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“Screw Bud.” She said it like spitting. “I don’t give a damn what he thinks.”
“How come?”
“How the hell come? He’s the one got me on the meth. Fucked up my life big-time. Then he leaves me. Haven’t seen him for a year.”
“Now, Darlene, you know anything you tell me can be used against you in a court of law.”
“What? You’re a narc now, Detective Will? That baby cop told me all that stuff. I’ve heard it before. Why are we out here? Can’t we go sit in the car?”
“This won’t take long.” He fought to sit normally on the bench, so Darlene wouldn’t know he needed the wheelchair, that he wasn’t really on duty. That she wouldn’t notice how his weak left leg fell out to the side, ever so unnaturally. He wanted to shift his weight every minute or two to ease the discomfort. He stayed still.
Darlene held her face in profile as she stared at the mesmerizing river. It looked as if she had aged a decade since he had talked to her two years before. Her skin was pale and freckled, and now it was deeply creased. It bore a moonscape of small scars. She pulled out a pack of Camels and lit one, puffing on it nervously. The smoke mingled with the mist from her breath and it all came into his face.
“I just need to clear a few things up about an old case.”
She looked at him and stubbed out the cigarette. “You mean the murder.”
“Yes.”
She lit another smoke and stared at the river.
“Been a long time ago. That boy went to prison. I hear he died there.”
“That’s right.” Will watched the river and let her smoke and stew. The cold was on his side. He had never minded it. “You said Bud was with you that night.”
“He was there. He came by most nights, when he was working nights.”
“You guys never lived together?”
“No. He wouldn’t.”
“He’d moved out on his wife. Seems like he’d want to be with a pretty thing like you.”
“He said he needed his space, whatever the hell that means. Men say that. He’d come by some nights, some afternoons. We’d fuck and he’d leave. True love, huh?”
“Who knows?” He waited, let the cold stab at her. Then, “Maybe he had a girl on the side.”
She was inhaling furiously, the skin above her upper lip showing ribs of wrinkles. The river slapped noisily at the concrete and traffic droned on the interstate overhead. Quietly, he heard her say, “Son of a bitch…”
“I don’t mean to upset you,” Will said. “You know how some men are. Girl on the side here, girl on the side there, always too busy to spend much time.”
“Son of a bitch.” She said it louder this time.
“How’d you get on meth?”
“He brought it one day. Said he’d taken it off a dealer and it might be fun. It sure as hell was. Only he just drank Jack Daniels while I did it. Fuck, it wrapped around me like a snake…”
“When’d he do this?”
“Couple years ago.”
“Before or after his wife was killed?”
She thought for a moment. “Before.”
“So did you have to go out and buy it, once you got hooked?”
“No, he’d bring me some. I thought I had a real sugar daddy.”
