by Mark Gimenez
"Eighty-four? No, I was only …" She shook her head. Beck laughed. "Almost," she said. "Where's Luke?"
"Down at the winery."
"J.B. just came up from the winery, said he wasn't there."
"Maybe he's on the baseball field."
"He's not. I checked."
Beck stood.
"He's not inside?"
"No."
Aubrey stood.
"Jodie, did J.B. drive the Gator up here?"
"Yeah."
"Aubrey, take the Gator and go down to the west pasture. I'll go down to the river. We're losing light."
"Yep."
Aubrey limped across the porch. Beck jumped the rail and ran in the opposite direction. He ran around the house and past the baseball field and down the sloping land, picking up speed. His cowboy boots thudded loudly on the wood planks of the bridge across Snake Creek. Once across the creek, he ran full out down to the river. He broke through the cypress and willow trees at the river's edge, and he saw Luke. He was standing on the rock bridge on the far side of the river, pinned against the limestone bluff by three coyotes.
Beck saw the fear on his son's face.
And he felt that familiar surge of adrenaline hit him, the human body's fight-or-flight response. He was fighting. His boots would give him no traction on the rocks, so he ran into the shallow river without slowing. The coyotes heard him and turned on him. He waved his arms and screamed at the animals; one cut and ran. The others didn't. They were hungry. They turned and bared their teeth at him; they lunged at Beck and he at them.
He drove his fist into the first coyote's head, but the second one hit him hard and they went down into the water. The coyote went for Beck's neck, but he threw him off and got to his feet just as the other one came at him. Beck grabbed the coyote by the neck as it kicked at him with its rear legs; he stared into those yellow eyes and felt the claws dig into his skin and bring blood and all the anger that had burned inside Beck Hardin for the last twenty-nine years to the surface. He grabbed the coyote with both hands and screamed as he swung it around and slammed its head onto the flat rock that Luke was standing on.
The animal's skull cracked like a pecan.
Beck heard the other coyote's growl and spun around just as it lunged for him. He reached out to grab the animal but heard an explosion, and the coyote was knocked out of the air and into the river. It didn't move. Beck looked to the riverbank: J.B. lowered a rifle from his shoulder; Jodie was standing next to him, and Aubrey was sitting in the Gator. Beck turned to his son. Luke took a frightened step toward him, then dove into his arms. Beck slumped down onto the rock, suddenly spent. He hugged his son hard. The boy was sobbing, and his body was shaking.
"Are you okay, Luke?"
"Are they dead?"
"Yeah. They're dead."
"They came up the river, behind me. I never heard them. I turned and they were there. I didn't know what to do."
"You did good."
His son cried.
"Why couldn't you save Mom, too?"
"Cancer's not like coyotes, Luke. I couldn't fight it for your mother. I couldn't get my hands on it. I wanted to. I wanted to kill it before it killed her. But I couldn't."
"I blamed you."
"I know."
J.B. and Jodie came splashing through the river to them. Aubrey limped behind. J.B. kicked the two dead coyotes.
"Bitches."
"Beck," Jodie said, "you're bleeding."
Beck now looked at himself. His shirt was shredded and wet with water from the river and blood from his chest and arms. He released his son and removed his shirt. He dipped the shirt into the river and wiped the blood from his body. He then pulled his boots off and dumped the water out.
"Well, these boots are shot."
Aubrey gave him a hand up and said, "Jodie, that's why kids in the country learn to shoot."
Dear J.B.,
I've seen the future. This is my last Thanksgiving and your last one alone. They will be with you next year, Beck and the children.
Love, Annie
THIRTY-THREE
The Monday after Thanksgiving, Wes Wagner was on another movie set, this time at a winery in Napa Valley. Teddy Bodeman was playing the son of a winery patriarch who falls in love with the daughter of his father's bitter rival who owns the neighboring winery. Romeo and Juliet meets Sideways. Who thinks up this shit?
It was supposed to be a romantic comedy, but what was funny was the fact that Teddy Bodeman had to pee in a cup whenever the studio rep told him to. Teddy had been in and out of drug rehab since his first hit when he was twenty-three. He was thirty-seven now. His movie contracts now contained the "pee in a cup" clause: to prove he was staying clean throughout the entire filming, Teddy had to pee in a cup several times a day. A grown man pissing on command. But Wes figured, for $20 million, he'd pee on himself in public. Which he had done on more than one occasion for free.
Wes spotted the studio rep, the only guy wearing a suit. What a job, waiting around for some random opportunity to collect urine from another man. The shoot wrapped, and Teddy walked off the set. The studio rep intercepted him. No doubt he told Teddy he wanted a cupful of pee because Teddy now appeared annoyed. The rep followed Teddy over to his trailer and climbed in after him. A few minutes later, the rep appeared with a little white sack. He carried it like he was carrying a feminine hygiene product.
Wes followed the rep to the parking lot. He was driving a Beemer convertible. Wes liked it when the target made his job easy. The rep got into the car and checked his hair. Wes walked around the other side and quickly jammed a roofing nail into the rear tire. He then said, "Hey, you got a flat tire back here."
"What?"
The rep got out and came around to that side.
"Yeah, you must've run over this nail."
"Shit."
Wes walked over to his Mustang. The rep stood by his car a few minutes, then went inside the winery, apparently looking for someone to change his tire. Wes went over to the Beemer. He leaned over, opened the white sack sitting on the passenger's seat, removed the urine specimen, and substituted another specimen. His specimen. When the test results on that urine came back, Teddy Bodeman was going to have some explaining to do.
THIRTY-FOUR
"Judge, it says here results on the first sample went out yesterday. But I've got staff taking off for the holidays. We'll get to the others next year."
"Next year will be too late. We've only got twenty-one days before the statute of limitations runs. I've got to have those test results by New Year's Eve!"
Two weeks later and the DPS Crime Lab was still so backlogged that Beck had not yet received results on the DNA samples from Zeke Adams, Joe Raines, Eddie Steele, and Teddy Bodeman. Wes was still searching for Chase Connelly.
"Judge," the DPS Crime Lab director said, "if it were a murder case, we'd expedite. But stat rape … come on."
"You know whose DNA you're testing?"
"No."
"Movie stars'."
"Like who?"
"When you get a match, I'll tell you."
The director laughed. "Okay, Judge, I'll push 'em. But no promises."
Beck hung up. The lab was on board; now he had to get the D.A. on board. He looked up at Niels Eichman.
"Our little beauty queen got picked up in Austin by one of the biggest movie stars in the world?" the D.A. said.
"Yep."
"And he gave her the cocaine that killed her?"
"Yep."
"And he had sex with a minor?"
"Yep."
"Even if you're right, Judge—"
"Niels, it's time you called me Beck."
"Even if you're right, Beck, a DNA match from those samples isn't enough to convict. There's no chain of evidence. God knows where you got those samples from."
"A reliable source."
"Oh, yeah, I'll go to trial with that."
"It's enough to indict. All we need is probable cause. We can indict the guy that
matches, then I'll sign a search warrant to get an official sample to confirm."
"Beck, I get the grand jury to indict one of those stars and it turns out he's the wrong guy, I'm gonna look dumber than that Duke D.A. And hell, this is all moot anyway. No way the crime lab is gonna have DNA results in time."
The D.A. stared past Beck as if in deep thought. He finally said, "You've got company," and nodded at the window. Beck turned. Jodie was standing at the window in her running outfit. She smiled and held up a cup of coffee. Beck opened the window.
"Small nonfat latte," Jodie said. "I was coming this way, thought our coyote-killing judge might need one."
Beck thanked her and took the coffee. She jogged off, and Beck couldn't help but look after her a moment. When he turned from the window, the D.A. was frowning.
"You're not … you know"—he made a little punching motion with his fist—"with the lesbian?"
"No, I'm not. And her name's Jodie."
Beck needed the D.A., so he decided to play the ego card.
"Niels, that Duke D.A. didn't have DNA evidence. You will. Conclusive DNA evidence proving that a movie star had sex with a sixteen-year-old girl who died of a cocaine overdose in his limo. Imagine the media attention that case will bring, a Hollywood movie star on trial right here in Gillespie County, Texas. Hundreds of TV cameras camped out front, thousands of reporters … and you'll be the star of the show. You'll be on national TV every day."
The D.A.'s expression changed; Beck could see his mind working through the possibilities.
"National TV?"
"Network."
"Could we televise the trial?"
He asked like a child asking if he could have an ice cream cone. Beck shrugged.
"Sure, why not?"
"That'd be better than O.J. All these guys are white, so I wouldn't have to include minorities on the jury. I could stack it with my people—twelve angry Germans doing the Lord's work!"
"Hallelujah, brother."
The D.A.'s eyes got glassy. "This kind of case, I could skip right over being a judge, move straight up to the big house."
"The mansion."
"The Governor's Mansion. I'd be the D.A. who convicted a movie star, whoever this guy is. My name recognition would be off the friggin' charts all over the state."
"The nation."
The D.A. pointed a finger at Beck. "Let's find this guy! I'll have the grand jury on standby. We'll indict that son of a bitch on a Sunday if we have to!"
The D.A. was officially on board. Just then Sheriff Grady Guenther walked into the room and placed a plate of crepes covered in plastic wrap and a document on Beck's desk.
"From Lester. Strawberry. And this just came in. No match on the cigarette butt. Zeke Adams ain't the guy."
"Damn."
The D.A. said, "Lester got anymore of those?"
"Yep," Grady said. He turned to Beck and winked. "You know, killing a coyote barehanded, that's the kind of thing could make you unbeatable in next year's election."
The D.A. stood and walked to the door. "Things go right, you can have that chair the rest of your life because I'll be running for governor next election. Call me when you get a match."
Three days later, Grady walked into Beck's chambers and placed another plate and another document on Beck's desk.
"Beignets. No match on the semen from the thong. Joe Raines ain't the guy."
"Damn."
The next day, Grady walked into Beck's chambers and placed another plate and another document on Beck's desk.
"Cream puffs. No match on the blood. Eddie Steele ain't the guy."
"Damn."
Four days after that, Grady Guenther walked into Beck's chambers and placed another plate and another document on Beck's desk. Beck looked up at him.
"Strawberry crepes?"
"Cream cheese. Enjoy 'em, 'cause it's Lester's last day."
Beck held up the document. "No match?"
Grady smiled. "Match."
"What? We got him? Teddy Bodeman had sex with Heidi?"
"Oral. His DNA matches the sample from her blouse."
Beck slumped back in his chair. "Damn."
"Yeah. And we don't have jurisdiction to charge him—that blowjob occurred in Austin and that's Travis County."
"There might be something I can do."
"Judge Hardin, my client does not consent to this phone conversation being recorded. If you record it, you're violating the federal wiretapping law, and we will have you prosecuted."
"I'm not recording this conversation."
Beck had found Teddy Bodeman's agent's name and phone number on the Internet. He had called the agent, who refused to pass on Beck's request that Teddy call him back, until Beck told him it was in reference to a "blowjob Teddy got in Austin five years ago from a sixteen-year-old girl who died of a cocaine overdose in a movie star's limo that same night." An hour later, Teddy's lawyer had put through this conference call. Teddy Bodeman was on the line, but his lawyer was doing all the talking.
"Good. Now, Teddy has an airtight alibi for that night. From nine P.M. until eleven P.M., he attended a dinner at the Governor's Mansion in Austin with the governor of Texas, the governor's wife, the mayor of Austin and his wife, and two hundred other people. After the dinner, he went to a screening at the Paramount Theatre with the governor and the mayor and their wives. That lasted until one A.M. After that, Teddy gave the governor a ride home—in Teddy's limo. The governor of Texas was in Teddy's limo that night, Judge, not a sixteen-year-old girl."
That was a pretty good alibi, not that Beck thought Teddy had killed Heidi.
"I emailed the girl's photo. Do you recognize her, Mr. Bodeman?"
"No."
"Then why does your DNA match the semen sample obtained from her blouse?"
Teddy's lawyer: "How did you obtain Teddy's DNA?"
"None of your business."
Not that Beck knew how Wes had obtained Teddy's urine sample.
"We could sue and find out."
"But you won't. Answer my question, Mr. Bodeman."
"Look, there were lots of willing girls at that festival, there always are. Some blonde gave me a hummer in a booth in a bar. No big deal."
"Does that happen often?"
"All the time."
He sounded truthful.
"But you don't recognize Heidi?"
"No. They all look the same when their head's in my lap."
Teddy chuckled; Beck didn't.
"After she gave you oral sex, what happened?"
"She asked if I could get her an audition."
"And what did you say?"
"I said that was her audition."
"Nice. And then what happened?"
"She left. A while later, we went to the dinner."
"Who's we?"
"My manager and my wife."
"Your wife was in the booth with you while a girl gave you oral sex?"
"Judge, we're a little less uptight about sex out here in Hollywood than you people in Texas."
"And you never saw the girl again?"
"No."
"Well, Teddy, your DNA proves that you had sex with a minor."
"She was in a bar, how would I know she was a minor?"
"Doesn't matter whether you knew or not."
"That's dumb."
"That's the law."
Teddy's lawyer jumped in: "Judge, his DNA doesn't prove anything. Teddy admits a blonde girl gave him oral sex that night. But that doesn't mean it was this girl. There were hundreds of blonde girls that night. Maybe some of Teddy's semen was left on the seat of the booth or on the edge of the table, and maybe this girl sat down in that booth when Teddy left and got his semen on her shirt that way. Or maybe the girl who gave him oral sex was walking out of the bar and sneezed on your girl and his semen was deposited in that manner on her shirt. Or maybe the girl wiped her mouth and had some on her hand and then wiped her hand on your girl's shirt. Or maybe …"
"I get your point."<
br />
"Good. So don't even think about going public with this, Judge, because I will sue your ass in a California court for defamation. And you don't have judicial immunity out here."
"Teddy, do you have children?"
"Three."
"You think they'd be proud of you if they knew all this?"
"I think they're proud to be living in a mansion with servants."
"How old are you?"
"Thirty-seven."
"Grow up."
Teddy laughed. "Oh, and what would you do if a gorgeous young girl offered you sex, Judge? Would you turn it down?"
Gretchen Young was young and gorgeous and helping the children into their cars. Beck saw her from his spot deep in the carpool line. And he thought about what Teddy Bodeman had said. Was his law degree and lesser income the only difference between Beck Hardin and Teddy Bodeman?
He inched the Navigator forward in the carpool pickup lane outside the primary school until he was at the door. He spotted Meggie waiting there with her backpack strapped on; the thing was so big she looked like a little mountain climber.
Gretchen opened the back door for Meggie. "Hi, Beck."
"Hi, Gretchen."
She helped Meggie into her booster seat and strapped her in.
"How's it going?"
"Scores came back, from the state achievement tests the kids took before the raid. Latinos didn't do well, but no one cares now—all the Latinos are gone." She shook her head. "Haven't seen you at the gym lately."
"It's been busy at the courthouse."
"I've still got Saturday nights open."
"I'm still forty-two."
"I've still got needs."
She winked at him, then shut the door.
THIRTY-FIVE
Wes could not find Chase Connelly.
Beck had called Wes twice a day; Chase Connelly had disappeared. Until J.B. found him that night. He called out to Beck from inside. "Here's your boy!"
"What?"
"I was looking for The Beverly Hillbillies and there he was."
"Who?"
"Chase Connelly. He's on TV."
Beck jumped out of the rocker and ran inside and over to the TV. On the screen was Jay Leno behind his desk. Sitting next to him was a young blond man wearing a black tee shirt under a leather jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots. He had a long cigar in his mouth. Beck turned up the volume.
