“There was black paint on Bruce’s bumper.”
At nine p.m. on a weeknight, the lot was nearly full. Snow continued to fall as Seth and Phil crossed the pavement. Seth zipped his jacket against the bitter wind, thankful that they’d found Bruce. That space blanket wouldn’t have kept him alive another night. They walked around to the back of the bar but didn’t see a black pickup truck. Inside, the bar was busy. With no band playing, music blared from an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. Customers gave Phil’s uniform the stink-eye. More than one bar patron put down his drink and indiscreetly slipped out. Bob wasn’t behind the bar. Seth leaned across the scarred wood and shouted at the burly bartender, “Where’s Bob?”
He raised a fully tatted arm to point at the back hallway. “Office.”
Seth gave him a wave of thanks, and he and Phil picked their way around the room. Glad to be in the hallway, where the music was somewhat muffled, Seth knocked on the door labeled “Office.”
“Come,” someone shouted.
Seth opened the door. Bob sat behind a messy desk. He looked surprised—and not too happy to see them.
“Detective Harding. I didn’t expect to see you.” Bob waved at a chair in front of his desk. “What can I do for you?”
Phil stood back and leaned on the wall.
Seth took the chair. “I’d like to talk about last night.”
“I’ve already told you everything I remember.” Bob leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.
“Oh really.” Seth raised a brow. “You forgot to mention that you had a confrontation with Amber Lynn.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Bob shrugged.
Seth leaned forward and held his gaze. “If it wasn’t a big deal, why didn’t you tell me?”
Bob blinked away. “I can’t prove anything, so I didn’t want to say anything bad about the girl.”
“What can’t you prove?” Seth could see the lies churning in Bob’s eyes.
“I saw her swipe tip money off one of the tables.” Bob’s chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. “I confronted her about it, but Bruce got all pissy. I decided ten or twenty bucks wasn’t worth the hassle.”
Especially money that belonged to a waitress and not him, thought Seth.
“Where’s your pickup?” Seth asked.
“At home. Rear-wheel drive is terrible in the snow. I had my bartender pick me up today.” Bob had an answer for everything.
Seth would drive by his house later to see if his pickup had any dents. For now Seth changed tactics. “Do you remember Samantha Lyle?”
Bob paled. “Who?”
He knew damn well who. “Samantha Lyle, the young woman who went missing two months ago after being in your bar.”
Bob rubbed the tarantula tattoo. “I remember being asked about her and handing over the surveillance tapes, but I didn’t know the girl. She was just a customer.” But beads of sweat popped out on his bald head. “Why?”
“No reason.” Seth shrugged. “I just thought it was a big coincidence that bad things happened to two girls after they left here.”
Bob didn’t respond, but now that he was sweating, Seth changed the direction of his questioning. “There’s some time missing on the video from the hallway camera.”
“I’ve been having trouble with that camera.” Bob picked up a napkin from his desktop and blotted his head. “I’ll have to replace it.”
“That’s probably a good idea.” Seth stood and leaned on the desk. “You might miss something important.”
Seth turned toward the door. Bob had edited that video, but Seth couldn’t prove it. He didn’t have enough evidence to get a search warrant for Bob’s computer. Amber Lynn and Bruce had left Fletcher’s before Bruce crashed the van.
Phil followed him into the parking lot. “He’s lying.”
“Through his teeth.”
“Where to now?”
“Now we drive past Bob’s house and see if his truck is there. Then would you mind driving me home?” Seth wanted to keep working, but he and Phil both needed sleep. “Tomorrow we’ll find Travis, and if we can discover one real piece of evidence against Bob, we can bring him in too.”
“That is one slippery SOB.”
When they reached Bob’s house, he proved to be even slipperier. There was no truck in front of his house, and the detached garage doors were down and locked.
“Time to call it a night,” Seth said. “Maybe a few hours of sleep will help us make sense of this.”
Murder cases were an addiction. If he didn’t force himself to take a break, he’d work nonstop until he discovered the truth. But he really hated returning to his happy family while Amber Lynn’s killer roamed free.