'I wasn't tired. 1 could hear you talking down here.'
'Look, I'm just the barkeep people tell their troubles to.'
'She has troubles, has she?'
'Don't we all?'
'She never seems to use the bar when I'm working in it.'
'Maybe she feels she can open up to men.'
'So what's she been opening up to you about?'
'Let's do this later, Amy. OK?'
'She can't hear us.'
'Even so. You're being a bit bloody obvious.'
'I don't get any choice.'
Her voice was rising, so Nick pushed past her and went out from behind the bar. He flicked the hidden switch at the back of the jukebox, ensuring the music would fall silent after the current record.
'If you're closing, the barrel for the draught Guinness needs changing,' Amy said.
'I'll do the cellar work in the morning.'
'I thought you always said Guinness was best left to sit overnight.'
'I'll do it in the morning, Amy.'
She shrugged, pushed past him and went through the door into the main part of the hotel.
He dreaded what would be said, what might happen, when he eventually went upstairs to bed. He was still learning Amy, after all these years.
Teresa Simons had finished her drink again, but now she was sitting erect on her stool, her hands resting lightly on the counter.
'Did I hear you say you're about to close?' she said.
'Not to you. You're a resident. You can drink all night if you want.'
, No thanks, Mr Surtees. That's not my style.'
'Nick,' he said.
'Yeah, we agreed on that. Not my style, Nick. Hell, 1 don't even like bourbon much. That was Andy's drink, you know? 1 only started to drink it because of him, never had the guts to say I didn't much care for it. Before that 1 used to drink beer. You know all about American beer, right? Doesn't taste good, so you chill it right down so you can't taste anything at all. That's why people like Andy drink bourbon. Even he didn't drink too much of it. Said he had to keep a clear head, or he'd lose his badge.'
'His badge? Was he a cop?' Nick said.
'Sort of.'
'Sort of a cop like you're sort of a historian?'
She was standing now, and looked remarkably steady on her feet for someone who had drunk so much bourbon in so short a time
'Hell, 1 guess it doesn't matter any more. Andy was a special agent, with the Bureau.'
'The FBI?'
'You got it.'
'And he was killed on duty?'
'You got it again. In Kingwood City, Texas. Little place no one ever heard of, even people in the USA. Even people in Texas, maybe. just like Bulverton. In fact exactly like Bulverton, except it couldn't have been more ditTerent. You ever hear the name Aronwitz, john Luther Aronwitz?'
'I'm not sure, I'
'Aronwitz lived in Kingwood City,' she went on, talking over him. 'No one knew him, he lived a quiet life. Stayed at home with his mother. People down the store saw him sometimes, but he had no friends anyone knew of He had a few minor felonies on his record. Starting to sound familiar? Well, this was Texas so he drove around in an old pickup, kept to himself, carried a couple of rifles in his gunrack. Nothing unusual for Texas. Real quiet guy, a bit like Gerry Grove? Last year he went berserk, for no reason anyone could ever understand. Picked up his guns and started shooting. Killed and killed and killed. Men, women and children. just like Grove. Didn't care who he shot, only that he shot them. Ended up holed up with a couple of hostages in some goddamned shopping mall, some halfempty place on the edge of town, out on Interstate 20. That's where Andy caught up with him and that's where Andy died. You got the picture, Nick?'
'Yes.'
'You ever hear of this, Nick? Because if you have, you're one of the few people in England who have.'
'I heard about it,' he said. 'The press tried to make something of it. 1 couldn't remember the name of the town. It's better known than-'
'Listen, OK, you're one of the few. Do you know when it happened?'
'Last year, you said. That's right ... the same date.'
'June third last year. That's the day Andy died, and all because a hairball called Aronwitz picked up a gun and lost his mind.'
