn't wake. Maybe the driver pulled the limo over in front of the courthouse and tried to revive her with CPR, just as Carlotta had seen that night.
But maybe it was too late.
Maybe they turned the limo around and headed toward Austin on Highway 290 East. Maybe they pulled over and dumped her in the ditch. Maybe they drove on but discovered her shoes and purse were still in the limo. Maybe they pulled over at the bridge and threw her shoes and purse into the Pedernales River.
Maybe Kim was lying.
Kim was crying.
"I picked her up at her house and we went back to mine and changed. She kept all her sexy clothes here."
"What was she wearing that night?"
She got up and went inside. She returned with the laptop. They were sitting on the front porch of the little house behind the gas station. She tossed her cigarette into the yard then tapped on the keyboard and opened a photo of Heidi dressed in a white see-through blouse with the tail tied under her breasts, black miniskirt, and black stiletto heels. Hanging over her shoulder was a little black purse.
"That was her that night."
She tapped again. "Here's me that night."
She was wearing a similar outfit. She had gained weight since that night.
"I know, we looked like hookers. Curb appeal."
"So what did y'all do?"
"We drove over to Austin, to Sixth Street. Stalking stars, we called it. Whenever we saw a limo, we'd pose on the sidewalk with the other girls. The guys inside the limos, they always tried to pick up Heidi. But when they rolled the window down, they'd be old guys, directors and producers and even writers—like any girl is gonna screw a writer."
"What big stars were there?"
"Eddie Steele, Joe Raines, Teddy Bodeman, Chase Connelly, Zeke Adams."
"And Heidi k
new they were there?"
"That's why we went—she figured on hooking up with one of them, to get an audition."
"So she was specifically looking for one of these stars?"
"Yeah. We went into some bar 'cause everyone was saying Teddy Bodeman was in there. He was, but he was with his wife and some other people. But Heidi sat down next to him in a booth."
"Nobody checked your ID?"
That "old guy" look again. "Not girls who looked like us."
"What happened in the bar?"
She shrugged. "I was talking to some guy at the bar, next thing I know Heidi says, 'Teddy Bodeman's an asshole.' We left."
"Did she give Teddy oral sex in the bar?"
"She didn't say anything."
"And then what did y'all do?"
"Stalked stars, like I said. About ten, ten-thirty, this limo stops right where we're at, so we give it our best pose. The window rolls down just a bit and a finger sticks out and points at Heidi. So she walks over real sexy-like and all and peeks in. The door opens and she jumps in. But she gave me a look like she'd hit it big."
"You didn't see who was in the limo?"
She shook her head. "The windows were all blacked out. But it had to be a big star, or she wouldn't have gotten in. No way."
"And you never saw Heidi again?"
Another shake of her head. "I tried to call her—"
"On a cell phone?"
She nodded. "My other phone."
"You had two phones?"
"Coach wouldn't let her have a phone, so I got two and gave her one. Family plan."
"How'd you get cell phones when you were only sixteen?"
"Through the gas station. I sign all the checks for my dad, he never knew."
"Okay, you tried to call her and …?"
"She didn't answer."
"So what did you do that night?"
"I stayed with some guy in Austin."
"A star?"
"A guy. The next morning, I got up and called Heidi again. She still didn't answer, so I drove home. When I got into town and saw the police by the highway and the body on the ground and the blonde hair, I knew it was Heidi."
"Your father's statement said you were home all night."
"He starts drinking beer at noon, drinks himself to sleep by seven. I told him I was home, so that's what he said. He trusts me."
