“Was he a drinking man?”
“No, not really.”
“But he’d been drinking some that evening, had he?”
“He’d had a few, I’m told. I don’t think he was drunk if that’s what you mean.”
“Did he live alone? Have a wife? Anyone he might’ve talked to about the bombing before he died?”
“He had a girlfriend, I think. Look, why don’t we go back to my office after lunch. I’ll pull the reports on this and you can look them over. Anything my officers found out will be in there. I’m particular about the paperwork, you know.”
“Which is why you make a good administrator an’ why I wouldn’t,” Longarm said.
“Ah. It looks like our lunch is ready. Get out your purse, my friend. I intend to have another beer. Maybe two or three.”
“Good. The drunker you get, Browne, the more I can pry outa YOU.”
“Hell, I’m willing.”
Longarm chuckled. And ordered another rye whiskey. He pretty much had to if he wanted to keep pace with his friend. And it would have been damn-all rude to do otherwise.
Chapter 31
BethAnne Mobley wasn’t home when Longarm first called at her apartment looking for her. “She works days, mister, and is gone most nights too,” the next-door neighbor told him. “Try again about supper time. You might could catch her then.”
Rather than going all the way back to Denver and then returning to Aurora in the evening, Longarm marked time in a billiards parlor until shortly before six, then once more went to the home of Carl Beamon’s reputed girlfriend.
This time his knock was answered by a pale, very thin girl with huge eyes and a vapid, vacant expression. “Who do you want? Carl? He isn’t here, mister. Carl is dead.”
“I know that, miss. It’s you I wanted to talk with. About him.”
“Me? What for?”
“Could I come inside, miss? I think it would be best if we didn’t stand in the hallway discussing this.”
The girl shrugged and backed away from the door, allowing Longarm inside.
Her apartment was shabby, the furnishings cheap to begin with, and not helped any by having been in service years longer than they should have been. The place was unkempt, soiled clothing littering practically every flat surface in the place and a sour smell coming from the tiny alcove that served as a kitchen. Longarm had seen dog kennels he would rather have lived in. BethAnne did not seem to notice, certainly did not offer any apologies.
“Who’d you say you are, mister?” she asked.
He repeated the introduction and said, “I want to talk with you about Carl Beamon. He was your boyfriend, is that correct?”
BethAnne snorted. “That’s what he told people anyhow. Wasn’t true, though. I wasn’t his girlfriend. Not like you’d think. We spent some time together. Carl was generous. You know?” She fashioned a bright, wide, and patently phony smile. “Are you generous, mister? Are you gonna buy me some of my medicine? Carl always did. Would you, please?”
BethAnne did not look particularly sick. “What medicine would that be, miss?”
“Delphium’s Elixir is what I take, mister. For my pains. Female troubles is what it is. Delphium’s helps. Carl always brought me Delphium’s whenever he came to visit.”
“We’ll talk first,” Longarm told her. “Then I’ll get you some medicine.” Delphium’s Elixir was not a name he was familiar with, but he pretty much knew what to expect. The stuff would be one of those shady excuses for indulgence under the guise of medication. In truth it would be either alcohol under a fancy name or, worse, one of the opium derivatives. Either way, the object of taking it would be to dull, not simple pain, but the discomfort of a poor existence. Longarm had seen it often enough before. BethAnne Mobley was not the first he’d encountered who was addicted to her magic potion of choice, and he doubted she would be the last.
“You’re just telling me that,” she said. “If I tell you what you want, you won’t really get me my medicine.”
“I will. I promise.”
“For sure? You promise?”
He nodded. Hell, why not. The quack products weren’t illegal. And if buying this vapid young woman some would help him find out more about the bombing, well, that was a small price to pay. He meant what he said.
BethAnne smiled then and fingered the buttons at the front of her dress. Quickly, before the stupid little cunt had time to offer more than conversation in return for her drug, Longarm said, “I want you to tell me everything Carl Beamon told you about the bombing he was involved in last week.”
The girl frowned. “Oh, yeah. That. I remember he did say something about that. But I … it’s all sort of fuzzy in my mind. You know?”
“Try to remember, please. It’s important.”
“You’ll really and truly buy me a bottle of Delphium’s, mister?”
“I promise. Maybe two bottles.”
That got her attention all right. BethAnne sat up straighter on the torn, worn-out upholstery of the chair she’d settled on. She smiled again. Her teeth were small and white and perfect.
