CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jessie"s stomach began to churn as she watched the sun start to disappear over the horizon, blanketing the city in growing darkness.

Their murderer had killed two women yesterday. What were the chances that they would go another full day without trying again? She hoped that the man they were going to see now would end up being their killer and they could put an end to the hunt. But even if he was, proving it would be another challenge.

It was still only 4:30, but with the approach of early evening came the crowds at The Shot, which was apparently busy at all hours of the day. According to a text sent by Jamil, it had recently been voted by one local style magazine as the third hottest bar in L.A. this year, whatever that meant.

Parking was hard to come by, but Ryan found a spot in the loading zone next to the bar and displayed his police placard so he wouldn"t get ticketed. They got out, and Jessie held out her palm expectantly. Looking like a naughty schoolboy, Ryan handed over the keys.

They walked to the entrance of the bar, which had only tiny, red, graffiti-style lettering on the wall near the entrance to indicate the name of the establishment. The place was not unlike many other cooler-than-you bars in the area in that there was almost no way to know it was a bar at all.

The Shot was located at one end of strip mall that also housed a laundromat, a doughnut shop and a payday loan office. If not for the line of people stretching from the door to the adjacent alleyway and the bouncer deciding whether they got in, it would be easy to mistake the place for an abandoned storefront.

They passed the crowd of people waiting and approached the doorman, a burly dude in all black with a shaved head and a beard that reached his sternum. The guy spread his legs a little wider as they walked up, anticipating trouble. But when Ryan flashed his badge, he nodded and stepped aside without a word. Apparently, he was used to visits from law enforcement.

Once they moved inside, the dusk of the outdoors was replaced by the even dimmer lighting inside. It took several moments to adjust. Once she did, Jessie saw that the entire place was defined by alternating red and black. Not just the walls, but the banquettes and tablecloths too. Even the servers wore black with narrow red belts. Jessie noted that they appeared to be leather.

They approached the bar, where she saw their guy using two metal shakers to prepare something for a woman who was staring at him googly-eyed. Jessie understood why. Beth had been right. Brian Barber was a beautiful man.

Easily six foot three and muscular in more of a lanky surfer than a bodybuilder way, he had blond hair with bangs that fell just slightly into his brown eyes. Even in the dark of the bar, his tan skin glowed, and when he flashed a cocky smile at the woman ogling him, his teeth were near-blinding in their white brilliance. She pretended not to notice for Ryan's benefit, but her husband seemed oblivious to the man's physical charms as he slid past several patrons to get closer.

"Brian Barber?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Barber gave him half a glance before returning his attention to the drink. "I can give you an autograph later, man," he said dismissively. "Right now I'm helping the lady."

"Once you finish with that drink, we need to talk," Ryan told him.

Barber eyed him more closely now. After a second of irritation, he offered that grin again.

"No one would dispute that you're a good-looking hunk of beef," he told Ryan, "and I'm happy to make you a drink. But you should know up front that I don't swing that way. Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm flattered by the whole ‘hunk of beef' thing," Ryan replied, clearly ambivalent to the compliment, "but it's not that kind of talk."

"What then?"

"It's the sort of thing you're going to want to go on break for," Ryan told him as diplomatically as he could.

Barber poured the beverage concoction into a tall, frosted glass, added a cherry and a tiny umbrella, and slid it over to the woman, who looked annoyed at having to share his attention.

"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.

"I sleep with a lot of women, Detective," Barber told him with a smarmy smile. "I didn't know I had to report it to the cops every time something happens in their lives."

Jessie stifled the desire to slap him across the face and pressed ahead.

"Nothing is happening in her life anymore," she pointed out. "That's why we're here."

"You know what I meant," Barber said quickly.

"Did you recently break it off with her?" Jessie asked, ignoring his comment.

"There was nothing to break off," he told her. "We enjoyed each other's company, at least physically. But then she got needy. She wanted to go places, to have meaningful conversations. That wasn't the deal, so I moved on. To be clear, there was no relationship to break off."

"Did you get tired of her being so needy?" Ryan wondered. "Maybe decide to put an end to it?"

Barber leaned back in his chair, seeming to calculate the amount of trouble he might be in. Jessie still wasn"t sure if he was just an egotistical, horny wannabe actor or merely using that as a cover for something more disturbing. For a guy being questioned about a woman"s murder, he seemed awfully nonchalant to her, at least until now.

"Do I need a lawyer here?" he asked.

"You started out this chat by saying you did nothing wrong," Ryan reminded him. "Are you retracting that statement? Is that why you're asking about a lawyer?"

"I really don't like your accusatory tone, Detective," Barber replied, either really offended or play-acting at it.

"Right back at you," Ryan said.

Jessie could feel things going off the rails slightly and decided she needed to tighten the screws in a more productive manner. "Were you sleeping with Erin Podemski too?" she asked flatly.

Barber tore his attention away from his staredown with Ryan and fixed it on her. It took him a couple of seconds to grasp what she was asking.

"I don't think so," he said, "Who's that?"

Jessie showed him a photo from her phone.

"No, I haven't been with her," he said huffily, as if she wasn't up to his standards and he was insulted by the question.

"But you recognize her."

"I think so," he answered. "She might have been in here recently."

"How about last night?" Jessie wondered.

"Okay, if you say so," Barber replied with a shrug.

"She was here," Jessie assured him, showing him the Instagram photo that Beth had found, "and now she"s dead too."

Barber was quiet for a few seconds.

"I don't like where this is going," he finally said. "Now I really think I should call a lawyer."

"That's one way to go," Jessie told him, briskly moving past the idea, "or you could just tell us where you were between 9 a.m. and noon yesterday and later that night between 6 p.m. and midnight."

Barber seemed to weigh whether it was in his interest to answer the question. After a moment he smiled.

"That's all you want to know?" he asked, his confidence returning. "Okay. I was asleep until at least noon yesterday, like almost every day when I don't have an audition."

"Can anyone verify that?" Ryan asked.

"The girl I was with, I guess."

"Who was that?" Ryan pressed.

"I can't remember her name right now, but I have it in my phone," he said pulling it out. "I'll need a minute to find it. We had brunch at the coffee shop down the block from my place. Then I sent her on her way. Here it is. Her name was Gayle. I can send you her number if you want.

Jessie, increasingly disgusted by the man, didn't directly respond to his offer. "And last night?

"I was here."

"Until when?" she demanded

"From just before six until about 2:30 a.m. We close at two, but there"s always cleanup after. But if you want a thorough accounting of my evening, I should probably admit that I took an extra-long dinner break."

"From when to when?" Ryan asked.

"About ten to 10:45."

"Why?" Ryan asked, though Jessie had an idea. Barber would only volunteer a detail like that if it served his purposes.

"I met a nice girl and I wanted to show her the storage room," he said with a smirk. "So I showed it to her—a few times."

Jessie did her best to hide her revulsion. Brian Barber was the epitome of everything she detested. She'd love to lock him up just for his attitude. But she was beginning to doubt whether she'd get a chance to lock him up at all.

"We're going to need her name too," she replied without emotion, refusing to let him get a rise out of her.

"I'll try to remember it," he promised smarmily.

"Get it now," Ryan instructed. "We're talking to both of them before your break ends. And if they don't both confirm everything you've said, your shift is ending early tonight."

Jessie watched as Barber scrolled through his phone, looking for the storeroom conquest. While she waited, she came to two equally unsatisfying realizations. First, unless something else materialized unexpectedly, they had no other leads to follow tonight. They might have to start fresh in the morning.

And two, as appalled by him as she was, she already knew the truth in her bones: this wasn't their guy. Their killer was still out there.