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Hunter placed the beer and glass on the counter in front of Lesley and moved down to the far end of the bar where a patron had settled in. When he came back, Lesley slid a bill across the bar. Hunter glanced at the beer bottle in her hand, and a smirk played across his face. He then looked off into the distance and gave a nod to someone off camera.
It was obvious when the drug took effect on Lesley. She slumped on the barstool. Antony watched as Smith approached. Rage flooded his brain and his vision dimmed around the edges as the young man nodded and said something to his friend. Smith slapped something on the counter and slid it across before grabbing Lesley.
Antony stabbed at the stop button on the keyboard and stood, stalking over to his computer. “Give me a few.”
Audrey nodded. “I could also use a break after that.”
Carwell came over to his desk. “Bartender, eh? Who is he?”
“Not sure. He’s new.” Antony said, typing rapidly. He blinked at the results on the screen and picked up his phone, quickly scrolling through his contacts. “Jeff, hey. Yeah, she’s doing good. I’ll tell her you asked. Mmhmm. Lesley’s also doing good. Hey, what’s the scoop on that bartender, Hunter? What’s his story?”
Antony put the phone on speaker, and both men listened.
“Hunter Fry. Worked here a few years ago, then left. Just came back. I wasn’t here back when he was the first time. Kinda skeevy fellow, but never outwardly toward the patrons.”
“Skeevy how?” Antony asked.
“Dunno man. Leering. He’s made some lewd comments to some of the servers. Nothing over the line, but enough to make ‘em feel slimy, you know?”
“Got it. Thanks, man.”
“He messed up in this?” Jeff asked.
“Not sure,” Antony replied. “Just didn’t have any info for him like I do everyone else. When this is over, we need to get together.”
“You bet. I’ll keep things quiet.”
As Antony set the phone back in the receiver, Carwell said, “And here I thought you knew everyone.”
“Almost.” Antony typed the name into the system and waited for the national databases to pull up. “I’ve seen him around, but we don’t talk beyond ordering drinks. He was up to no good behind that bar.”
“Agreed. I was watching, too. He was messing with that bottle. Looks like he knows Smith as well.”
A soft ding announced the completion of the search, and at the same moment, a timid-looking Soldier walked in. Antony recognized her as Smith’s neighbor and watched as Charlie walked over to help her. The young woman visibly relaxed as she approached, so Antony stayed seated and refocused on the screen.
Nothing. No felony charges, no warrants, no arrests.
In their line of work, nothing didn’t mean absolutely nothing, nor did it mean innocence. He printed off the image from the man’s driver’s license and taped it to the board, under Smith’s photo.
He spun when the young woman gasped behind him. The young troop’s eyes were wide, and her face was pale as she stared at the picture. “It was him!” she cried.
She was terrified.
The circles under her eyes were so dark, they’d gone beyond purple to a dusky grey. The skin around her fingernails was ragged and torn from where she’d been picking—was still picking—at them.
Charlie guided the woman out of the room to an office they used to interview people. She left the door open, but the only noise was the indistinct murmur of voices from a distance.
Antony sat down in front of the screen again and started the clip over while he waited for Charlie to get done talking to the troop.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“Private Rankin heard a fight in Smith’s room the night he went AWOL,” Charlie said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from Antony. Audrey put down her pen and notepad to pay attention and Antony paused the feed.
“She said that there was yelling and some things either being thrown or falling. And that Thompson was involved.”
“She’s sure about Thompson?” Antony asked.
Charlie nodded. “Yeah. Told me the door slammed, and she peeked out the curtain to see them walking by. Thompson, followed by Smith and another guy she didn’t know until she saw his picture.” She gestured up at the image of Hunter Fry on the board. “That’s him. You find anything on him?”
