Page 29 of An Evil Heart
“He’s here.” Lifting the two beer mugs he just filled, he takes them to two men a few patrons down.
The place is too loud to hear much but the music. Definitely too loud to carry on a conversation, especially if you want it to remain private. Propping my elbow on the bar, I watch a couple stumble onto the dance floor and break into a raucous hip-grinding lambada.
“What do you want with Waddell?” Jimmie lines up four shot glasses and dribbles a generous amount of Patron into each.
“Just a quick chat.”
His eyes burn into mine. “He’s tipping good tonight.”
I pick up the glass and drink. “I’ll try not to screw up his mojo.”
He gives me a halfhearted smile. “Last I seen, he was in the booth over there at the back, by the men’s room.”
I lay a ten-dollar bill on the bar and start that way. I spot Waddell as I weave through the crowd. He’s sitting with three men, talking animatedly. A pitcher of beer and four mugs on the table in front of him. According to his driver’s license, he’s thirty-two years old. But he looks older. Long blond hair. Scruffy beard. Light blue eyes. A wiry build covered with the sinew of a man who works with his hands.
I reach the booth. “Kevin Waddell?”
Four pairs of eyes sweep to me. I see varying degrees of surprise and drunkenness. Uneasiness interlaced with curiosity. A little scorn thrown in for good measure.
Waddell sets down his mug. “Can I help you?”
I can tell by the thickness of his tongue, the glassiness of his eyes that this isn’t his first beer. Probably not his second. Certainly not an ideal situation for gleaning information, but I don’t want to wait until morning.
“I’m sorry to intrude on your evening,” I tell him. “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you have a minute.”
The four men exchange looks, telling me they’ve likely heard about themurder. The man next to him breaks into a grin, elbows him. “Told you they were going to come for you.”
“At least she’s polite about it,” one of the other men says.
“She don’t look too bad, either.” He snickers. “And it ain’t even midnight.”
I don’t acknowledge any of it.
Waddell doesn’t so much as break a smile. “This about Karn?”
I nod. “It’s a little loud in here,” I say. “Would you mind stepping outside with me?”
I’m aware of eyes on us as I lead him to the exit at the rear. I push open the door. Two men smoking to my right. I go left, stop next to a dumpster.
“What’s this about?” Waddell says as he approaches me. He’s trying to look sober. Back straight. Walking with the meticulousness of a man being given a sobriety test.
“You’re not in any trouble,” I begin, hoping to put him at ease.
“That’s good because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I understand you drive Aden Karn to work every day.”
“Ain’t no law against that, is there?”
I give him the fundamentals of what happened. “He was found on Hansbarger Road around eight o’clock this morning.”
“Dang. Hated hearing about that. He was a nice kid.” He shakes his head. “Hansbarger is just a couple miles from where we meet. That old Lutheran church out there by the ice shanty.”
I nod. “How well did you know Karn?”
“Aw, we worked together a few months. Kid was Amish, you know. Didn’t drive. I told him I practically drove by his place every day and offered to give him a ride.”
“Were you friends?”
