| |
It was just after three o’clock and Rodney Bauer was enjoying the hell out of a basket of honey-glazed chicken strips and gravy when the tall guy with the scruffy beard and an oversized army jacket came through the front door.
Dairy Queen wasn’t busy at this time of day. Wasn’t dinnertime yet. Sure, some folks might use the drive-through to get a fountain drink or maybe a Dilly Bar, but the dining room inside was empty, except for Rodney and one other person, a young girl eating a hamburger and looking at her phone.
Rodney didn’t know that girl, or the scruffy guy who’d just entered, and for that, he was grateful. If his wife Mabel found out he had stopped off for a snack, she’d nag him for a solid week. “You ate a dadgum chicken basket, and then you came home and had a full dinner three hours later?” is what she’d probably say. “That’s just flat ridiculous. No wonder you haven’t been able to lose any weight. You know how it works, doncha, Rodney? If you wanna lose weight, you gotta eat less. And maybe try some exercise every now and then, and I don’t mean twelve-ounce curls.” She’d mimic him raising a beer can to his mouth.
That’s the kind of thing she’d say if she caught him.
But he loved her, of course, despite her nagging. That was his job. To love her. Wasn’t always easy. But he did. No question about it. Definitely loved her.
The scruffy guy in the army jacket was just standing by the door, looking around, as if he was expecting to see a particular person.
The thing was, Rodney wasn’t all that interested in losing weight. It was Mabel that was always pressuring him about it, which was ironic, considering her own substantial girth nowadays. She kept a basket full of chocolates tucked away in her sewing room and thought Rodney didn’t know about it. Occasionally he’d sneak a few pieces when she wasn’t home. He was tempted to leave a note in there—something like, You on a diet, too, honey? But then she’d know he knew where the chocolates were, so she’d hide them somewhere else.
Now that Rodney was getting a better look, he thought he recognized the scruffy guy. He was pretty sure the guy worked here at the DQ. He was a cook, which meant he didn’t interact with the customers. But Rodney had seen his face in the pass-through window from the kitchen into the area behind the service counter.
“Order up,” the guy would call out, when he was working.
But right now he was still standing by the front door. Not dressed for work, obviously. Maybe he was here to pick up a paycheck or something. Looking for a manager. There was nobody behind the service counter at the moment. Rodney didn’t know where those employees went when there was nobody to serve, but there had to be a couple of rooms back there. Maybe a small break room. And the walk-in freezer. Some employee bathrooms.
Rodney picked up his last chicken strip, dipped it into the gravy, but didn’t stuff it into his mouth just yet.
Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know what it was, but his radar was going off. Something about the scruffy guy hanging by the door. The look on his face. He was holding his right hand in his pocket, like he had an object in there. Rodney was watching him, but the scruffy guy hadn’t even looked his way.
“About time, Trevor,” a voice said, and Rodney realized one of the girls had emerged from the back area and was now behind the service counter.
“Hey, Renee,” Trevor said, but he remained by the door. “Where’s Caitlin?”
His voice was shaking. Why the hell was his voice shaking?
“You totally missed your shift and didn’t even call in,” Renee said. “So thanks for that. We had to scramble. Same with Bryce. He never showed up.”
Rodney got the sense that Renee wasn’t real fond of this guy.
“Sorry. Where’s Caitlin?”
“In back.”
Rodney remembered Caitlin. Cute girl. Had a good sense of humor. Always smiling, unlike a lot of teenagers.
“Can you ask her to come out here?” Trevor asked.
“I guess. Is something wrong?”
So Rodney wasn’t imagining it. Renee had also noticed that Trevor was acting weird.
“No, I’m fine,” Trevor said. “How’s your grandmother?”
“What?”
“How’s your grandmother?”
“I just—why are you asking about her? That’s the second time. You don’t even know her.”
Yeah, Renee definitely didn’t like this guy.
“I’m just trying to be nice,” Trevor said. “Who’s cooking today?”
Trevor sure was asking a lot of questions—and wanting to know where everyone was. Why was that?
“Craig,” Renee said. “We had to call him in when you didn’t show.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s back there somewhere,” Renee said. “Maybe in the walk-in.”
Now Trevor glanced in Rodney’s direction, so Rodney looked out the window, totally nonchalant, while taking a bite of the chicken strip. The girl on the phone appeared oblivious to everything going on—and then Rodney noticed she was listening to music with earbuds.
“I need to talk to Caitlin,” Trevor said.
Rodney’s revolver was out in his truck. He had a license to carry, but he never kept it on him. Too bulky. Pain in the ass. He felt pretty stupid about that right now. But maybe he was wrong about the situation.
“Hang on just a sec,” Renee said, heading for the back of the building.
“No!” Trevor barked, and now he was reaching inside his coat.
Rodney pulled his phone out of his pocket and put it in his lap, under the table.
“Caitlin!” Trevor yelled.
Jesus H. Christ, Rodney was right, because now this guy Trevor was pulling a gun from his pocket, and he aimed it at Renee.
Renee let out a little shriek.
“Everybody just stay where you are,” Trevor said, his voice shaking worse than ever.
The girl with the earbuds still hadn’t noticed what was happening.
“What are you doing?” Renee said, the fear in her voice obvious.
“You!” Trevor said, now swinging the gun toward Rodney. “Don’t fuckin’ move.”
Rodney showed the kid his palms but otherwise didn’t move. Moving would be stupid. The perfect way to get shot. His phone was still in his lap. No way to call 911 and report the gunman. That’s what they would call the guy in the news reports later:
The gunman was an employee at the Dairy Queen. The gunman had a scruffy beard and a green army jacket. The gunman shot his first victim, Rodney Bauer, from a distance of approximately fifteen feet.
“Caitlin, get out here!” Trevor yelled.
Don’t do it, Caitlin, Rodney thought. Stay in back. Don’t come out. If you come out here, nothing good will happen.
Well, shit. Here she came. Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t look too freaked out. She was standing beside Renee.
“What are you doing, Trevor?” she asked.
Damn calm, under the circumstances. Renee was starting to cry.
“Taking off,” Trevor said. “You and me. Let’s go.”
Trevor wasn’t looking at Rodney, but he still had the gun pointed in Rodney’s direction.
“What?” Caitlin said.
“We’re taking off.”
“Who is?”
“Me and you. I’m parked next door.”
No way in the world would Rodney let Caitlin leave with this guy.
“Are you serious?” Caitlin asked.
“About what?”
“Put that gun away. Whatever you’re doing, it’s dumb, and you should just leave before it gets worse.”
The girl on the phone hadn’t raised her head for even one second, despite the strange scene unfolding around her. Her phone had turned her into a zombie, and the earbuds made it even worse.
“Caitlin,” Trevor said, the frustration obvious in his voice.
“What?”
“Don’t call me dumb.”
She seemed like a smart girl. Good at reading the situation. So she changed her approach.
“I didn’t, and I’m sorry if it came across that way. But I care about you and this is just a bad idea. I don’t want to see you hurt anyone or get into trouble.”
“You care about me? Since when?”
“I think you’re a nice guy, Trevor. You know that.”
“How would I know that? You never said anything.”
“Haven’t I always been nice to you?”
“That doesn’t mean you care about me.”
Rodney wanted to do something, but any movement on his part would draw Trevor’s attention.
“Will you put the gun down, Trevor? You should leave and we can talk later.”
This girl was amazing.
“But I came to get you,” Trevor said.
“I understand that, but where are you going? And why would you need to come in here with a gun?”
“I can’t explain right now, but you need to—”
“I just called the cops,” the girl with the phone abruptly announced, rising from the table.
Everyone—Rodney, Trevor, Caitlin, and Renee—looked at her.
She didn’t appear afraid at all. Was she naïve, or simply stupid? Her body language was totally cocky. One hip thrust out, elbow resting on it, and her phone in that hand, the ringing coming through the speaker.
“Hang up!” Trevor yelled.
But it was too late.
“Blanco County 911. What’s your emergency?”
Trevor swung the handgun around and fired it. He just shot, with no further warning.
It was even louder than Rodney would’ve expected in the small, enclosed space, and his ears were ringing as he lumbered to his feet and rushed toward Trevor.
“I knocked several times and identified myself as a state game warden,” Marlin said, “and I called out for Trevor, but there was no answer. I heard music playing, which meant anybody inside might not be able to hear me. I’d heard the music earlier, as I climbed the steps.”
He was doing his best to remember every detail in the correct order. Wasn’t always easy in a stressful situation like this. He was giving his initial statement to Lauren Gilchrist in her marked SUV, which was parked on the county road in front of Trevor Larkin’s rented mobile home. Deputies had secured the scene. EMS had already come and gone. Now they were waiting on Henry Jameson, the crime-scene technician.
“I went to the window to the left of the front door and looked in. All I saw was a mostly empty bedroom with a few boxes in it. So then I went to the window to the right of the door, and that’s when I saw a body facedown on the floor. He had an obvious injury that resulted in a large bloodstain on the back of his T-shirt. I called dispatch, and then I entered the house through the front door, which was unlocked.”
Bryce Cauley was dead—shot in the chest twice with a large-caliber weapon. It appeared Cauley had been right about Trevor Larkin, who was nowhere to be found. Cauley had apparently skipped work to go to Larkin’s house, but why? Had Marlin’s interview that morning rattled him that much?
How long Bryce had been dead would be a matter for Lem Tucker, but based on Marlin’s estimation, not long. Maybe two or three hours when Marlin had found him.
“Right when I opened the door, I called out again, identifying myself, and got no answer. As I made my way through the house, I didn’t see anybody else inside and I didn’t see anything that struck me as potential evidence. No shell casings or bloody weapons or anything like that. If there was any blood on the floor, I couldn’t see it, but the carpet was in pretty bad shape—lots of stains. And I was in a hurry to get to the victim and confirm his condition.”
Marlin would have to give his statement again at the sheriff’s office, and it would be recorded. Standard procedure.
“I checked the victim—no pulse, no breathing, and he was cool to the touch, or at least not warm. So then I checked the house for any other potential victims. I found nobody else and at that point I—”
Marlin was interrupted by Deputy Ernie Turpin rapping insistently on the driver’s-side window. The expression on Ernie’s face told Marlin something terrible had happened.
Lauren lowered the window and Ernie said, “There’s been a shooting at the Dairy Queen in Blanco. At least two victims.”