"Hello, I'm Arthur, the bartender here," he said, his voice friendly despite the tension evident in his posture. "Evelyn said you had some questions for me?"
"That's right, Arthur," Nick replied, gesturing for the bartender to take a seat. "I'm Detective Nick Larsen, and this is my colleague, Christian Basher. We're investigating the murder of a young woman who was found dead two nights ago, not far from this bar. We're hoping you might have seen her that evening."
Nick once again displayed the photo of Rose on his phone. As Arthur leaned in to look, Nick noticed a change come over him. The bartender's fingers on his left hand intertwined, and he began to chew on the inside of his cheek – clear signs of growing anxiety.
"You know, it's really hard to say," Arthur began, his words coming out in a rush. "It was a Friday night, and we're always packed then. So many faces, you know?" He clasped his hands behind his back, as if trying to hide their trembling. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you. If you'll excuse me, I should get back to work."
As Arthur turned to leave, he nearly collided with a tall brunette waitress carrying a laden tray of food and drinks. Nick and Christian exchanged a meaningful glance as they watched him go.
"He's a bit… odd, isn't he?" Christian remarked quietly.
Evelyn, who had been hovering nearby, was quick to defend her employee. "Yes, Arthur can be peculiar, but he's a good person at heart."
"Thank you for your time, Evelyn," Nick said, rising from his chair. He handed her a business card. "If you remember anything else or hear anything that might be relevant, please give me a call."
Evelyn nodded politely, escorting them to the exit. As they left, Nick couldn't help but notice Arthur behind the bar, anxiously watching their departure as he polished glasses with shaking hands.
Once outside, Nick shoved his hands in his pockets, his mind working overtime to process what they'd just witnessed.
"You know, Christian," he said, his voice low and thoughtful, "I don't buy that bartender's story for a second. My gut tells me he's lying to us. Did you see how nervous he got when he saw Rose's photo? Something's not right here."
An idea began to form in Nick's mind. Maybe they needed to speak with Arthur again, but not in the bar. After a brief discussion with Christian, they decided to return in a few hours, at the end of Arthur's shift, hoping to catch him alone and perhaps more willing to talk.
With their plan set, the detectives made their way back to Nick's police car, parked across the street from the Green Vault. As they climbed in, both men felt a mix of anticipation and unease. They were on the trail of something – but what that something was, and where it might lead them, remained to be seen.
Chapter 5
Five hours passed.
Darkness had fallen over Austin, the streetlights casting long shadows across the quiet streets. Nick and Christian sat in tense silence, their eyes fixed on the entrance of the Green Vault. Finally, they spotted Arthur leaving the bar. The bartender had changed out of his work uniform, though he still wore the same black pants. He'd donned a sweatshirt, its yellow hood emblazoned with the image of a sleek sports car. As Arthur set off down the street, the detectives quietly exited their vehicle and followed at a discreet distance.
"Arthur, wait up," Nick called out as they drew closer. "We need to talk."
Arthur froze mid-step, then slowly turned to face them. His nervousness was palpable, his voice shaky as he spoke. "What do you want? I've already told you, I don't know anything."
"You see, Arthur," Christian said, his gaze steady and penetrating, "the problem is, we don't believe you."
Arthur's fingers on his left hand intertwined anxiously, and he began to rub his nose with his right, his eyes fixed on his shoes. Nick decided to change tactics, his tone becoming more friendly and approachable.
"Look, Arthur, I can see you're not a bad person," Nick said gently. "Please, just tell us what you saw that evening. Whatever it is, it's important."
Arthur's face contorted, the internal struggle visible in his features. It was clear his conscience was troubling him, and he seemed to be on the verge of deciding that coming clean was the right thing to do. When he finally spoke, his words came out haltingly, his lips tight with stress, slightly distorting his speech.
"Okay… yes, I saw that girl that evening," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "She was sitting at the bar with a guy. He was drinking alcohol, and she… I think she was drinking juice, but I can't remember exactly. They argued for a long time, and then they had a fight. After that, the girl left crying. The guy left almost immediately after her." Arthur paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "When I heard on the news that she'd been found dead, I got scared. And today, when I saw you in the bar, I knew right away why you'd come."
Nick and Christian exchanged a significant look. They believed Arthur's story, but now they needed to convince him to give an official statement.
"Arthur, can you describe this guy?" Nick asked, his voice calm but urgent. "We need to go to the station and create a composite sketch. This man could be the killer we're looking for."
"Yes, I'll help," Arthur agreed, his voice trembling but determined.
They made their way to Nick's police car and, within half an hour, were seated in the station's interview room, working with a sketch artist to bring Arthur's memory to life. Two hours passed as they painstakingly pieced together the suspect's features. When they finished, Nick stared intently at the composite sketch: a man in his mid to late thirties, with a distinctive zigzag-shaped scar on his cheek, light shoulder-length hair, thick eyebrows, and narrow eyes set in an oval face with sunken cheekbones.
After thanking Arthur for his cooperation and seeing him safely home, Nick called Christian over to examine the sketch.
"Does he look familiar to you?" Nick asked, a hint of recognition sparking in his own mind.
A grin spread across Christian's face as he leaned in, his hand resting on the back of Nick's chair. "Without a doubt, that's Bradley Force!"
Information from the suspect's file:
Bradley Force, known in some circles by the nickname "Fox." Thirty-six years old, born and raised in Austin. His record shows a pattern of delinquent behavior stretching back to his adolescence, with multiple incidents of hooliganism and petty theft, often in the company of his friend Steven Cooper. Bradley's childhood was marked by instability; he entered the foster care system at age twelve and, despite being adopted, never quite settled into the role of the dutiful son. His biological parents had their rights terminated, and Bradley reportedly never saw them again after entering foster care. As an adult, Bradley has led a dissolute lifestyle, with no record of steady employment.
Steven Cooper – Bradley Force's closest associate and lifelong friend. They were classmates throughout their school years. Unlike Bradley, Steven had a relatively stable childhood and was known as an obedient child until he fell in with Bradley in their teens. Steven's personality is notably submissive; he tends to follow Bradley's lead in most situations. Born in St. Paul, he moved to Austin with his parents at the age of seven. Physically, he's described as heavyset, with prominent upper front teeth, curly dark hair, and light-colored eyes. He stands at medium height, roughly the same as Bradley.
A crucial detail suddenly clicked into place for Nick and Christian: Bradley and Steven had been classmates of the murdered Rose Saltano.
"Christian, you're right on the money – it's definitely Bradley Force," Nick said, his voice tight with the urgency of their breakthrough. He began shutting down his computer and reaching for his jacket.