Mason sat behind the wheel of his Mustang, heading toward the bar in which the girls had last been seen. It was a long shot, and the police had probably already been there, but it was as good a starting place as any.
As he headed down Fernleigh, tapping the wheel to some new tune on the radio, he couldn’t help but think of Evie. There was once a time when the majority of his cases would begin by enlisting her help. As an investigative journalist, she’d always been eager to help. Sadly, since she’d learned about the incident with the Lullaby Killer, she’d become a different person.
I miss you, Evie.
It’d been a year since they’d sat and had a proper conversation. All necessary contact with her had been cold and formal, but that wouldn’t stop him trying. Even Diane had tried to bring them closer together, but there was still no sign of improvement.
This much was now clear: Mason was on his own this time.
It was midday when he reached the bar, and he wasn’t surprised to find it open. Inside, it was a total dive that smelled of stale beer, and dust motes swirled around like flies. Nobody was inside but the bartender, who was cleaning up behind the bar.
Mason approached him. “Are you the manager?”
“Owner,” the barman said without looking up. “Listen, if you’re here about the missing girls, I’ve already spoken to you guys. I came in and gave an official statement.”
“I’m not with the police.” Mason slid his PI badge across the bar and watched the barman’s eyes assess it. “I’m here in a more private capacity. I know you’ve done this all before, but I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what you know.”
The barman cleared his throat, wiped a glass dry, and stored it under the counter. His hands came down to rest in front of him. “You get three questions, then I want you to leave. That fair enough?”
“Absolutely.” Mason looked around, measuring his options carefully. It was a gloomy place—really quite miserable, despite all the garish neon. When he thought of his first question, he phrased it with care. “Did you know the women? All three of them?”
“I didn’t know a single one. Only reason I knew they were here is because they were so damn loud. They were like a murder of crows. Drinking too much, screaming too loud. You know?”
Mason nodded, taking it in. “You say you heard them. Anything in particular?”
“Girl talk.” A phone rang out back. The barman ignored it. “They announced they were leaving, loud enough that anyone could’ve heard them.”
“Did anyone else hear them? Anyone get up and follow them?”
“They would’ve had a hard job. The girls took a cab home. Had me call it in for them. They were in no state to do it themselves.” He pushed himself off the bar and waved his palm toward the door. “That’s your three. I’m sorry it’s not much use, but it’s all I have.”
Mason swallowed hard. It really had been a waste of time. “Thank you,” he said, stuffing the badge back into his pocket and heading toward the door. There was nowhere to go from here—no leads, clues, or witnesses. Only…
“Hey.”
The barman looked across at him, frustrated. “No. No more questions.”
“Sorry, I just wondered if you could call me a taxi.” Perhaps there was somewhere to go from here. It may not be much, but if he could find the driver who’d taken the girls, he might just run into some luck.
Exhaling a long breath, the barman reached into his breast pocket, extracted a business card, and slid it across the bar.
“What’s this?” Mason asked, grabbing it up.
“That’s the company they went with.” The barman crossed his arms and stood up straight. “Now get the hell out of here and call your own damn cab.”
Mason left without another word.