Hastily, before the moistness in his eyes could develop into a deluge, the lieutenant asked, “How late did you stay?”
He seemed to focus with an effort. “I don’t know. Until about one? Then Steve and I went back to our place and crashed.”
“Steve?”
“My roommate? Steve Bacon? He works lifts, too.”
“I see.”
Trina could read her mind. Why the hell hadn’t anybody mentioned that Doug Jennings had a roommate?
“Is Mr. Bacon here at the ski area today?”
“Sure!” He started to surge to his feet, then checked himself and sank back in the chair. “I think he’s working Outback today.”
The lieutenant abruptly stood. “Just one moment.”
She slipped out, returning quickly. “All right, Mr. Jennings. A couple more questions. Was Ms. Owen dating other men?”
“Flirting sometimes. Maybe just to make me jealous.” Even he didn’t believe himself.
“Did she mention anyone making her nervous? Following her, bugging her for a date?”
“Nothing like that.” He shook his head and pleaded, “Why Amy? Everybody liked Amy.”
Voice gentle, Meg Patton said, “The chances are that she was chosen randomly, simply because she happened to be alone at the wrong moment.”
His face worked. He cleared his throat. “Are you, uh, done with me?”
“Yes. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Jennings.”
Face still contorted, he nodded, shoved the chair back and blundered from the room.
The two officers sat in silence for a moment. “What did you think?” the lieutenant asked.
“My impression is, he’s sincere. Also not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
“No kidding.” Lieutenant Patton let out a gusty sigh. “I’m liking the feel of this less and less.”
Trina knew what she meant. A murder committed by a spurned ex-husband was one thing; a brutal, sexually motivated murder by a stranger choosing a victim only because she was available and fit a vague “type” was another altogether.
After a moment, Trina asked, “Did you send for the roommate?”
Still brooding, the lieutenant nodded. “Let’s squeeze him in before we talk to Travis. We might as well accomplish as much as we can while we’re here.”
Steve Bacon arrived a minute later, dark-haired, at least, but otherwise fitting the mold: blue eyes sapphire-bright against that glowing tan skiers all seemed to have. Cold air and an aura of energy entered the conference room with him. His glance took in Trina, dismissed her in an all-too-familiar way and turned to Lieutenant Patton.
Irritated, Trina said too loudly, “We understand the area was open for night skiing on Wednesday.”
She felt the flick of the lieutenant’s gaze. Nonetheless, Meg Patton stayed quiet.
As if she were an idiot, Steve Bacon said, “Yeah, sure. It always is.”
“And did you work?”
“Yeah. I ran the Gold Coast lift.”
“Did you carpool up here that day?”
She must have sounded too bellicose.
He balked. “Is this about Amy’s murder? Why are you asking me questions?”
“Can you just answer the question, please.”
“I rode with Doug. Doug Jennings. We take turns when we’re working the same shift.”
“And you did that night.”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“What did you do after the lifts shut down?”
He told the same story Doug had. He was more certain about the time, because he’d glanced at the clock when they walked in their apartment. “We got home at 1:45. Then we sat around and bull-shitted for a while. I don’t know. Maybe an hour. Neither of us had to be at work until one.”
After letting him go, the lieutenant said, “So much for the ex-husband.”
“It didn’t look like a murder committed by an ex-husband.”
Meg rubbed the back of her neck. “No,” she said, voice weary. “No, it didn’t.” Her eyes were sharp when she looked at Trina. “You didn’t like him.”
Trina hunched her shoulders, a bad habit when she felt defensive, one she was trying to overcome. “No. I guess I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“He just seemed like a jerk.”
“In a way relevant to this case?”
“Uh…no.”
“Was coming on that strong justified, then?”
Trina looked back at her, face as expressionless as she could make it. “No, ma’am.”
Voice milder than Trina expected, the lieutenant said, “On the job, keep your personal feelings to yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Trina repeated woodenly.
“I didn’t like him, either. Ah.” Lieutenant Patton tilted her head. “Possibly Travis?”
Sure enough, Trish escorted in yet another handsome man with that unmistakable air of vitality and athleticism. He had changed from high school as much as Will Patton had. Adolescent cockiness had become masculine confidence. But something on his lean face hinted at pain and regret.
Both were obliterated by his grin. “Hey, Will’s mom.”
Smiling, the lieutenant stood. “Travis. It’s good to see you. Congratulations on the Frye Museum showing.”
“Thanks. It felt good. I guess I’m not just a local boy anymore.”
Frye Museum?
“We’d like to ask you some questions having to do with Amy Owen’s murder,” the lieutenant continued. “I understand you’d stayed closer friends with her than Will had.”
“Sure, no problem. Hey, Trish,” he called over his shoulder. “Can I get a cup of that coffee?”
He dragged out a chair and turned it so that he was straddling it, arms crossed on the back. He studied Trina. “I know you, don’t I?”
“I was two
