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“Tea? Water? Bourbon?”
“I’m good.”
Barbara turned to the coffee machine, something niggling at the back of her mind.
“So, where do we go from here?” Tucker asked.
“Door to door. Mowlam’s killer is still out there,” she said.
“Mowlam’s murder looked like a message. The stake. Punished for his crimes.”
“Maybe.” She grabbed a mug and turned the machine on. “Or maybe that was what it was supposed to look like. I still think this is connected to Marcus’s murder.” She brought the coffee over to the bar and put it down heavily. “When Todd Danes was killed, was there anyone else you considered as a suspect? Anyone at all?”
Tucker frowned. “Not really. All the evidence pointed to Todd being killed by Aaron.” He looked down. “But maybe I got that wrong.”
“You followed the evidence. And Aaron confessed.”
“Because I cut him a deal to save the Colony. Instead, I got three of them killed and let the real killer go free.”
Barbara studied him. “What really happened that night?”
“I’ve told you.”
“With all due respect, you’ve told me less than a gnat’s fart in a teaspoon. Seems to me you did nothing wrong, yet you’ve been living like a hermit for twenty-five years. Why?”
“I let the town down. I let Todd’s parents down. I couldn’t be around them anymore.”
“So why not leave, move someplace else?”
He remained silent.
“What’s kept you here, Tucker?”
“The weather?”
“Well, it sure isn’t the food. I’ve not seen you eat a thing in forty-eight hours. Nor taken a drink of anything, not even water.”
He swallowed. “I don’t get very thirsty.”
“Right. So why do you carry a flask around with you?”
His jaw tensed. “It’s not alcohol, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking. Not anymore.” She picked up her coffee. “You want to save us both time and tell me exactly when you got turned?”
52
25 YEARS AGO
Tucker glanced at the clock. It was an hour off. Had been since spring. He kept meaning to change it, but the truth was, he’d got used to the difference. In a couple of weeks, the clock would be right again. Most things caught up with you eventually.
The minute hand ticked over. Eleven minutes past nine. But really, past ten. Time was dragging this evening. His insides felt coiled up tight and his heart jittered. He was on his fourth cup of coffee and on edge.
Rita, the young woman who helped out in the office a few days a week, had left about an hour ago.
“You’re sure you’re okay here on your own?” she had asked, looking worried.
“I’ll be fine,” he’d said. “Just got to get through tonight and the Feds will be here in the morning to take Aaron away.”
