Page 26 of The Perfect Accomplice

“I just started my shift a half hour ago,” Barber said. “The powers that be wouldn’t appreciate me taking a break this soon.”

“Trust me, it’s better than the alternative,” Ryan said.

Something about his tone gave Barber pause, even though he still appeared skeptical.

"I need five minutes, Kelleigh," he called out to the female bartender across the way. She looked puzzled but waved in acknowledgment. He turned back to Ryan and Jessie. "Let's go over there."

He pointed to a roped-off section of the bar with a sign hanging from it that read: reserved. They followed him. Jessie noted that like all the other employees of The Shot, he too wore a red leather belt. He stepped over the rope and took a seat at the four-top in the corner. They joined him.

“You’re cops, right?” he said.

“How did you know?” Ryan asked, showing his badge and ID.

“I wasn’t sure,” Barber replied. “But your total lack of interest in me or a drink and your casual arrogance were clues. Also, you’ve got that gun-shaped bulge under your sports jacket.”

Jessie found it both amusing and alarming that Barber thought Ryan exuded casual arrogance when he appeared to define the trait. She wasn't sure what to make of it. Was the guy just supremely overconfident, or was he being intentionally blustery to mask something darker?

“Maybe you should be a detective,” Ryan said to him sharply.

“Maybe I should,” Barber agreed. “I auditioned for one in an episode of Coptown, USA a few months back. But they went for a swarthy, short dude. I think it was his mustache that made the difference. What is this about? Because last time I checked, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We both know that’s not true, Mr. Barber,” Ryan said, officially commencing the interrogation portion of the conversation.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the bartender asked, looking truly uncomfortable for the first time since their arrival.

“Two restraining orders when you’ve only lived here for six years?” Ryan observed. “That’s not a great percentage.”

“Both of those were misunderstandings,” Barber insisted quickly. “And there weren’t any more issues with either woman. That’s old news. You can check.”

“We already did,” Ryan assured him.

“So what is this then?” he demanded. “Do you have a specific question or do detectives just like to show up periodically to harass people who’ve paid their debt to society.”

“I’m not a detective,” Jessie said, speaking for the first time.

Barber was looking at her in confusion when Ryan added “what debt have you actually paid, Mr. Barber?”

The bartender turned his attention back to the detective, not sure if that was a rhetorical question or a real one. Jessie didn’t let him ponder it too long.

“Do you know Sydney Ashe?” she asked, studying him closely.

Barber looked at her again. With the way he kept turning his head back and forth, he reminded her of a spectator at a tennis match. But this time, he lingered on her. He didn’t need to reply for Jessie to know the truth. His eyes were full of guilt. The question was: about what?

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“And you know that she was killed?” Jessie pressed.

“I saw that on the news,” he conceded.

“Why didn’t you come forward when you found out?” she asked.

“Why would I?” he said carefully. “What business is it of mine?”

“Well, you were sleeping with her, for one thing,” Jessie replied matter-of-factly.

“So?” he shot back, equally direct.

“You don’t see that as at all relevant?” Ryan interjected.

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