Shaw asked him about a shell casing.
“None found. No other bullet, either. Looks like the shooter only fired once. With intent.”
Shaw thought on that and almost missed Hickam’s saying, “But Morrow has a possible motive. The bartender—” he paused and looked at Shaw in the rearview mirror “—he’s the one who put us onto you.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. He’s former military, right? Saw action?”
“He mentioned Iraq.”
Shaw nodded. He’d noticed the bartender’s scrutiny of him and Mickey, which had been surreptitious but sharp. Nothing made a man more observant than a war zone where the enemy didn’t wear a uniform.
Hickam said, “When the bartender heard about Royce’s murder, he immediately called Morrow. Told him Royce was in the bar last night for hours, acting like a celebrity, knocking back whiskeys like they were Kool-Aid.”
“Was his ol’ lady with him?” Wiley asked. Turning to Shaw, he added, “He
had a live-in who ragged on him.”
Hickam said, “She was there, all right, and did more than rag on him. They got into it. Put on a floor show for the crowd, the bartender said. She stormed out with two girlfriends. No sooner had she left than Royce started tangling tongues with another girl. Around midnight, he and the newbie staggered out together. All this has been corroborated by the witnesses they’ve been able to locate.”
“What does Royce’s ol’ lady have to say about it?” Wiley asked.
Hickam told them that Morrow himself had gone to pick her up at her place of employment. “She oversees the paint department in a big-box store. Morrow said she dropped to her knees and started wailing when he broke the news. Said her shock and tears looked genuine, but he brought her in anyway. She swears she didn’t see or speak to Royce after leaving the bar.”
“She lawyer up yet?”
“No, but he sent deputies to round up the two friends who drove her home last night. They were questioned separately, and their stories match hers. They took her back to the apartment she shared with Royce where they killed a couple bottles of wine toasting the good riddance of him. Around four a.m., the friends decided they were too drunk to drive home, so they crashed there at her place and got up this morning barely in time to drag themselves to work.”
“What’s Morrow’s read on her alibi?” Wiley asked.
“He tends to believe it.”
“I do.”
At Shaw’s succinct statement, Wiley turned around to look at him. Hickam was watching him in the rearview mirror. He said, “It doesn’t sound like a crime of passion. Not the way you described the scene. The shooter fired once? With intent?” He shook his head. “That’s not a pissed-off girlfriend’s kind of kill. A recently dumped ol’ lady would have emptied the pistol into him, then called the cops herself and told them where to find his sorry dead ass.”
Wiley nodded, looking glum. “Unless evidence places the recent ex at the scene, I’ve gotta say I agree.”
Shaw addressed Hickam in the mirror. “What about the newbie? The bartender said they left together.”
“They exited together. They could have parted ways in the parking lot.”
“Or not,” Shaw said.
“Or not. Because there were partial footprints outside the passenger door. But first responders found the pickup empty except for Royce. ME estimated time of death between midnight and two a.m.”
“Who called it in?” Wiley asked.
“The side road is a private drive that leads to a house way back in the woods. The property owner is retired. He and his wife were leaving for an early lunch. Royce’s pickup had them blocked in. The missus got out to check, so it could be her footprints outside the truck. They’re making casts.”
“The retirees know Royce?”
“No.”
“Okay,” Wiley said. “Leaving Morrow, where? All he has so far are the current two women in Royce’s life.”
“They’re trying to track down the newbie,” Hickam said. “But Morrow didn’t have a positive on her name, much less where to find her. He has a lot on his plate. Pulling off that act to spring you,” he said to Shaw in the mirror. “Now this. He asked us to give him a heads-up when we’re five minutes out.”
Again, Shaw laid his head back and closed his eyes while the two of them lapsed into a conversation about an asshole of a coroner and the brisk trade he was doing this week.