Page 34 of The Burning

I smile. “Nothing personal, McNarie, but I’m glad those days are over.”

That earns me another frown. “What are you drinking these days, Chief?”

“You got coffee made?”

“How far we fall.” But he laughs. “This morning’s okay?”

“It’ll do.”

A basketball game flickers on the TV screen in the corner. The other two patrons pretend to watch, but I can tell their attention is on me. Wondering why the chief of police is sitting at the bar in a place like this.

“Here you go.”

The bartender slides a restaurant-style cup and saucer in front of me, two containers of half-and-half on the side. “You here about Swanz?”

“You heard?”

“Who hasn’t?” He shrugs. “Craziest shit I ever heard. You know that son of a bitch was here till close that night, right?”

I set down the cup. “A phone call would have been nice.”

He lifts a shoulder, unperturbed. “I knew you’d figure it out and show up sooner or later.”

An acerbic retort teeters on my tongue, but I tamp it down, keep my eye on the ball. I pull my notebook from my pocket, flip back the cover. “What time was he here?”

“Got here around six. Stayed till close, which is two A.M., as you know.”

“Who was he with?”

“No one.”

I squash exasperation. “Did he drive?”

He shakes his head. “To tell the truth, I think he walked. Lives just a couple miles down the road.”

“Did he talk to anyone while he was here?”

“He talked to whoever he thought might buy him a drink.” He motions with his eyes to the pool players in the back. “Those fools are here just about every night, too. If I recall, Swanz played a game of pool with them. Had his eye on that girl. Like everyone else, I guess.”

I look over my shoulder at the group. The two men stare back at me, beers in hand, curious. The woman is nowhere to be seen. Shit. I turn back to the barkeep. “Do you have security cameras?” I ask.

He cuts me an are-you-kidding look. “No one who spends his time here is a fan of Big Brother, if you know what I mean.”

“Was Swanz a regular?” I ask.

“Came in two or three times a week.”

“Ever have any problems with him?”

“All’s I know about Swanz is that he drank like a damn fish and he couldn’t handle his booze.”

I glance over at the pool players. They’ve gone back to their game. Still no woman.

“Did anything suspicious or unusual happen the night Swanz was killed?”

“I didn’t notice anything out of whack.”

“He ever argue with anyone?” I ask. “Get out of line?”