Kathy Reichs: Flash and Bones

“A suspect has been arrested.”

“Who?”

“A man named Grady Winge.”

“Why did he kill them?”

“Winge’s motive remains unclear.”

“Cindi could have done it, you know.”

“Driven stock cars?”

“Been a NASCAR superstar. She had … ” Padgett curled her fingers, seeking the right word. “Flash!”

“That’s a racing term?”

“My term.” She smiled ruefully. “Cindi could make love to a car, could sweet-talk all that horsepower into doing whatever she wanted. And she was developing style. Yeah, she had flash. The fans would have worshipped her.”

“Cale’s father disagrees.”

“Craig Bogan.” Padgett snorted derisively. “There’s a piece of work.”

“You don’t care for him?”

“I haven’t seen that jackwagon in over a decade. Thank the Lord.” Padgett tilted her head, throwing shadow from the cap’s brim across her features. “Bogan hated me.”

“Why was that?”

Padgett hesitated. Then gave me the full force of her big brown eyes.

“Sin of sins. I slept with his precious son.”

“YOU WERE CINDI’S FRIEND.”

“Yes. I was.”

“Yet you betrayed her by sleeping with her boyfriend.” I struggled to sound nonjudgmental.

“Awesome, huh?” “More than once?”

She nodded.

Thunder rumbled, long and low.

“Lord almighty, I hope this weather won’t cause a delay.”

“How did that play?” I asked.

“It wasn’t grand romance, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What was it?”

She sighed. “The usual. I was sixteen. Cale was older, seemed worldly and sophisticated. We were both horny as hounds in heat.”

“Did Cindi know?”

“I don’t think so. She was a trusting person. Very sweet.”

“But not putting out.” Despite my resolve, disgust filtered through.

“You’re right. I was a world-class bitch.”

Rain was drumming the plastic canopy now. Padgett poked her head out, looked up at the sky, then at her watch.

“Bogan learned that you and Cale were cheating on Cindi,” I guessed.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Does that really matter?”

Probably not.

“He resented you because he cared for her.”

Padgett looked at me as if I’d said warthogs could fly. “How much effort have y’all put into this investigation?”

“I’m new to the case.”

Padgett assessed me for a long moment. “Craig Bogan hated Cindi Gamble as much as he hated me. Maybe more.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t understand.”

She spread her arms. “What do you see?”

“Ms. Padgett—”

“Seriously.” She held the pose.

Though the jumpsuit was far from slimming, I could tell Padgett’s body was fit and trim. She wore a string of red beads around her neck, probably coral. The subtle touch of femininity showed a flair for fashion that I’ve always admired but never possessed.

Padgett’s makeup was understated and skillfully applied. And completely unnecessary.

“You’re a beautiful woman—” I began, slightly embarrassed.

“Black woman.” She dropped her arms to her sides. “A beautiful black woman.”

“You’re saying Craig Bogan is a racist?”

“The man is a Neanderthal.”

As I’d suspected.

“And Cale wasn’t?”

Padgett shook her head. “Honey, I’m not kidding myself. Wasn’t then. There was no way Cale was going to put a ring on my finger. And my game plan didn’t involve settling for a high school dropout. We were both just sowing our oats.”

Rain was coming down hard. As Padgett continued, I pulled a windbreaker from my purse and slipped it on.

“But it wasn’t totally sex. Cale and I talked. I came to understand his way of thinking. He started out buying in to his old man’s racist horseshit. Why wouldn’t he? As a kid, he’d been brainwashed. And Bogan had a wicked temper. It was good Cale put distance between them.”

“You’re saying Cale became more liberal after getting away from his father?”

“He took up with me, didn’t he?”

“Why the change?”

Padgett didn’t hear my question. She was listening to an announcement coming over the loudspeakers.

“Son of a buck.” She kicked the tires in irritation. “They’ve raised the red flag.”

“The race is on hold?”

“Yeah. I’m going to have to cut this short.”

“If Cale wasn’t a white supremacist, why did he belong to the Patriot Posse?”

“He was quitting. I told all this to the cops back then.”

“Which one?”

“Big guy, dark hair.”

“Detective Galimore?” I felt a tickle of apprehension.

“I don’t remember the name.”

“Help me understand. You’re saying Bogan hated you because you’re black. What did he have against Cindi?”

“You didn’t catch my second meaning?”

I was lost.

“Black. Woman.”

“You’re saying Bogan hates women?”

“Only us uppity ones.” Delivered with an over-the-top black-girl cadence.

“Meaning?”

“Females who defile the hallowed and sacred.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Padgett. I’m not following you.”

“I can’t speak for now, but back when I was seeing Cale, Craig Bogan lived and breathed NASCAR. Went to all the races. Schmoozed all the drivers. Decked out like a honky fool in all the gear. I think he landed the contract here because he never went home.”

Padgett’s eyes shone with an emotion I couldn’t define. I didn’t interrupt.

“Bogan was obsessed with NASCAR staying true to its roots. The redneck cracker opposed even the tiniest suggestion of change, despised anything or anyone who might”—she hooked finger quotes—“pollute the system.”

“The ladies and the less than white.”

“You’ve got it, girlfriend.”

“Bogan disliked the idea of Cindi driving NASCAR.”

“Loathed the very thought of it.”

“How did Cale feel?”

“He was resentful that Cindi could afford to participate in Bandoleros and he couldn’t.” She smiled at the irony of an old memory. “Made me happy. While Cindi was at the track in Midland, Cale and I were free to get it on.”

“Did you ever see Cale act abusive toward Cindi?”

Padgett shook her head. “He was nuts for that girl. Even as he was screwing me, Cale was crazy in love with Cindi.”

I was about to ask another question when the #72 Dodge roared into its pit. Padgett yelled to be heard over the noise of the engine.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Can we talk again later? I’m willing to wait.”

“Come back when the race ends. Joey won’t be hitting Victory Lane after this one.”

“Where?”

“At the hauler. We’ll be loading up.”

Pulling my hood over my head, I walked back to the gap where I’d stood earlier. Thunder and lightning were putting on quite a performance. Strong winds were whipping the rain into horizontal sheets.

Many fans had abandoned the stands for cover. Those who remained in their seats huddled under umbrellas or sat swaddled in brightly colored plastic ponchos.

Some drivers were still on the track. Others, like Frank, had opted for pulling into the pit.

I looked around for a dry spot to wait out the storm. Seeing few options, I decided to seek sanctuary with Galimore.

As before, he didn’t answer his mobile.

Annoyed, I resolved to find the security office on my own.

As I walked, head down, shoulders hunched against the downpour, disjointed data bytes ricocheted in my brain.