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“I want to know what you remember about the night of the murder at Lundeen’s five years ago.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jimmy said.
“Thought that was all decided,” said Tracy.
“The cop that was killed was my friend,” said McCrae.
“Giddyup!” Another guy called from the same group as the first hollerer. “Get me the same!”
“Jimmy, you wanna get those Cadillacs?” Tracy said, hooking a thumb toward the loud group milling around at the end of the bar. Then she leaned forward on the bar in front of McCrae and said, “I wondered if anybody was ever going to get past that cop, investigator, whatever. He didn’t give a damn about the truth.”
“Tim Hurston.”
“Maybe. I don’t know what his name was.” She paused. “You look familiar.”
“I talked to you first at Lundeen’s. I was the first investigator. You had longer brown hair in a braid.”
“Huh.” She straightened and eyed him across the bar. “I told that other asshole what I knew, but he just blew me off.”
“Tracy,” Jimmy said, hovering around behind her. She ignored him, and it was clear she didn’t like his proprietary attitude toward her.
“He was talking to somebody. Making all kinds of plans. And she was barely hanging on to her stool. I don’t think she even knew he was on the phone.”
McCrae said, “There were no calls on his cell that night.” Carville had called her a liar. Maybe this was what he meant.
She gave him a “Really?” look. “It was a burner. Just a plain old phone. Nothing fancy about it. I know those kind when I see ’em. I noticed, ’cause most of the guys who have ’em around here use ’em to score drugs and stuff. Keep changing ’em out. Untraceable.”
“Justin Penske, the man with Officer Bailey Quintar, was using a temporary phone, not his cell?”
“Uh huh. And there was that other guy, too.”
“What guy?”
“The bigger guy who came in, looked around, saw the two of them and quickly turned around and bolted. Except he was hanging around outside, trying not to be noticed. Kept waiting for something, I guess.”
“That was never in any report.”
“I didn’t really think about it till later, after that asshole who wouldn’t listen to me anyway was gone.”
“You’re sure this guy was watching Penske and Bailey?”
“No. That’s the point, isn’t it? ‘The only sure thing is man is unsure.’ I don’t know. Fuck it. Don’t believe me. Nobody ever does.”
She stepped back, nearly into Jimmy. “Jesus, Jimmy,” she said scornfully.
She was helping so many people, McCrae had to wait for her to come back into his space. “I believe you,” he said, when he could get her attention again.
“Bully for you,” she said over her shoulder, pulling a Stella for the customer seated next to McCrae, an older man.
“Do you remember what he looked like? The big man who was watching?”
“Yeah. He wore a trench coat and sunglasses and had a big birthmark on his forehead, six fingers on each hand, and wore red lipstick.”
The older man beside McCrae snickered.
“Anything?” McCrae asked, ignoring the gibe.
Tracy didn’t answer for a while. Kept filling glasses of beer. Checking the time, McCrae was about to slide off his stool and head toward the Bengal Room, when she came back.
