by Mark Gimenez
"Sixteen. Couple months before she …" Kim shook her head. "She was so beautiful."
There was no envy on Kim's face. There was pure admiration. She tapped again, and Beck recoiled. In this photo, Heidi was still wearing the same clothes in the same pose, but her halter top was untied and her breasts were fully exposed.
"She had perfect tits," Kim said. "And those aren't implants. They're real."
Beck—State District Judge John Beck Hardin—felt uneasy looking at the bare breasts of a sixteen-year-old girl, even in a photo. So he said, "Next."
Kim tapped again. This one was worse.
"Look at that butt," Kim said. "Also perfect."
The photo showed Heidi with her back to the camera and twisting her upper body around. Her halter top was off, and her shorts were pulled down enough to show her bare bottom. She was wearing a black thong.
"She wore thongs?"
Kim shrugged. "Sure. Everyone does. You can buy them at the Wal-Mart."
Beck said, "Next," but when the next photo appeared, he wished he hadn't. Heidi was now completely nude, a full frontal. Her blonde hair framed her perfect face … bare breasts … a narrow waist … and a genital area without pubic hair.
"Brazilian wax job," Kim said.
Beck blew out a breath, stood, and walked a few steps into the yard. He needed to gather himself. Here he was, on the front porch of a little house in a small Texas town at the intersection of no place and nowhere and this girl was showing him nude photos of her dead best friend as casually as a new mother showing her baby pictures. Was this considered normal today? Had he been locked away in a Chicago law office for seventeen years while the outside world had taken a sudden sharp turn and didn't tell him? Is this what teenage girls did these days, take nude photos of each other and get Brazilian wax jobs? When Beck returned to his spot next to Kim, she was grinning.
"We went to Austin to get our wax jobs. Now that was weird."
"Why?"
"How would you like some strange Korean woman messing with your privates, yanking your—"
"No. Why'd y'all do that?"
"Oh. All the Playmates do, and stars like Britney and Paris. The paparazzi caught them getting out of their limos without their panties on. Could you imagine how much fun that'd be?"
"Not wearing underwear?"
"No. Being so famous that photographers followed you everywhere."
"Why did she want to be famous?"
Kim looked at him like he was nuts. "Everyone wants to be famous."
"I don't."
"You're old." She got a faraway look in her eyes. "If you're famous, people recognize you … they're jealous of you … of your life. You got people to do your hair and put on your makeup and paint your nails and run get stuff for you. You can have anything you want anytime you want it. You're special. You're somebody. You're not a nobody in a hick town where goats and football are the biggest things in the whole world."
She threw a hand toward the gas station.
"My daddy's been fixin' cars in this no-count town his whole life and what's he got to show for it? That dump of a gas station and this dump of a house. He didn't get no government money for fixin' cars."
"Why don't you go to college?"
"And work all my life?"
"Do you have any friends? A boyfriend?"
"My friend died. And I don't want a boyfriend, not here."
"Why not?"
"Why? So I can get married, have a bunch of kids, and be fat and bored all my life with a German guy starts drinking beer at noon and smacks me around at night? No thanks. I've already lived that life."
She lit another cigarette.
"I'm sorry, Kim."
"Ain't your fault."
"Where did you take these photos?"
"I didn't. Her mom did."
"Her mom?"
"Yeah, with a digital camera. I uploaded them. But I didn't touch them up, that's really her."
"Heidi's mother took nude photos of her?"
Kim shrugged. "You gotta do nudes for Playboy."
"Her mother wanted her to pose for Playboy?"
She nodded. "When she turned eighteen. Her mom figured if she could pose in Playboy, she'd get to live in the Mansion out in Hollywood—"
"What mansion?"
"The Playboy Mansion. Her mom figured she'd get discovered there. She was, like, obsessed with Heidi becoming a star."
"Her mother pushed her?"
"Heidi was her ride out of town … mine, too, I guess. She was gonna take me with her, to Hollywood, when she hit it big. I was gonna be her gofer."
"You were okay with that?"
Another shrug. "Sure. All the stars have an entourage. And I'd be in Hollywood. Better than living in a town that don't even have a Hooters."
"What do you want out of life, Kim?"
She blew out smoke and turned her big blue eyes up at Beck and said, "I want to be rich. I want to have everything. I want to live like those people on TV."
"Were you with Heidi the night she died?"
Kim's face changed, and Beck knew from his experience cross-examining reluctant witnesses that she was about to lie.
She shook her head. "Nunh-uh."
"You don't have any idea where Heidi went that night?"
She shook her head again. "Nunh-uh."
Kim wouldn't make eye contact with him now. She was lying. But why?
"Did Heidi drink?"
"Not even beer. She didn't want to gain weight."
"Drugs?"
"No way. You see how people look old when they do meth? Like Dee Dee? Heidi knew her looks were her ticket out of here."
"She died of a cocaine overdose, you know that?"
She nodded.
"But you never saw her use cocaine or other drugs?"
"No."
"Did she have a boyfriend?"
"Nope. She didn't want any ties to this place. She said she wanted Fred in her rearview mirror."
"Fred?"
"Fredericksburg."
"Did she hang out with Mexican boys?"
"In this town?"
"Any college boys?"
"What college guys would come here?"
"Kim, Heidi had sex with a man the night she died, did you know that?"
"I figured, with the sheriff wanting DNA samples from every guy in town. I saw that on CSI Miami. I like that show."
"She apparently wasn't raped."
Kim nodded.
"Which means, Kim, that Heidi met a man. Where would she meet a man in Fredericksburg?"
No eye contact again. She shrugged. Beck decided to gut-punch Kim.
"Kim, there's something else you should know. Heidi was with two men that night."
Now she made eye contact. "Two men?"
Beck nodded. "Apparently she gave oral sex to the first man earlier and then had unprotected intercourse with the second man, the man that dumped her in the ditch."
Kim's eyes dropped. She bit her lower lip and wiped a tear from her cheek. Now she looked thirteen.
"Does Coach know?"
"No."
She looked up. "Don't tell him, okay? He would die. He thought she was his little princess. He always called her that. I thought it was corny back then, but now I kind of like it, that he felt that way about her. My dad wanted me to be a mechanic."
"She wasn't? A princess?"
"She was on the pill. Her mom got them for her, right after—"
Kim caught herself. She tossed the cigarette into the dirt, slammed the laptop shut, stood, and walked into the house. The interview was apparently over.
When Beck walked back into his chambers, he found retired Judge Bruno Stutz leaned back in Beck's chair with his feet kicked up on Beck's desk. His eyes were closed. He was a white-haired man in his seventies with sharp facial features.
Bruno Stutz was an old German.
Beck cleared his throat loudly. Stutz's eyes opened to slits. He slowly removed his feet from Beck's desk and stood. He
was tall and lanky and dressed in a simple black suit—his suit did look like the undertaker's.
"Every day for forty-six years, I took a nap in that chair."
Bruno Stutz spoke with a thick German accent. He walked around the desk; they shook hands.
"Beck Hardin."
"Bruno Stutz. So, the prodigal son returns and is now the judge."
"How's your heart?"
"Still ticking."
"Must have improved since you resigned the bench."
A thin smile. "Well, that sounded better than the truth."
"Which was?"
"Quentin McQuade offered me a half-million-dollar salary to be his lawyer."
"His lawyer or Slade's?"
A shrug. "All in der Familie, as we say."
Stutz settled into the visitor's chair without an invitation. Beck walked around and sat behind the desk. His gut told him to keep some distance from Stutz. The old judge's next words proved his gut right.
"Beck, I don't want Slade in your courtroom. I want you to rescind your order. I want that examining trial in the J.P. court just as I had planned. Take care of that today, okay?"
Beck stared across his desk at the old man issuing orders to a district judge like he was ordering bratwurst and sauerkraut for dinner. Who the hell does he think he is?
"Bruno, that's not going to happen. Slade McQuade's examining trial will be held Friday morning upstairs in the district courtroom. And this is an ex parte communication between the court and one party to a case. I don't do that."
Stutz smiled. "Sohn, nothing would ever get done in a courthouse without ex parte communications. That's why lawyers give campaign contributions, to buy the right to ex parte the judge."
"Not with me."
Stutz reached inside his coat and came out with a document. He unfolded it, and tossed it on the desk: CONSENT TO EX PARTE COMMUNICATIONS. Beck scanned the document. The D.A. had waived all objections to Stutz having private conversations with Beck regarding Slade McQuade.
"The D.A. and I, we agreed to give Slade a break, so he can get on with his football career."
"He beat the hell out of that kid. He doesn't deserve a break."
"Did you?"
"I never beat anyone up."
"Someone still got hurt."
"That was different … and twenty-four years ago."
"I have a long memory." Stutz sighed heavily. "Look, Beck, there's an easy way and a hard way to do this. That was the easy way. You won't like the hard way."
"Are you threatening a state district judge?"
"Did you threaten a justice of the peace?"
"Is that what Schmidt said?"
"Ja, that is exactly what he said. You know, threatening Walt with that tape recording, that's something I would've done. Wouldn't have expected that from you."
"That tape recording is public record, Bruno. It's not a threat to disclose a public record."
"No, it's not. And, hell, it's Walt's fault anyway, saying that kind of dumme shit when he's being recorded. Said he forgot the tape was running." Stutz shook his head. "Walt, he's not the smartest goat rancher in the county."
Beck stood. "Anything else I can do for you, Bruno?"
Stutz did not stand.
"How's J.B.?"
"He's fine."
"Goat rancher turned winemaker." He shook his head. "When Peggy died, God bless her, and then you left town, I didn't think he'd make it. But J.B.'s made of hard wood, that's a fact. But, you know, Beck, there's always a chisel sharp enough to split any wood."
"What's your point, Bruno?"
Stutz turned his blue eyes up to Beck, and Beck saw there the meanness Grady had spoken of, the same face Beck had seen that day when Stutz had sentenced Miguel Cervantes to prison.
"I first met your mother when she was only sixteen, living out there on that land with her folks running goats. That was nineteen sixty-three, November twenty-second. I remember that day well because that was the day they killed that Commie-loving bastard up in Dallas. She came into my courtroom that afternoon with her folks. Everyone else had gone home to watch TV about Kennedy. She was a pretty little schatzy, your mother. She had that glow about her that women get on two occasions in life: when they're getting married and when they're having a baby. Peggy wasn't getting married that day, Beck."
Beck fell back into his chair.
"She must've been pregnant when they named her 'Miss Mo' ' … Miss Mohair of Gillespie County. Of course, that would have disqualified her. Anyway, she was giving that baby up for adoption. She came in to sign the papers. That was a Friday. She had the baby that Sunday out at the ranch with a Mexican midwife, and a nice couple from Odessa adopted the child. Girl, as I recall. Papers were sealed, and no one ever knew. As I also recall, Peggy wore a white wedding dress when she and J.B. got married over at St. Mary's."
Beck had been blindsided many times in a court of law; clients always had secrets they didn't reveal to their lawyer. But those secrets always came out. Beck had tears in his eyes when he stood and stared at Bruno Stutz.
"I heard you were a mean old bastard, but you're way past mean. You're scary."
"You goddamn right I am. I've been scaring the people of this county for forty-six years, because I know everyone's secrets. That's why I'm valuable to McQuade. Time I'm through representing him, I'll know his secrets, too."
"This county's going to be a better place when you're dead."
A German snort. "Don't hold your breath."
"Get out … before I throw you out."
Stutz slowly pushed himself out of the chair and walked to the door. He turned back.
"I've been holding on to that secret for forty-four years. I'd hate for J.B. to learn the truth about Peggy this late in life. That's just the sort of thing that could spell the end of a man, learning something like that about his beloved dead wife."
" 'Wedding dress. Size eight. Never worn. Paid six-fifty, sell for one-fifty.' Well, something surely went wrong there. Makes you feel for that gal, don't it?"
J.B. was reading the classifieds when Beck walked out onto the back porch and sat down hard in Peggy's rocking chair.
"Wonder was she just hoping or did she figure on getting married enough that she buys herself a dress? Now she's got to sell it. Makes me sad for her and I don't even know her. Any gal walking down the street might be the one carrying that burden."
J.B. shook his head. Then he looked at Beck.
"You look like you're carrying a heavy burden yourself."
Beck nodded.
"You got troubles?"
"We got troubles."
J.B. turned in his chair to face Beck.
"Let's have it."
"Bruno Stutz came to see me today."
"Been wishing that old bastard would die for fifty years."
"I just met him and I want him dead."
"And?"
"He threatened me, if I don't drop Slade's case."
"What was his threat?"
"Said he'd reveal a secret he's been hanging on to for forty-four years."
"Forty-four years? Then it's not about you. So it must be about me."
Beck felt the tears come into his eyes again.
"Not you, either."
J.B. put the paper down.
"Then that leaves Peggy."
Beck nodded.
"What is it?"
"J.B.—"
"Tell me."
Beck told it fast. "He said Mom got pregnant when she was sixteen, gave the baby up for adoption. Papers were sealed."
J.B. sucked in air. He blinked hard then stood and walked to the screen. He stared out at the darkness a long moment and let out a long sigh, then turned back to Beck.
"Fifty years, I been wanting to punch Bruno in that sharp beak of his. Him being judge, didn't figure that would be a smart move. Figure I will now."
"I'm sorry, J.B."
"No, I'm sorry you had to learn about it from Bruno."
"You knew?"
"Course I knew. Peggy told me when I asked her to marry me. She said there'd never be secrets between us."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"We ain't talked in twenty-four years, Beck, when was I supposed to tell you?"
"Before I left."
"You were an eighteen-year-old boy mad at the world 'cause your mama died—would you have understood? She made a mistake, Beck. She was a human being, just like you and better than me, and she made a mistake just like we have before and will again. But she was the best human being I've ever known."
"So I have a stepsister?"
J.B. nodded. "Lives up in Odessa. Married, got five kids now. Named Peggy. About twelve, thirteen years ago, she looked me up. Said the law allowed adopted kids to find their birth mothers. She wanted to know about her mama."
Beck was shaking his head.
"Beck, I hope this don't make you think less of your mama."
"It doesn't. She gave up her own child so the child could have a better life. That couldn't have been easy."
"It pained her considerably. But you eased her pain, Beck. She loved you enough for both her children."
J.B. sat back down.
"Bruno didn't tell you the whole story. He was a young man at the time and he fell hard for Peggy that day. But she wouldn't have nothing to do with him. When she married me two years later, he took it personal … and he got mad. Been mad ever since."
J.B picked up the newspaper, turned the page, and said, "Yep, next time I see Bruno, reckon I'll punch him in the nose. Figure I won't go to jail seeing how I know the judge."
SEVENTEEN
"Guten Morgen, Herr Hardin."
Bruno Stutz was again sitting in Beck's chambers when he arrived the next morning.
"I've got to get better security," Beck said.
Stutz did not stand. He sat with the confidence of a man holding aces.
"Well?"
"Peggy didn't keep secrets from J.B. He met her daughter twelve years ago."
Stutz sighed and shook his head. "That's the problem with secrets—people today just can't keep a secret."
"Any more threats, Bruno?"
Stutz's eyes narrowed. "Don't push me, Judge. You and the Mexicans will regret it."
"Oh, just so you know, Bruno—J.B. said next time he sees you he's going to punch you in the nose."
"J.B. making a threat?"
"More like a promise."