“Before what, sir?” said Milo.
“Before I talked to my girlfriend,” said Kehoe, swiveling back but avoiding eye contact.
“She said you shouldn’t talk to us.”
“She watches all those true-crime shows, reads crap on the internet. She said even when you’re trying to be righteous it can come back to bite you in the ass.”
“How so, Mr. Kehoe?”
“The person who comes forward. You know.”
“Know what, sir?”
Kehoe turned back to us. “They sometimes get suspected.”
“Your girlfriend told you that.”
“Caitlin’s smart.”
“I’m sure she is,” said Milo. “And what she said has some truth to it. But it doesn’t apply to people with the good sense and the moral fiber to phone in tips.”
Martin Kehoe took no comfort from the compliment. “Whatever.”
“What Caitlin’s talking about can happen when someone finds a body in a strange way. Or when a person injects themselves way too much into an investigation.”
“Whatever.”
“Honestly, Martin—can I call you that?”
“Marty.”
“I’m being straight with you, Marty.”
“Sure, yeah…but…I really don’t think I have anything. I was just trying to be helpful when I heard.”
“About Paul O’Brien.”
“Yeah,” said Kehoe.
“You were friends with Paul.”
“Not really…we used to room together. He owes me money. That’s how I found out.”
“That he’d been murdered.”
Kehoe winced. “Caitlin’s been telling me I should call him, tell him to finally pay up. I called but he didn’t answer so she went online to find out if he’d moved somewhere and it was there. What happened. What he did.”
The door to the bar swung open, letting in light and noise before hissing shut. A small, bandy-legged man limped in waving his arms and shouting.
“Life is marvelous, Marty Martian! Here’s your chance to make it stupendous!”
Kehoe reached into his pocket and drew out a ten.
Milo gave me a small nod and I took the bill from between Kehoe’s fingers and walked toward the new arrival. As I got near, his aroma took over. Months of unwashed laundry mixed with long-term avoidance of dental care.
I gave him the money.
“Who’re you?”
