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“Was it sheer coincidence that Moody left the police department shortly after Allen Strickland died in Huntsville?”
Haymaker squirmed some more. “Dale didn’t confide in me why he quit. He… he had some problems with the bottle. Lots of cops do, you know,” he said defensively.
“Why did he?”
“Trouble at home. He was married to a real harpy. My wife wouldn’t win any prizes, but that one of Dale’s—”
“We’re not here to talk about his marital woes or his drinking habits.” Dent sat forward, propping his forearms on his thighs as he moved closer to the former detective and lowered his voice to a confidential pitch. “Bellamy and I think that maybe the reason Dale Moody quit being a cop, and seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, is because he couldn’t live with his guilty conscience.”
Haymaker was finding it hard to look either of them in the eye. “I wasn’t his priest or his shrink.”
“You were his friend, though. His one and only.” Dent gave Haymaker several moments to wonder how he knew that before enlightening him. “After that screwdriver incident, I wanted my pound of Moody’s flesh, so I started following him. You were the only person that he met after hours. You were his only drinking buddy. I trailed the two of you for weeks, night after night, from bar to bar.
“Then Gall, who I never could pull anything over on, demanded to know what I was up to. When I told him, he called me a numbskull and told me that if I wanted to assault a cop and ruin my life, fine, but that he wasn’t going to be a party to my ruination. He ordered me off his property and told me not to come back.”
He spread his hands. “I loved flying more than I hated Moody. I gave up my revenge plot, and the only thing that came from my amateur surveillance was the knowledge that Detective Moody had only one friend.” He tipped his head toward Haymaker. “If anybody knows where he is, it’s you.”
The man rubbed his palms up and down the legs of his baggy plaid shorts. “What do you want him for?” Looking at Bellamy, he said, “You already did a number on him in your book. You looking to drive the nails in his hands a little deeper?”
“I wanted to interview him for my book but couldn’t find him,” she said. “I was as accurate as I could be, based on the impressions of a preteen girl. It wasn’t my intention to cast aspersions on Detective Moody. Why would I? He captured and helped convict the man who killed my sister.”
“So there you have it,” Haymaker said, slapping the padded arms of his chair. “The end.”
“No, not the end,” she said. “Not if you think I ‘did a number on him.’ Is that how he perceives it, too?”
“I don’t know what he perceives.”
“You’re lying,” Dent said.
Bellamy placed a cautionary hand on his knee. In a gentler, less combative voice, she asked, “Does Moody see it that way, too, Mr. Haymaker? If so, wouldn’t he welcome the chance to set me straight?”
“Uh-uh. No way. He won’t talk to you.” Haymaker gave a decisive shake of his head.
“How do you know?”
“Because he won’t even talk to me about it, and I’m his best… only… friend. As wiseass here has pointed out.” He cast a sour glance at Dent. Dent didn’t respond. Bellamy was making headway where he hadn’t, so he yielded the floor to her.
She asked Haymaker, “Have you tried to get him to talk about it?”
“For eighteen friggin’ years. I don’t know what-all went on. But what I do know, Dale wasn’t ever the same after that boy got killed in prison. After it happened, he stayed drunk for a month, then just up and announced to me that he was leaving the department, leaving his family, leaving Austin, and that was that.”
“But you’re still in contact?”
He shifted his weight, scratched his head, and seemed to consider how much he should impart. When he looked at Dent, it was with hostility, but he responded to Bellamy’s calm gaze.
Releasing a long sigh, he mumbled, “We talk by phone. Off and on. Not regular. Half the time, he doesn’t answer or call me back if I leave a message. I worry about him. He’s not a well man. Chest wheezes like a bagpipe.”
“That’s too bad,” Dent deadpanned. “Where does he live?”
“I don’t know.”
Dent looked around the room. “Got a Phillips screwdriver handy?”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know where he lives!” Haymaker exclaimed. “Swear to God I don’t. You could put my eye out and I still couldn’t tell you.” Then he raised his pointed chin defiantly. “Even if I could, even if he lived next door to me here, I wouldn’t tell y’all, ’cause Dale would want nothing to do with talking to you. You’ve wasted your time coming here.”
Dent and Bellamy exchanged a look, each conceding that they believed him but were at a loss as to where to go from there.
Then, moving suddenly, Dent reached across the space separating him from the small table at their host’s elbow and picked up a cell phone.
