Marcie's Murder by Michael J. McCann Page A

and the same kind of tattoos.”
    “ The b ikers , ” Hank said .
    “Ye ah . They left a few minutes after you did.”
    “Anyone else ? ”
    “No.”
    “No? You sure?”
    She thought for a moment and then her eyes went wide. “Wait, of course. Professor Morris was there. Not very long, but I saw him Saturday night, that’s right.”
    “Professor Morris?”
    “Ye ah , he’s one of Rache’s instructors. I think she’s a little sweet on him.”
    “David Morris?”
    “ Yeah .”
    Hank looked at Hall, who nodded. It confirmed Hall’s previous assumption that the forty-something guy in the black sport jacket and jeans Hank had mentioned had been David Morris, the former chief of police.
    “What about a guy with a beard who might have looked like a priest or something?” Karen asked. “Big like him,” nodding at Hank, “but a bushier beard, longer face, hooked nose, hair not as curly.”
    “Not as good looking,” Debbie said, smiling. “Yeah, I saw him just for a minute. He stuck his head in the door, looked around and left again. Didn’t sit down or anything.”
    “When was that?”
    “I’m not sure. Around midnight ?”
    “Know the guy?” Karen asked.
    Debbie shook her head. “Haven’t seen him before.”
    “But you remember him.”
    “ I’m practic ing . When I see a face for the first time I try to commit it to memory right away along with a key word or something to remind me where I saw it first.”
    “And the key word for this guy?”
    She blushed. “Goober.”
    Karen guffawed. “Goober?”
    “G for Gerry’s,” she explained, “and goober because he looked like one.”
    “For cryin’ out loud,” Karen said.
    They question ed her for several more minutes without learning anything else of use. Karen gave her a business card and they went back downstairs .
    Outside on the sidewalk Hank turned to Hall. “Maybe your uniforms could interview these people, check them out.”
    Hall nodded.
    Karen looked at her watch. “ Damned if that didn’t smell good in there .”
    “Lunch , ” Hank said.
    “As long as they don’t put squirrels in it,” Karen said.

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    Hall didn’t feel like eating anything, which surprised no one, so they dropped him off at the station and drove back down Bluefield Street. Hank parked the car at the curb, fed a couple of quarter s into the parking meter, and they walked down to a small restaurant called Ann i e’s Diner. It had a dozen wooden tables and chairs, a counter at the back for the cash register and take out, and décor that featured antique tins, crocks , and vintage toys. There was one other customer in the place, a heavy-set guy in a green work shirt and matching trousers who sat along one wall with his back to the room. He was eating a hamburger. The only two other people in the restaurant, from what Hank could see , were a middle-aged brunette who came up to their table and a teenaged girl in the kitchen area.
    Hank ordered a club sandwich with extra mayo and a large Coke . Karen ordered a steak sandwich, fries , and coffee.
    “I like the bikers,” Karen said as they waited for their food. “ Have they run the plates yet ?”
    Hank shook his head. “ I don’t know .”
    “ People around here are like something out of a cartoon .”
    “It’s a different pace .”
    “I’d go fucking nuts if I was stuck here,” Karen said. “It’d be like having your brain sucked out of your head and put in a jar in a laboratory hidden off in the hills. Then nuclear war strikes, civilization’s wiped out, the hillbillies take over, and you sit there, a brain in a jar, waiting for humanity to reinvent the wheel so they can get a fucking move on and rediscover your hidden lab and plant you back into a body so you can do something constructive instead of floating in pickle juice for eternity staring at the wall.”
    Hank looked at her. “Where the hell did that come from?”
    “Well, how would you like to be stuck here doing fuck all while time