Marcie's Murder by Michael J. McCann

abnormal psychology, theories of social deviance , and all that stuff she take s . She’d just die to talk to you, you know, to ask you what it’s like to be a woman in law enforcement. To know what she’s facing out there.”
    “Are those her shooting trophies?” Karen asked, looking up at the top of the cupboards.
    “They sure are. She’s a gun nut and she wins all kinds of competitions.”
    “Then she’ll probably be just fine,” Karen said. “ R un us through the customers you remember from Saturday night.”
    “I remember you, right off,” Debbie said to Hank. “Mary served you. Did you talk to her yet ?”
    “Yeah,” Karen said, “but she didn’t remember him.”
    Debbie shrugged. “She’s middle-aged and married, which is like being dead.” She smiled at Hank, looking at his left hand. “You’re not married, are you?”
    “He’s old enough to be your father,” Karen said, disgusted. “Who else was there?”
    Debbie grinned . “ L et’s see. Dav ey was there. S itting at the bar? A little overweight, never talks? His last name’s Toler, I think. He’s a regular, almost every night. Mr. Bickell told me his dad’s a farmer.”
    “Eric Toler,” Hall said , massaging his eyes .
    “Are you okay?” Debbie asked.
    “ Headache. What time did Toler leave?”
    “When Mr. Bickell closed it down , around one forty-five .”
    “See him go outside at any time and then come back in?” Karen asked.
    “No.”
    “All right. Go on.”
    “Mr. Fink was there,” Debbie said. “He comes in a few nights a week, sits at the same table by himself. I think he’s a construction worker or something.”
    “Henry Fink,” Hall said.
    “Yes.”
    “ Y ou ’re from Kentucky ?” Hank asked Debbie .
    “Me? Yes, from Belfry . That’s a tiny little place i n Pike County , not so far from here . ”
    “ What year are you in ?”
    “I’m a junior . Oh, I get it. You’re wondering how come I know these people. It’s something I picked up from one of Rache’s courses, actually. Something about how police officers should get to know the people in the area where they work. The regulars o n their beat. I thought it sounded like a good principle to follow in business, too, so I’ve been practicing. I remembered your face, and now I know your name, and the next time we meet I’ll be able to say ‘hello, Mr. Donaghue.’ Sorry, Lieutenant Donaghue. Anyway, you know what I mean. It makes an impression on business clients when you remember their names and something about them.”
    “I’m sure it does,” Hank said. “So, Henry Fink.” He looked at Hall.
    “Forty-six, a carpenter and contractor ,” Hall recited, “Ace Construction . H as a n apartment on Poplar Street. Divorced. I could go on.”
    “Wow,” Debbie said.
    Hall grimaced . “What time did Fink leave?”
    “When we closed.”
    “Who else do you remember?” Karen asked.
    “Three guys at a table . I s ee them together a couple nights a week. They take turns paying and use credit cards. Matt Shumate is one, Joseph Wall is another, and, oh damn, I can’t remember the third guy’s name.”
    They all looked at Hall.
    “Shumate ’ s thirty-seven , lives on Harper Road just outside of town. He’s a metal worker at the big plant in Bluefield.” Hall sat up a little straighter. “ Joe Wall ’ s thirty-eight and a shift foreman at the same plant. The third guy probably also works there.”
    “Allen,” Debbie said.
    “First or last name?” Hall asked.
    “Last name. I’m sorry; I can’t remember his first name.”
    “That’s all right.” He realized Hank and Karen were staring at him. “ D on’t know him.”
    “What a letdown,” Karen said. “When did these guys leave , when Bickell sent everybody home ? ”
    Debbie nodded.
    “Anyone else?”
    “There were two guys who came in and sat at the bar. One guy had a bushy beard, a ponytail and a lot of tattoos, and the other guy had one of those big long mustaches, a brush cut