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John rubbed the back of his neck. “Why would she bring her son into a bar? And what’s your name?”
“Mellie. Whiskey lets her bring Mason sometimes. If she can’t find a sitter and has to...”
“To what?”
Mellie bit her bottom lip. “Look, if you need Whiskey, he’s in the back with Greg and Terrance. I just tend bar,” she lowered her voice, “and I need this job.”
They didn’t need the rest of her sentence to put together what was going on. Bella Dawn had come in to work for Whiskey. Put her kid to bed. Was sweet with Greg until it was time to meet up with a buyer, then went on her run. Maybe the Blind Eye Killer hadn’t taken her. Maybe whoever she made an exchange with had. And if she was Greg’s informant, then it made it more likely.
Whiskey came through the door, wearing a gray hoodie and jeans and black motorcycle boots. His hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. A strand of bangs had fallen from it and hung over his eyes. He paused and looked from Mellie to John to Violet and back to Mellie. “Take five, Mel.”
She scurried behind the door.
“What brings you back?”
John let the irritation roll off his back. “Two things. One, Bella Dawn is missing. If you haven’t heard.”
“I heard.”
Greg pushed through the doors. Jean jacket over flannel. Worn jeans. A faded red baseball cap on his head. He stood next to Whiskey, arms folded over his chest. Menace in his eyes and a clenched jaw.
“We saw you with Bella Dawn last night,” Violet said. She eased onto a barstool as if she had nowhere to be and was in no hurry. She leaned her right elbow on the bar. “You two seemed friendly.”
Greg laughed. “Friendly don’t mean we’re friends, Agent.”
“You haven’t heard from her since last night?” she asked, eyeing him coolly.
He shook his head.
John couldn’t discern if Greg was playing his part or if he was legit being a jerk.
Violet paused a few beats. “The other reason we’ve come is because we’ve run the killer’s signature through our database to see if we could find other victims that fit or are similar. We got a hit. Victim died about four years ago. Right over the county line. Name’s Allie Walker. Got a photo here.”
She did? John was not prepared for this. Greg shot him a glare, and he tried to convey he too was at a loss. Violet held out her phone for Whiskey, and he squinted. It was there.
Whiskey recognized his wife.
Violet then showed it to Greg. “You know her?”
“Why would I?”
She looked back at Whiskey. “You do. Don’t you?”
Greg raked a hand through his hair. “What we know is you’re looking in all the wrong places.” Whiskey put his arm on Greg’s, but Greg gave him a look and Whiskey gave a slight nod. “Things aren’t always what they seem around here, Agent. Go take a peek in room five. Upstairs, last door on the right. You want answers to Atta and maybe the others...” He pointed upward. “As far as that chick. We ain’t ever seen her.”
John’s insides flushed hot, and he balled a fist. This was Greg’s open chance to give him something. Anything.
But maybe he was.
Maybe it was upstairs behind the last door on the right.
The hallway was narrow, and the hardwood nicked and scratched. On either side of the hall were three rooms with closed doors, but the sounds of music, laughter and prostitution filtered into the hallway.
“Brothel?” John whispered.
“That’s my guess.” It had briefly crossed her and Ty’s minds that Whiskey did more than make meth and run drugs.
No sound came from the room where they stood. Violet hoped this wasn’t a trap. After Callie was brought up, Greg had been angry, and Whiskey had appeared confused and irritated. He was quick to let Greg give them this nugget.
