bartender walked back into the bedroom, muttering under his breath. There was a metallic groan as the bed compressed under the man’s weight. Holding his position, Logan listened until the man’s breathing became deep and regular. Finally, he extracted himself and stood up.
He found the man’s wallet on the dresser. According to the driver’s license, the guy’s name was Brian Pearson, and he’d just celebrated his fifty-ninth birthday the year before. That was surprising. He looked a hell of a lot older to Logan.
Putting the wallet back down, Logan approached the bed and gave Pearson a shake.
“Wake up.”
The bartender’s breath caught, but he remained asleep.
Logan shook him again. “Hey, Brian. Wake. Up.”
This time, Pearson opened his eyes with a start. He began to push himself up, but Logan shoved him back to the mattress.
“What’s going on? Who—”
“What did you tell him?” Logan asked.
“Huh? What are you talking about? Who the hell are you?”
“Brian, answer the question. What did you tell him?”
The man’s eyes widened. “You’re…you’re that guy from earlier.”
“Answer the question.”
“Jesus. This is my house. Get the hell out!”
Again Pearson tried to rise. This time when Logan pushed him back, he left his hand firmly on the man’s chest, holding him in place.
“I told you there was nothing to tell,” Pearson said.
“You told me a lie, Brian.”
“I didn’t,” he said, but his eyes were clearly saying the opposite. “Wait. How do you know my—”
“Are you the one who had him beat up? Is that why you don’t want to say anything?” Logan asked. “I’d be happy to return the favor if that’s the case.”
“No, no! Please. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t even know about the fight.”
“I don’t think I believe that,” Logan said, shifting more weight onto Pearson’s chest.
“It’s the truth! I just sent him over there, that’s all.”
Logan eased back a little. “You sent him? Why?”
“Because of the picture. Why else? I’d seen the woman before, a few years ago.”
“Do you know her name?”
He shook his head. “No. I never talked to her. Just saw her with someone.”
Logan narrowed his eyes. “Who?”
When Pearson didn’t answer right away, Logan pressed down again.
“Okay, okay,” the man said, nearly coughing. “Her name’s Diana. Diana Stockley.”
Diana? “Is she the bartender at The Hideaway?”
“Yeah,” Pearson said, surprised. “You know her?”
Ignoring the question, Logan said, “You’re telling me you saw the woman in the picture and Diana together?”
Pearson nodded. “Came in a couple times on Diana’s nights off. Like I said, a year or two ago. After that, I never saw the woman again.”
Logan was silent for a moment. “Where does she live?”
“The woman? I have no idea.”
Logan shoved him in the chest again. “Diana.”
“Oh, uh…near the high school. I…I can give you her address.”
__________
L OGAN LEFT A shaken Brian Pearson with the promise of a return visit if the man said so much as a word to anyone about their conversation. Then he drove to Diana’s house.
While the homes in her neighborhood were a bit newer and better taken care of, the number of F OR S ALE signs was about the same. Braden was apparently in the midst of downsizing.
The Hideaway’s bartender actually lived in one half of a duplex with a nice shade tree out front and some decent grass in the yard. The house was located on the corner, and had three cars parked in the shared, double-wide driveway, so there was no telling if Diana lived alone or with someone.
Her unit was the one on the left, farthest from the intersection. Logan walked up the stone path to the covered porch, and peeked through the window beside the door. The lights were off and all was quiet, so he assumed she must be asleep. He took out his flashlight, focused it to a tight beam, and aimed it through the glass.
On the other side
Bernard O'Mahoney, Lew Yates