An Evil Heart (Kate Burkholder, #15)(26)

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 the murder. 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?”

“Well, we didn’t run in the same circles or anything. But I drank a beer or two with him. You know, after work. Right here at the Brass Rail.” As if remembering, he laughs. “Good-looking kid. Let me tell you, he was a chick magnet.”

I touch on the same questions I covered with Wayne Graber and the others, but he doesn’t give me anything I haven’t already heard.

“Everyone seemed to like Aden,” he tells me. “He was always on time. You could tell this kid was Amish. I mean, he had a good work ethic, you know? Believe me, a lot of them young ones don’t these days.”

“Was Aden having any problems with anyone?”

Waddell scratches his head. “Come to think of it, he wasn’t too happy with that buddy of his.”

“Which buddy is that?”

“The dude bought the truck from him.”

“Vernon Fisher?”

He snaps his fingers. “That’s the guy.”

No one had mentioned that Fisher and Karn were friends. I’d assumed their only connection was the truck. “They were friends?” I ask.

“Good friends. In fact, I had a beer with the two of them a couple times right here at the Brass Rail. Mostly, they hung out at that old gas station. Worked on cars. Drinkin’ and listening to music and shit. Then that whole truck thing happened and I think their friendship went down the toilet.” He takes me through the same story I heard from Vernon and Wayne.

“Did Vernon Fisher or anyone else make any threats against Aden?” I ask.

“All’s I know is that Fisher wadn’t happy with Aden or Graber when they repossessed that truck. He wanted his money back. Ruined their friendship, and I think they’d known each other since they were little kids. That’s all I know.”





CHAPTER 8


There’s a quiet inner joy that comes with arriving home. That moment when the rest of the world melts away and for a small snatch of time, you’re exactly where you want to be. It’s nearly ten P.M. when I park the Explorer next to Tomasetti’s Tahoe and shut down the engine. I called him twice over the course of the day. Usually, even if he’s in the midst of a case or caught up in meetings, he’ll at least text. Today, though I’m sure by now he’s heard about Karn’s murder, he didn’t respond. I try not to let that niggle at me as I grab my laptop case and start for the door.