Midnight Crossroad

17

Arthur Smith had found Bobo sitting in his favorite chair, but Bobo was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands covering his eyes. When he lowered them, he looked exhausted.

“The gun we found down by the river,” the sheriff had said.

Bobo had nodded.

“Came from this pawnshop, according to our records.”

Every gun coming into the shop was entered on the computer and law enforcement had access to all such reports.

Bobo had nodded again.

The sheriff waited for more explanation, more reaction, more anything. But Bobo had only said, “I didn’t kill her.”

“There aren’t any prints on the gun,” Smith told him, with no inflection in his voice. “We’re waiting for the medical examiner’s final report on the cause of death. I’ll be back. But you know, Mr. Winthrop, it doesn’t look good for you if the medical examiner’s report shows Mrs. Lowry died of a gunshot.”

“Yeah,” Bobo said. “My ass will be toast.”

“I’ve checked into Buffalo and Eagle’s allegations.” Smith took a step closer. “At least five members of this group have told me that two Men of Liberty, Seth Mecklinberg and Curtis Logan, came over here to talk to you. They were very vague about what these two gentlemen had to say to you, or why they came from Lubbock instead of the Marthasville branch of MOL. My guess would be so you couldn’t recognize them, as you might recognize someone from Marthasville.”

“I did not do anything to those men, and I don’t know why they’d think I did,” Bobo said. “I have no idea what happened to them.”

“Since no one has filed a missing-person report on them, they’re not part of our investigation at the moment,” Smith said. “But if they really are missing and we find someone to say they saw those two men in this area, you know this is going to get much worse for you.”

“I understand,” said Bobo. He stood up. He was several inches taller than the sheriff, but at the moment he felt that Arthur Smith was the larger man.