“I can’t remember his last name. You remember it, Em?”
Neff shook his head.
“Just called him Peter the Bookscout, just like Bobby. Hell, half those boys never had a name, or don’t want you to know it if they do.”
“Does Peter come by often?”
“He was in here yesterday,” Neff said.
“Comes in three or four times a month,” Ruby said.
“When did you see Bobby and Peter together?”
“Oh, maybe a year ago,” Ruby said. “They were going up to Boulder together, to a book sale. Bobby didn’t drive, so he was hitching a ride with Peter.”
“What do you mean Bobby didn’t drive?” Neff said. “I’ve seen him drive. Don’t you remember that old car he had?”
“That was a long time ago, pardner,” Ruby said. “The cops busted him for no valid license, no insurance. He cracked up the car and ain’t had one since. I know damn well he didn’t have a license.”
“I think you’re wrong about that,” Neff said.
“There was no driver’s license found on the body,” I said.
Neff shrugged. “Then I guess you’re right.”
“I know I’m right,” Ruby said.
“Why would one bookscout drive another one up to a sale?” I said. “It sounds like cutting your own throat to me.”
“That’s what makes me think maybe they were friends,” Ruby said. “At least as much as those guys get to be friends.”
I made a note in my book. “Any idea where I can find this Peter?”
“The only time I see him is when he comes by,” Ruby said.
“If he comes by again, tell him I want to see him.”
“Sure, Dr. J. You bet.”
I looked through my notes. There are many reasons why people get murdered, but ninety-nine percent fall into four broad motive categories: love, hate, greed, insanity. I had looked at two of these.
“Did Bobby have any girlfriends?” I said.
“Not that I ever saw,” Ruby said.
“He ever talk about women he knew, or might have known in the past?”
They shook their heads.
“Anybody you boys can think of who’d want to see Bobby dead?”
“Oh no,” Neff said.
“He was the easiest of ‘em all to deal with,” Ruby said.
“Who’d he sell most of his books to?”
“Us, as much as anybody,” Neff said.
“Not so much anymore, though,” Ruby said.
“Why not?”
Neff gave a little shrug. “We’ve been going through some lean times, Mr. Janeway. We’ve had a few setbacks.”
“Oh, let’s call a spade a bloody fucking shovel,” Ruby said. “We bounced a few checks on him. That’s no big deal, people do it all the time. We always made it good. But these book-scouts hate to take a check anyway. They go all the way down to the bank and the check’s no good. I know where they’re coming from. I understand why they get pissed off.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“You mean write a hot check? You know that, Dr. J, I know you do. It’s book fever. You’ve got it just like I have. You see a book you want, you do what you have to do to get it. My intentions are honorable, it’s my performance that lags a little.”
“Where else did he go to sell his stuff?”
“Might be any one of a dozen places. You know the scene, Dr. J: hell, there’s thirty bookstores in Denver. Probably half of ‘em pay well enough for bookscouts to be able to deal with ’em. Not many places will pay forty percent across the board, but some do. You could narrow it down that way, I guess. Start with the boys up the street, see if they know anything.”
