“Were we friends?” he shot back with plenty of attitude. But I could see a flicker of hurt in his eyes.
So he believed the news reports and thought I’d been conning him.
I leaned closer to the counter and lowered my voice. “I didn’t kill anyone in cold blood, Bobby. The kid had a gun. The department set me up to take a fall, although I have no idea why.” I held his gaze. “I plan to find out, but I’m working on something else first. I really hope you can help me.”
His posture softened a fraction, but he didn’t look eager to resume our friendship.
“Remember when you told me about your sister? And I admitted that some cops don’t give a shit, but that I did?” He didn’t respond, but I kept going. “Who better to push off the force than the person who cares?”
The words came before I really thought them through, but then I did, and they hit me hard. Why hadn’t I considered that before? If there were dirty cops, maybe they thought I’d gotten too close to something. It made sense to not only get rid of me but discredit me in the process.
Bobby’s eyes widened. “Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah,” I said, “Oh shit.”
“I told you cops weren’t trustworthy.”
I wanted to argue not all cops, but I couldn’t find it in me. “Well, I’m not a cop anymore.”
He glanced toward a man who’d stepped up to the bar several feet away. “We’re pretty busy tonight.”
“I only have a few questions, then I’ll take off.”
He grimaced. “You’re gonna need to order something. Your usual?”
“Just a club soda.”
His brow lifted. “Really?”
I’d always come by off the clock, and even though I hadn’t been an alcoholic back then, I’d loved a good whiskey. I could almost guarantee I’d never ordered a non-alcoholic drink from him before. I shrugged. “I’m working a case.”
His eyes narrowed. “You just said you weren’t with the police.”
“I’m not. I’m a PI now.”
He didn’t respond as he filled a glass from the soda gun and set it in front of me.
I placed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. He slid it toward him and pocketed the bill as he moved down to help the customer.
I picked up my glass and took a sip, bitterly missing the burn of whiskey.
One day at a time.
One minute.
Bobby’s attitude had me on edge. Maybe it would soften his demeanor if he had a few minutes to think over what I’d told him. If he believed I wasn’t trustworthy, he wouldn’t give me anything useful. But even worse—all the time I’d spent nurturing our friendship, hoping to prove not all cops were the same, would be tossed out the window.
He pulled two beers for the guy, then came back to me.
“Why are you here, Harper?” He looked more receptive, but he wasn’t the easygoing Bobby I’d known last September.
“Have you ever heard of the Knoxes?”
I studied him for a reaction to the name but didn’t get one.
“Who’s that?”
“You’ve never heard of them?”
