Page 42 of Bone Echo

Dudley felt the truth in his bones, and he was quietly relieved that his brother hadn’t been married to a woman who wanted to kill him.

Cayson hung his head, and Jack urged. “Did you go back to Memphis two days ago to get revenge because she wouldn’t leave you, and Charlie Stephens threatened you.”

“No. I swear to you. I was right here in the city that hates me.”

“Doing what?”

“Man, I don’t know.” Cayson held out his hands, palms up. A conciliatory gesture. “Ever since Laura Sue had me hauled off to jail, I’ve been doing drugs. One day’s just like the next, a fuzzy blur where it don’t matter what happens. It’s all the same to me.”

“Was anybody with you?”

“Yeah, man. This gal I met at Sleuter’s Bar. Bitsy something or other.”

“Does she work there?”

“The night shift. Off and on.”

Dudley leaned across the table. “Tell me again. Did you kill Charles Stephens in Memphis, Tennessee?”

Cayson hung his head and slumped his shoulders, the posture of a guilty man. Was he about to confess?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Exhaustion felt like a seven-ton elephant sitting on Dudley’s chest. After they left the Little Rock Police Station, they discussed getting some rest and waiting until the next day to find Maxey Cayson’s witness, but he never confessed. Urgency drove them forward.

Jack took the wheel as they drove into downtown Little Rock in search of Sleuter’s Bar. “Do you think he killed your brother?”

“I wanted it to be him so badly I could tell you I think he was lying, and we could drag him down to Memphis and sweat a confession out of him. But I don’t think he did it?”

“Me, either.” Jack glanced at him. “Did you notice his shoes?”

“Yeah. Size eight, nine at the most. He wouldn’t have left that big shoe track outside Laura’s house. I think the man who killed Charlie came back to kill her and do what he said. Finish the job.”

“Which means he was probably a professional assassin for hire.”

“I agree. The odds we’ll ever find him just went to zero.” Dudley thought of the deadliest hitman in the world, a Brazilian named Julio Santana, who killed a documented four hundred ninety-two people before he was captured.

Jack turned into a district lit with neon signs. “The only flaw in our theory that a hitman killed Charlie iswhy?”

“I can tell you this. My brother never did asingle thingin his life that would make him the target of a paid killer. Everybody loved Charlie.”

The bar came into sight, and they both fell silent. There were in a sleazy part of town where the dregs of society hung out on street corners buying illegal drugs, and those not on the streets were hanging over one of the bars that line the street, getting drunk enough to forget the sorry lives they led.

Jack found a parking spot two blocks from Sleuter’s Bar. They were likely to have their hubcaps stolen while they were inside. They didn’t have to worry about being the target of a mugging. Jack’s size, alone, would have been enough deterrent. Add Dudley’s refrigerator figure and formidable face, and the customers gave the two a wide berth as they walked into the bar.

The music from a jukebox was too loud, the air was blue with smoke, and there was no telling who would be lurking in the haze.

They approached the bar together and flashed their badges. The bartender blanched but kept on polishing glasses.

“We’re looking for a girl who works here,” Jack said. “Goes by the name of Bitsy. Do you know where she is?”

“I don’t want no trouble.”

Dudley leaned in. “Neither do we. Answer the question, and we’re good.”

“That’s Bitsy Jenkins. She just finished her shift. She might still be in the dressing room back there, changing into street clothes. Tell her Stanley sent you.”

The door from the bar led into a dim narrow hallway lit by a lone bulb suspended from the ceiling. It stank of smoke and stale sweat. A skinny young woman with long legs clad in jeans and thin hair tortured by peroxide and curling irons emerged from a doorway at the end of the hallway. She glanced at their direction then hurried toward the exit.

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