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“Does Rylie work at the tavern every day?”

“Most days. She’s a Lawyer, but she quit that job.”

“The killer could watch her without getting close.”

“He could sit across the street.”

“Or drink at the bar.”

Havoc’s expression hardened.

We had both served hundreds of customers.

Any one of them could have been watching Trigger’s wife.

“Camera footage?” I asked.

“Saint is pulling it.”

“How far back?”

“As far as we have.”

I looked toward the second-floor windows.

“If he’s been planning this for eleven months, a few weeks of footage won’t help.”

“It’s a start.”

That was all investigations were.

One start after another until something finally led somewhere.

A movement near the alley caught my attention.

I turned.

A young man stepped out from behind the diner carrying two trash bags. He saw us staring and froze.

“Evening,” he said.

Havoc nodded.

The man hurried toward the dumpster.

“You’re scowling,” Havoc told me.

“I don’t scowl.”

“Everyone says that.”

We returned to the tavern.

Rylie sat in the back room with Trigger on one side and Max on the other.

Her father stood behind her chair.

Judy had placed a recorder in the middle of the table.