to go along with him.”
Joanna felt a sudden clutch in her throat. “What did you say his name was?”
“Larry. Larry Dysart.”
“He’s a regular here, too? Did he know Serena?”
“Sure.” Butch nodded.
“Was he here the night Serena died?”
“I’m pretty sure he was,” Butch answered.
“If Larry’s a regular, then he knows Dave Thompson as well?”
“As a matter of fact, Larry drove Dave home several times. Larry doesn’t drink booze anymore, so I could always ask him to drive somebody home without having to worry about it. He never seemed to mind.”
“And what exactly does Larry Dysart do for a living?” Joanna asked. There was a tremble of excitement in her voice, but Butch Dixon didn’t seem to notice.
“As little as possible. He’s a legal process server. It was a big comedown from what he might have expected, but he never seemed to carry a grudge about it.”
Joanna fought to keep her face impassive, the way her poker-playing father had taught her to do. This was important, and she didn’t want to blow it. “Carry a grudge about what?” she asked.
“About his mother giving away the family farm,” Butch answered. “And I mean that literally. In the old days, his grandfather’s farm—the old Hackberry place—was just outside town here, outside Peoria. It was a big place—a whole section of cotton fields. If Larry had been able to talk his mother into selling it back when he wanted her to, he would have made a fortune. Or else she could have held on to it. By now it would be worth that much more. Instead, she and Larry got in some kind of big beef. She ended up giving most of it away.”
“Who to?” Joanna asked.
“TTI,” Butch answered. “Tommy Tompkins International. Tommy was one of those latter-day Armageddonists who believed that the world was going to end on a certain day at a certain hour. Before that happened, however, his financial world collapsed. He and his two top guys
“Now that I get thinking about it, I believe the APOA dormitory is right on the spot where the house used to be. That’s where Larry lived with his mother and stepfather back when he was a kid. The stepfather died young, and Larry and his mother went to war with each other. They patched it up for a while after she got sick. Since she was the one who’d donated the land to TTI, she was able to wangle her son a job running security for Tommy back in the high-roller eighties, when he had the whole world on a string. Then everything fell apart. When the dust cleared, the world didn’t end as scheduled, Tommy was gone, and the property went into foreclosure. All Larry was left with was a bad taste in his mouth and what he had inherited directly from his grandfather.”
“What was that?”
“The old Hackberry house on Monroe.”
“Where’s that?” Joanna asked. “In downtown Phoenix?”
Butch chuckled. “A different Monroe,” he said. “This one’s right here in Peoria, only a few blocks from here. Listen,” Butch added. “If you want to talk to Larry, it wouldn’t be any trouble for me to find him. He was in for lunch a little while ago, so I don’t think he’s working today. Want me to give him a call and let him know you’re looking for him?”
Joanna stood up, dropping two dollars on the bar to pay for her drink and to leave a tip. “No,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Don’t bother. Could I have that video back, please? I’ve got some errands to run right now. I’ll get in touch with Larry later if I need to.”
