"We’re keeping open to all possibilities.”
He nodded.
"Did she talk to you about Patrick?"
"The whistleblower guy?”
I nodded.
"I know she called me scared a few times. Said he threatened her. Said he came by the apartment once or twice." His lips tightened, and he exhaled a frustrated breath. "I probably shouldn't say this, but I thought about tracking that guy down and beating his ass. It wasn't her fault his name got exposed. He had to know that coming forward he would get outed at some point. I mean, it sucks that he got fired. But he's got a valid case against them." Annoyed, he said, "Hell, what do I know? I'm just a bartender. But aren’t there whistleblower protection laws, or something like that?"
I nodded. "Tell me about Marissa."
Trevor cringed. "It's kind of an odd coincidence, don't you think? I didn’t know they were friends in grade school. I'm not from around here. I'd been dating Marissa for about a year." He shivered. "Dodged a bullet on that one. She’s certifiable. When she found out I was dating Sydney, she went off. Said all kinds ofnasty things. Tried to convince me Sydney was no good. Said she was a whore.”
"You think Marissa is capable of murder?”
He frowned and shrugged. "I guess anybody's capable of murder, given the right circumstances, don't you think?” After a pause, he asked, "I don't know if you can share the details, but how was Sydney killed?”
16
"You know, he's the only one who's asked us how she was killed," Jack muttered as we walked down the sidewalk.
I nodded.
I texted pictures of Fletcher and Patrick to Christy, the girl who lived across the hall from Sydney. [Are either of these the guy you saw the night of Sydney's murder?]
After a few minutes, she texted back.[I don't know. It was late, and I was tipsy. I can’t say for sure.]
We stopped in Totally Tubular to grab lunch. I went with the wipeout wrap, which was basically a steak burrito with a mystery sauce. Jack went with the fish tacos. We filled our bellies and kicked around theories about the cases.
In the afternoon, we headed over to the warehouse for band practice. The usual group of miscreants loitered out front, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. We chatted with them a bit before heading inside.
We walked down the dim hallway as the dull rumble of live music seeped through the walls.
In the practice room, Dizzy noodled on guitar while Crash thumped on bass. Styxx held down the rhythm, beating on his candy-apple-red drum kit.
The guys ran through the set, tightening some of the newer additions. We would hit the recording studio soon for a new album. It was about time.
Afterward, we took the guys to dinner at the Prime Grill and feasted on juicy steaks, seared to perfection.
Fat and happy, we strolled down the boulevard to Red November and had a drink. The submarine-themed bar always drew sufficient eye candy.
We weren’t there long when JD pointed to a gorgeous redhead at the bar. "Periscope up."
It was Shane’s sister, Riley.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, I have an investigation to continue," I said, leaving the group behind. It wouldn't take them long to round up groupies in a place like this.
The club wasn't totally slammed yet, but a bachelorette party kept the bartender busy, mixing fruity cocktails.
I squeezed next to Riley at the bar and leaned against the counter.
She looked me up and down with uncertain eyes. "What does a girl have to do around here to get a drink?"
"It helps to know the right people," I said with a wink.
I waved to the bartender, and he gave me a nod of acknowledgment. Perks of being a cop and a regular. I figured we were next in line once he poured the sugary hangovers into glasses for the ladies.
