“Inconceivable, I know. But the two came in together, had a couple of drinks, looked simpatico. No cross words, no bad vibes. Nothing like that. They didn’t engage anyone else in conversation and left together. But if the guy shot Mickey’s face off, I guess they weren’t that close of friends.” Hick paused and took a breath. “That’s where we are, and that’s why I interrupted your supper. Tell Marsha I’m sorry.”
“Has the scene been secured?”
The agent snuffled. “The homicide detective who notified me works out of the Tobias branch of the parish’s sheriff’s office. He sounds sharp enough. He arrived shortly after the first responders, but even at that, was too late. Told me that as soon as the body was discovered, the tavern’s clientele scattered like roaches when the lights flipped on. Said that probably a dozen or more had warrants out for them. Parole violators. Bail jumpers. Nickel-bag dope dealers. It’s that kind of place. He and other deputies have corralled a few lingerers. Not many. And those few are reluctant to talk to the authorities.”
“Goes against their grain.”
“There’s that, but also they’re grumbling about being detained on account of Josh Bennett. I was told that when one spoke his name, he spat on the floor.”
“I don’t suppose that either he or Billy Panella has been sighted.”
“Except by proxy.”
“Bennett’s sister Jordie.”
“And Mickey Bolden. We know that he was Panella’s go-to person for wet work.”
“Known but never proved,” Joe said.
Imagining uncooperative witnesses and a crime scene contaminated to the point of uselessness, Joe sighed and ran his hand over his thinning hair. “Ask that SO detective to detain the witnesses till we can have a crack at them. I don’t care how loud they bellyache. Get the chopper gassed up. I’ll meet you at the heliport.”
“What time?”
“I’m leaving now. Dispatch our own crime scene crew.”
“Did that before I called you. They’ll probably beat us there.”
“Good. See you in a few.”
Joe clicked off and reentered the kitchen. Her lips set in resignation, Marsha was assembling a ham and cheese sandwich. He slid on his shoulder holster and lifted his jacket off the hook by the back door. “It’s the Panella-Bennett case, or I’d stay long enough to eat. Roast sure smells good. Is that rosemary?”
Ungently, she slapped the Saran-wrapped sandwich into his hand. “I hate you flying around in the dark in that damn helicopter.”
“I know, but—”
“How old is it anyway?”
“Old, but reliable.” He kissed her mouth, but got only a semipucker in return. “Tell the kids I’m sorry I missed them. I’ll check in.”
“I may not answer,” she said. “I’m gonna watch Top Gun.”
He paused on his way through the door. “That’s my favorite movie.”
“I know. And I’m gonna double-butter the popcorn and do some serious harm to a bottle of wine.” She smiled with malicious gaiety. “Have fun!”
He walked back to her, leaned in, and whispered, “Know my favorite part of that movie?” He put his hand on her breast and squeezed. “When Maverick and the chick get it on.”
She shoved him away. “Go!” She said it sternly, but she was smiling.
When Shaw felt he’d covered enough distance for it to be safe to stop, he pulled off the highway onto a rutted track that led into a dense thicket. He cut the engine and turned off the headlights. For what he needed to do, he would use the flashlight on his phone, which was new. Only he had the number.
He shone the flashlight over the seat to check on Jordie Bennett. Best as he could tell, she was still out cold and hadn’t moved since he’d placed her in the backseat. But she wouldn’t be unconscious forever, and he had to prepare for that inevitability.
He got out, retrieved what he needed from the trunk, then opened the backseat door and placed his phone on the floorboard to provide him light.
She was as limp as a dishrag, making it easy for him to reposition her arms and legs. Once, she murmured something unintelligible, and he suspended what he was doing until he was certain that she wasn’t about to wake up. The longer she was out, the better for him.
Better for her, too.