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CHAPTER EIGHT
Monday, October 30, 4:45 p.m.
Julia’s phone dinged with a text as she arrived at Billy’s. Her aunt had owned the bar on Main Street for forty years. It had belonged to Julia’s grandfather, who’d left it to her aunt and her mother. After Julia’s father died, she and her mother had moved to the upstairs apartment, and her mother returned to tending bar, as she had been doing when she first met Jim Vargas.
She parked and checked her phone, expecting a message from Shield. It was from Novak.
Rita Gallagher’s autopsy is scheduled for 8:30 tomorrow morning.
She texted back: I’ll be there.
Inside, she went upstairs and changed into jeans and a Billy’s T-shirt. Since the academy, she’d worked here on her days off, enjoying the camaraderie of the regular customers and knowing all she had to do was mix drinks and listen.
Down the back staircase, she moved behind the bar and reached for an apron. Her training here had allowed her to effortlessly slip behind Benny’s bar. Though this place attracted the young professionals and Benny’s lured bikers and drug dealers, she found after a drink or two everyone wanted to talk to the bartender. She’d heard a lifetime’s worth of dreams and sad stories.
“Julia.” The greeting came from Cindy Stafford, her mother’s older sister.
Julia smiled. “Aunt Cindy.”
“Good, you remembered to cover my shift tonight.”
“I wouldn’t forget your rare night off.”
Julia hadn’t told her aunt about digging into the Hangman case. Anything associated with Jim Vargas had always been a sore subject with Cindy. Seeing as Rita was now connected to Jim, she opted to hold off asking about their connection until she heard from Shield. She didn’t need to be knee-deep in an argument when they called.
She pulled her phone from her back pocket and checked to make sure the volume was turned up. Close of business for Shield Security was exactly fifteen minutes from now. “I don’t suppose I can bum a smoke off you?”
“I thought you quit.”
“I did.”
“But . . .”
“I’m a work in progress.”
Cindy laughed. “In the back office. You know where I hide my purse.”
“Thanks.”
Julia ducked under the bar and moved toward the back to the office. A simple desk butted against a wall under a bulletin board covered with invoices, to-do lists, and pictures of the staff. Front and center was a picture of thirteen-year-old Julia standing with her aunt and mother.
She found Cindy’s purse and fished out a pack of cigarettes and matches. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to five.
Curling her fingers around the cigarette, she moved to the back alley. Outside, a cool wind teased the edges of her ponytail. She leaned against the brick wall while staring toward the orange sun as it dipped into the horizon.
She rolled the cigarette between her fingers. Waited until five o’clock. When her phone didn’t ring at five, she cursed.
Propped against the building, she was already dissecting how she’d tackle the Hangman case by herself. She’d read the case files several times and figured if she pulled some strings, tossed in lots of doughnuts sprinkled with pretty pleases, she’d get her DNA samples bumped up a few places in the line.
The back door opened, and Cindy popped her head out. “There’s someone up front for you.”
“Who?”
“Didn’t say. A suit.”
A cop? Or someone who worked with Benny? Suits hid a multitude of sins.
“Be right there.”
“He’s cute.”
Cute didn’t mean squat. Some of Benny’s associates were attractive, and they’d cut her throat if ordered to do so. “You didn’t get a name?”
“Honey, I’m trying to get out of here so I can get home to my bookkeeping. Come up front.”
Her phone now read 5:02 p.m. No call. “Right, I’m coming.”
Julia knelt and removed the off-duty service weapon from her ankle holster. Knowing she could need her gun fast, she pulled the bar rag tucked in her apron and wrapped it around the weapon. She headed inside, the chatter of the night’s first customers doing little to calm her nerves.
Tonight’s waitress, Tammy, was seating the first to arrive. Julia’s gaze roamed the place, searching for any man who might, well, look out of place, like he’d been sent to shoot her.
Everyone fit. No strange man. And then Tobias Novak turned from a group of men who looked like detectives. Not a trained assassin, but still trouble.
He caught her gaze and moved away from the others, tracking her as she moved behind the bar.
As he sat on one of the stools, she knelt and tucked the gun back in its holster.
“Expecting trouble?” he asked.
She tossed a bar towel over her shoulder. “Just careful.”
He nodded, keeping whatever questions he had about the gun to himself. “Shield going to help?”
“They said close of business. And we’re past that. So not looking good.”
“Do you need them?”
“It would have been nice. They’re a huge asset.”
He scooped up a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar. “I’ll lend a hand.”
“Don’t you have a full caseload?”
“I need community-service credits for my merit badge.”
It was a touching gesture. “There are more entertaining hobbies.”
“Agreed, but this one will include you.”
That startled a half laugh out of her. “Right.”
He shifted topics. “This is a nice place. It’s been a while since I came in through the front door, though.”
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He’d been to her apartment several times, but they’d always used the back staircase leading off the alley.
When she didn’t respond, he asked, “You moonlight?”
“Helping my aunt out for an evening. She’s got to do bookkeeping and payroll tonight.”
“You ask her about Rita Gallagher?”
“No.” She leaned forward. “Cindy won’t be happy about me reopening the Hangman case. Anything or anyone linked to my father puts her in a foul mood. But I need to ask now. She’s changing. She’ll be down soon.”
“Great. I’ll wait.”
Of course he would. And now was as good a time as any to tell her about the Hangman case. “Drink?”
“Sure. A draft beer.”
Grabbing a mug, she expertly filled it with just the right amount of head and set it on a napkin in front of him. “Any leads on Rita Gallagher?”
He sipped. “Some. Spoke to the former owner of the house where her body was found. He had a renter who went missing in 1992. Scott Turner. Working on tracking him now. So far, nothing. Also spoke to Rita’s former landlord.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“Rita and her roommate lost a security deposit because there was a large rust-colored stain in Rita’s bedroom.”
“Blood?”
“No way of knowing.”
“She have an arrest record?”
“She did. Files should be on my desk tomorrow.”
Cindy appeared wearing her purse on her shoulder and a fresh coat of red lipstick. “I’m off.”
“Cindy, before you go, I want you to meet Detective Novak. He’s working a homicide and has a question for you.”
Cindy grinned, sticking out her hand. “Detective Novak.”
Novak rose and accepted it. “Ma’am, nice to meet you.”
“What can I do for you?” Cindy asked.
Novak pulled his cell from his clip. “We found a woman’s body. Driver’s license says she was Rita Gallagher. I pulled her employment records from a rental application made in 1992, and she listed Billy’s as her place of work.” He showed her the driver’s license picture on his phone.
“Rita Gallagher?” Cindy asked. “Yeah, yeah, I remember Rita. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her.”
