Tracks of Her Tears by Melinda Leigh Read Free Book Online Page A

his midfifties, he looked like an aging biker. A tattoo of a tarantula decorated one side of his bald head, and beefy biceps bulged under a tight, long-sleeved T-shirt with the Rolling Stones logo on the front.
    “Good afternoon, Detective Harding.” Bob set the roll of gray tape on the table. “I haven’t seen you in long time. I heard you were serving on some special task force. Does this mean you’re back?”
    “It does,” Seth said. “Do you know why I’m here?”
    Bob didn’t offer a hand. He eyed Phil’s uniform. “I guess you’re here about the girl.”
    Seth should have known news of Amber Lynn’s murder would have gotten out. Word traveled faster than the speed of light in Solitude.
    “I’d like to ask you a few questions about last night,” Seth began.
    “Sure. As long as I can work while we talk. I’m shorthanded.” Bob moved behind the bar. “I really can’t tell you much.”
    “Mind if I use the restroom?” Phil asked.
    Shaking his head, Bob gestured toward the back of the bar, where a hallway was marked with restroom signs. Phil headed toward the men’s room.
    “The band played here last night?” Seth asked.
    Bob nodded. “Yeah. They started at eight and finished up around eleven thirty. They were gone by midnight.”
    “Who’s your contact in the band?”
    “Bruce Taylor. He’s related to you, right?” Bob sprayed wood polish on the bar and rubbed. The scuffed bar didn’t look any cleaner as he moved from section to section. Years of nastiness pitted the wood.
    Seth didn’t respond to the question. “Do they play here often?”
    “Once or twice a month.” Bob shrugged.
    “Do they always bring a girl?”
    Bob finished the bar surface, replaced the spray can under the bar, and produced a bottle of glass cleaner. “No, usually Bruce sings.”
    “Have you heard from him today?” Seth asked.
    Bob sprayed the mirror behind the bar. “No. I paid him last night. No reason for him to come around today. I won’t see him again for a couple of weeks.”
    “How well do you know the rest of the band members?”
    “There’s a bass player and a drummer. The drummer calls himself Psych.” Bob rolled his eyes. “The bass player has a my-daddy’s-a-lawyer name, starts with an S . Spencer. I don’t remember the girl’s name.”
    “Did the band all leave together?” Seth asked.
    “I’m not sure. The bar wasn’t that busy. I was in my office.” Bob shrugged. “But the girl came with Bruce, so I assume they left together.”
    “Did you notice anyone hanging around the girl?”
    Bob shrugged. “She was a pretty thing. Of course she attracted attention.”
    “I’d like to have the surveillance videos from last night.”
    “Okay. Give me an hour or so.” No doubt Bob wanted to skim through the videos to make sure nothing illegal had been recorded. Hell, he might have already done that. As soon as he heard about the body, he would have known the police would come for the tapes.
    Seth leaned on the bar. “Can you do it right now?”
    Bob moved three feet down the bar and went to work on a glass shelf. “You in a rush?”
    “Yes.” Seth cut to the chase. He didn’t have time for Bob’s bullshit. “Bruce is missing.”
    “What?” Bob looked up from working his rag on a sticky spot.
    “No one has seen Bruce since last night,” Seth said.
    Bob’s arm froze midswipe. “Seriously?”
    Seth wasn’t fooled by the innocent look on Bob’s face. He could lie straight-faced to Mother Teresa.
    “Yes.” Seth stood. “Could we have the videos?”
    Bob didn’t want to hand them over. Seth could see the reluctance in his face.
    “I’d hate to have to put this place under 24-7 surveillance . . .” Seth said with a feral smile.
    “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll get them for you right now.” Bob turned toward the back room.
    “I’ll also need a list of employees that were working last night,” Seth called after him.
    Phil came back. They waited ten minutes. When Bob returned,