Page 41 of Defend Me

This tracks—most of the locals on the North Fork know my family. We were in the press a lot even before Mom died.

“I wanted to ask you a few questions,” I say. “Is there someplace we could speak in private?”

The man considers me for a moment, then comes around the bar and leads me back outside. He lights a cigarette.

“What?” he asks.

“May I have your name?”

“Dale Lewiston.”

The infamous Dale.

“How long have you worked here, Mr. Lewiston?”

He takes a long drag. “Just Dale. I own this place. Going on twenty years now.”

“Were you working five years ago the night of June twenty-first?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Honey, I’ve worked here every night since I opened. It all blends together. So if you want me to remember something from five years ago—or even five days ago—you’re shit out of luck. What’s this all about, huh?”

“My mother was murdered on the morning of June twenty-second five years ago,” I say tartly.

At that, Dale’s eyes widen a fraction. “Oh right,” he says. “That.” Then he adds, “Sorry, uh, for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I say tartly. “Are you familiar with a man named Patrick Forrester?”

“Pat? Sure, sure. Used to come in all the time. Part of the Lock In Crew.”

“The what?”

“The drunks that I had to lock in overnight.”

This is all tracking with what Noah told me. “Do you remember locking him in the night of the twenty-first?”

Dale shrugs. “Was it a Saturday?”

“It was.”

“Then yeah. Every Saturday like clockwork. Until the day he got sober.” He scratches the back of his head and flicks his cigarette away. “You know, that might actually have been about five years ago, now that I think of it.” His eyes widen. “Wait. You’re representing that cop, right? The one they arrested for?—”

I cut him off. “I am representing Noah Patterson, yes.”

“I remember him too,” Dale says, getting excited now. “He used to hang out here on Sunday mornings. Early. Watching the place. Sitting in his car on the street, never the parking lot, so I couldn’t call the cops on him. Not that I would have. I don’t get into nobody else’s business.”

I highly doubt that, but don’t press him. “Do you remember Noah being here on the morning of the twenty-second?”

“I can’t say the exact day,” Dale says. “All I know is that one Saturday night that summer was the last time Pat came in here. I let him out of the bar with the others on Sunday morning, and never saw him again. And that cop was here watching the Lock In Crew leave every Sunday morning.”

“Do you have an address for Mr. Forrester?” I ask.

“Think he’s still in the same place,” he says. “Big old colonial in Riverview.”

He gives me the address and I jot it down in my phone.

“Thank you,” I say, then turn and hurry back to the car.

“Hey,” Dale calls and I stop and turn to him. He’s eyeing me with interest. “You really think that cop is innocent?”

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