We stopped by my place and I got the same answer on Mix-up.
“He’s probably dead,” I said. “Or taken by someone.”
“He’s a big dog, Carson,” Cherry said, patting my back. “On size alone he probably scares the coyotes. And, uh, he’s not the sort of adorably cute critter people want to snatch up. He’s out there and he’ll come back.”
I nodded, thankful for Cherry’s optimism, but not convinced. We returned to her place. “I’m going over the lives of Burton, Tanner and Powers with a fine-tooth comb,” she said. “Find out what they could possibly have had in common with Crayline, where paths crossed … It’s a nightmare.”
“It’s tough,” I sympathized, yawning. “But basic detective shoe leather. I usually start with interviewing neighbors, move on to—”
Cherry interrupted me by taking my hand. She led me outside, pointing to the west. “What do you see?”
I smiled, unsure of what was happening. “Uh, mountains, more mountains. Trees, valleys.”
“And all around us? East, North, South?”
“More of the same.”
“Woslee County is almost three hundred square miles of area, Carson. With a population under six thousand people. The biggest town is Campton, four hundred people strong. The tallest building is three stories. There’s two small apartment complexes, a few trailer courts. Most everyone else is scattered over the remaining three hundred square miles. People come and go as they please, no eyes around to see. Except for a few nosy-parkers, no one keeps tabs on anyone else.”
“Ah,” I said, getting her drift. “Not a lot of neighbors to interview.”
“It’s hard for urban folks to have secret lives; they’re surrounded by casual onlookers, curious eyes, surveillance cameras. They might have a hundred neighbors in a single apartment wing. In country as sparse as this, secret lives are a lot easier. Bobby Lee Crayline could have dated Tandee Powers for all I know. Or played poker at Sonny Burton’s house three nights a week. The thing is, no one would ever know. I can’t get that through Krenkler’s head.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize.”
She kissed my cheek. “You’re forgiven. But only because you’re cute. I’ve got to take the sparse input on the vics and squeeze it like a stone, see if I can get out that little extra juice that turns the case. All in between Krenkler’s running me ragged.”
I went to the porch swing and sat, doing my part to revisit the cases. In my head I listened to people we’d interviewed, re-walked the murder scenes. Ten minutes later I was replaying my tag-along to Berlea Coggins’s house and the input from the Tongue.
“I want to visit Mr Tongue again,” I said.
“Miz Coggins’s daddy? I thought he bounced off Powers a few times and that was that.”
“I remember him saying he gave her up because she got too nasty for him. I thought he meant her lesbian tendencies. In retrospect, I’m thinking it would take more than that to be nasty to Coggins.”
“You think you can get the old letch to open up?”
“Reply hazy, ask again later. I’ll need to be alone with him.”
Cherry checked her watch, “Berlea’s been trying to get me to lunch or supper for eons. I know she wants to give me a good proselytizing. Maybe there’s still time tonight. That’s all you need … me to get her gone for a while?”
“I need pornography,” I said, building my plan on the fly. “Lots of porn.”
She shook her head. “You mean like movies? Pardon me if I’m naïve, but it’s not exactly my field of interest.”
“Movies. Magazines. Anything and everything. Magazines for sure. I need to flash them.”
“You mean Penthouse, Hustler, that kind of thing?”
“I need the ugly stuff. The kind of thing you can smell from across the room.”
“Jeez, Ryder, you’re making my stomach turn.”
I clapped my hands. “That’s exactly what I need. Got access to any?”
She tapped her chin with a delicate digit. “No local place would carry it, the church types would reach critical mass. I’ve found plenty porn in busts. Seems preferred reading at meth labs and among dope dealers. I carry the crap to the garbage bin with tongs, pitch it out. There’s an X-rated bookstore on Interstate 75, about an hour away. Or you can get it in Lexington.”
“No time. Not if we want to try today.”
I saw a light dawn in Donna Cherry’s eyes. She dialed her cellphone. “Hang tight, Ryder. If there’s any sleazy, greasy porno around, I know where it’s at.”
Cherry had planned to re-stock her fridge tonight until waylaid by new plans, so she ran off to do that while I scratched through the notes for the hundredth time. A half-hour later I heard a vehicle outside, opened the door. It was Caudill, carrying a paper shopping bag.
“Special delivery,” he said, looking embarrassed.
“What do you have for me, Judd?” I asked, rubbing my hands together.
Caudill pulled a six-inch stack of magazines from the bag, followed by a dozen DVD cases. “Sheriff Beale keeps a big batch of the porno we turn up. He goes through, selects out what he wants and hides it in an evidence box with a fake case number. Everyone knows it’s there, but the sheriff thinks it’s his big secret.”
“You have to get it back?”
“It’s a big evidence box. I don’t think he’ll miss a teensy bit like this.”
I looked at the material. On top was a DVD with a pair of leering women dressed as nurses, tight, low-cut uniforms overflowing with silicone breasts. The ladies appeared to be taking the air’s temperature with their tongues. The title was Oral Medication. The teaser proclaimed, Take as needed and as often as necessary! I shuffled through the rest, saw titles like Boob Madness. Anal Holiday. Pink Dreams. Spurtfest IV …
I shifted my attention to the magazines. Wet Candy. Bush Fever. Triple-X Panty Party …
“Pure hot raunch-a-roni,” I said, clapping Caudill on the shoulder. “Well done.”