“They charged her with a felony? It should have been a misdemeanor.”
“And it would’ve been,” he’d snapped, “if Alyssa didn’t have a big bag of pot and a set of scales in her backpack.”
I had grimaced at that news. “They charged her with intent to sell. I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” he’d said, his voice tight with rage. “We tried to hire a lawyer to fight it, and three different attorneys told us it wasn’t worth the risk. They said the prosecutor would plead it down to a misdemeanor and she’d get probation. If we went to court, there was a chance she’d lose and go to prison for five to ten years.”
“So she took the plea.”
“Obviously,” he had said with plenty of venom. “She’d just graduated from high school. My parents wouldn’t let her go to the university in Fayetteville and made her stay in Little Rock so they could keep an eye on her. Between her anxiety after the arrest and the way her life got yanked sideways, she dropped out at the end of her sophomore year. Now she works at Target.”
“I’m sorry,” I’d repeated.
“Are you?” His lip had curled. “You and your lazy-ass cop friends are the reason her life got derailed. She still gets freaked out when she sees a cop.”
“Is that why you didn’t testify?” I’d asked softly.
Fire had burned in his eyes. “Why should I trust anything any of you have to say?”
“You’re right,” I had conceded. “Why should you?”
My question had caught him off guard.
“But I’m not like the officers who arrested your sister.” I’d leaned forward slightly, keeping my voice level. “I don’t look for the easy answers, Bobby. I do the work because I want to get things right. I don’t always succeed, but I try my damnedest.”
“I’m sure that’s what they all say.”
“Actually, no,” I’d said with a bitter laugh. “Some don’t give a shit.”
He’d blinked in surprise. “I can’t believe you admitted that.”
I’d shrugged. “It’s the truth. And I believe in telling the truth.”
After that, I’d started stopping by every few weeks, partially to ask about his sister’s well-being, but mostly just to talk. If I could convince him that not all cops were assholes, then I’d consider it a win. It helped that he was good company.
Less than six months later, he gave me at tip on another murder case I was working. Turned out, he had cousins with criminal ties, and they liked to talk when they got drunk. Bobby’s only stipulation was I never reveal where I got my information, and he’d keep telling me what he heard.
And surprisingly, he heard a lot.
Two years later—shortly after he moved to the Brass Magnolia when it opened—he admitted he’d been scared to testify about the murder he’d witnessed. A crime boss connected to his cousins had come around and told him if he testified, he’d “mess up” his little sister.
So it turned out Keith and I had both been right. Not that Keith ever knew. I’d kept my promise, and no one knew where the information I got from Bobby came from.
Now, Bobby was glancing around the bar. His breathing was shallow, his shoulders tight. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
He was nervous I was there. Why?
I hadn’t been in since the shooting last October. Did he think I’d murdered that boy in cold blood, just like everyone else? Did he think the past five years had been one long con?
“I moved back to my hometown in the middle-of-nowhere Arkansas,” I said. “But I’m back in town and thought I’d reach out.”
“You’re not a cop anymore,” he said flatly.
I wasn’t surprised he knew I’d left the force. The news outlets had made sure to let the public know they were safe. “You’re right. I’m not. But I am still investigating cases, I just don’t have a badge to go along with it.”
Bobby didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked more anxious.
“You obviously aren’t happy to see me,” I said, deciding there was no reason to beat around the bush. “We’ve been friends long enough that I’m hoping you’ll tell me why.”
