Joe leaned forward. “What did she say to that?”

“Nothin’.”

“She didn’t answer?”

He shook his head. “Just turned a cold shoulder.”

“What did you derive from that?”

“Derive?”

“How’d you take that? Like maybe she was expecting someone?”

“I dunno.” He gave them a stupid grin. “I wasn’t thinking too clear.”

Joe kept at it for a few more minutes, but it became apparent that the young man hadn’t been thinking clearly at all, that he’d had more than a “coupla drinks” with his pals. He saw a pretty lady and was goaded into approaching her with nothing more in mind than the prospect of getting lucky.

“Witnesses overheard her tell you to go to hell.”

“Turns out she wasn’t a friendly sort a’tall. Truth is, she was a snotty bitch. Who needs that? Actually, I’m glad she turned me down.”

Not believing that for a second, Joe looked at Hick, who snickered. He didn’t believe it, either. Going back to the young man, Joe asked, “How long between when she stormed out and you followed?”

“My friends were giving me shit for being shut down, so five minutes, maybe.”

Hick, referring to notes Morrow had taken, whispered to Joe, “His friends said it was more like ten minutes.”

Joe asked, “How’d you know where her car was parked?”

“Didn’t. I was just stumbling around out there in the dark, looking to see if I could catch up with her before she drove off.”

“Did you?”

His stringy hair flapped against his cheeks as he firmly shook his head. “Swear to God. Never saw her again. Didn’t come upon anything except the…the…you know, the body.” He swallowed so thickly that Hick asked if he needed the vomit bucket again. “No. I’m okay.”

“Did you touch anything?”

“Out there you mean? Hell no. Well, maybe the fender of the car. I think I propped my hand on it while I was bent over yakkin’.”

“You didn’t notice any headlights, or a vehicle leaving the parking lot?” Hick asked.

Another head shake. “Too busy puking.”

Joe asked, “Had you noticed Mickey Bolden in the bar?”

“That the dead guy?” After a nod of confirmation, he said, “Yeah. Right before he left, he went over to the jukebox and was talking to the other guy.”

“What did the other guy look like?”

He raised his bony shoulders in a shrug. “Like a guy.”

“Young, old, short, tall, black, white?”

“White. On the tall side. Older than me. Younger than you.” Then he looked at Hick. “Maybe ’bout your age.”

“Any tattoos, distinguishing clothing, facial hair?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I was eyeballing that gal’s rack, not lookin’ at some dude.”

Joe looked over at Hickam, who looked back, his wry expression saying, Nowhere to take that.

Joe noted the jukebox’s proximity to the ell of the bar where he’d been told Jordie Bennett was sitting. He went back to the young man. “While standing there at the jukebox, did those two show any interest in Ms. Bennett?”

“Not that I saw. But, like I said, I wasn’t paying them no mind, and I was pretty wasted.”

Morrow approached and asked if he could have a word with Hickam. He left the booth so they could confer in private.

Royce Sherman sat back against the vinyl, rubbed his eye sockets, and whined, “Can I go now?”

“You got somewhere else to be?” Joe asked.

“I’m gonna catch hell from my old lady for not coming home when I said I would.”

“You’re married?”

“No, but you’d think so the way she stays on my ass. The first cop that questioned me took my phone, so I can’t even call her.”

Hick slid back into the booth. “Mr. Sherman, you have a problem.”

He regarded Hick sullenly. “Whut?”

Rather than addressing him, Hick turned to Joe. “A witness says he saw Mr. Sherman placing something in Ms. Bennett’s pocket.”

Joe leaned against the back of the booth, folded his arms over his middle, and fixed an accusing frown on the young man, who’d suddenly grown nervous.

“Oh. That. Yeah. See…” He ran his tongue over his lips. He cracked his knuckles. “I forgot about that.”

Joe said, “He must think we’re stupid, Agent Hickam.”

“Guess so.”

“I swear!” he squeaked. “I forgot.”

“You told me you didn’t know her.”

“I didn’t. Don’t!”

“That you hadn’t laid a hand on her.”

“I didn’t, except for…for that.”

“What did you pass her?”

“My digits.”

“Your what?”

“My phone number. B-before I went over to her, I tore off a piece of my cheeseburger wrapper and wrote my phone number on it. I poked it down into the pocket of her jeans.”

“What did she do?”

“Told me to get my hand off her ass. Not in those words, but I—”

“You have a gun?”

“Whut?”

“I’m not stuttering, Royce. Answer the question.”

It was clear that he contemplated lying, but then nodded with reluctance. “A deer rifle out in my truck, ’less it’s been stole while I’ve been in here for so damn long.”

“Handgun?”

Again, he conducted a brief mental debate before saying under his breath, “Two.”

“Where are they?”

“One in my truck under the driver’s seat. The other’s home with my old lady. She keeps it on the nightstand when I’m out at night. You can call and ask her.”

“Oh, count on us doing that, Royce. It will take time to get a search warrant for your truck. However, you can waive the warrant.”

It took him a moment to process that, then from the front pocket of his dirty jeans, he produced a set of keys and slid them across to Joe. “Knock yourselves out. I got nothin’ to hide.”

“Like your priors, you mean?” Hick said.

Royce swore under his breath, then copped an attitude and defended himself in a mutter. “Everybody shoplifts something in their lifetime.”

“You served thirty days for that. A hundred and twenty days for vandalizing a tire store.”

“The asshole fired me for no good reason.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Joe nudged Hick. Hick got out of the booth and Joe followed. But as Royce Sherman started to leave, Joe said, “You stay put. While we’re checking out your firearms, you’re going to sit here and try to remember everything else you’ve conveniently forgotten to tell us about your encounter with Jordie Bennett.”

They left him protesting and claiming that his rights were being violated. Joe didn’t think he was a conspirator or anything close to one, but, as he rejoined Deputy Morrow, he handed him Royce Sherman’s set of keys and filled him in.

“I have no reason to think we’ll uncover the murder weapon, but in addition to the search of his truck, have someone confirm that one of his handguns is at home with his ‘old lady.’ Also, make certain the officers questioning his friends ask about whatever it was that he slipped into Jordie Bennett’s rear pocket.”