Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [110]
“What can I get for you, pretty lady?” the bartender said, putting a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of her.
“Whatever you have on tap is fine.” Claire didn’t particularly like draft beer, but fitting in was important when you were looking for information.
There was an older couple sitting at a table near the bar, and the only other woman was two stools over from Claire. She leaned over. “Hi, I’m Lora. Who are you?”
The woman had a bright appearance and subtle manner that told Claire she might be developmentally disabled. She was very pretty even though she wore too much makeup.
“Hi, Lora. Claire.” She smiled.
The bartender put the beer in front of Claire. She sipped. Smiled. Ugh. She’d been spoiled after drinking Guinness for so long. “I’m looking for Tip Barney.”
The bartender crossed his arms and leaned against the back bar. “That’s me.”
Claire didn’t know what she was expecting, but he looked much younger than she thought he would. By the looks of it, he’d have been in his twenties when he’d owned Tip’s Blarney. Not impossible, she supposed, but odd enough that she made a mental note to check into the history of the previous bar.
“Popular guy today,” one of the guys at the end of the bar said.
Tip smiled and shook his head. “Ignore them. What can I help you with?”
She’d already decided that honesty would work best with Frank Lowe’s old boss.
“My name is Claire O’Brien.” She took a sip of beer. “I work for Rogan-Caruso Protective Services, and I have some questions about one of your employees.”
He knew exactly who she was. She saw the recognition in his eyes when she said her name.
“I don’t have any employees.”
“Frank Lowe. He died in a fire in your bar fifteen years ago.”
“Frank.” He nodded. “Poor Frank.”
“You’ve never talked about him,” one of the guys at the bar said. Claire wished she could have this conversation in private.
“He was a good guy. A friend, though he had some problems. A couple arrests, petty theft mostly, but I told him if it happened again I’d have to let him go.” Tip shook his head and reached for a half-empty water bottle on the back of the bar, took a long swallow. “It was a tragedy, really. The police thought that some gangbangers burned down the bar for fun, not knowing Frank lived upstairs. It was an old building, burned down quick.”
“That’s sad.” Lora had moved to the stool next to Claire, elbows on the bar and chin in her hands.
“What do you want to know about Frank?” Tip asked her.
“Fifteen years ago, my father was convicted of killing two people. You probably remember it, if not then, perhaps because it was all over the news after the San Quentin earthquake.”
“Of course I’ve heard of it.”
“Hey,” Sanderson said, “O’Brien. Isn’t he the guy Channel 3 did that report on a couple months ago? That he was capturing the other prisoners? I remember that. He’d been a cop, right?”
Claire nodded. She needed to get the conversation back to Frank. “As a favor to me, Rogan-Caruso is looking into the conviction.” She had no qualms about lying on this point. Rogan-Caruso’s reputation was such that everyone would take their involvement seriously, which gave everything she said credibility. In addition, if Tip Barney—or anyone else in this bar—had killed Oliver, they would think twice about attacking her if they believed that Rogan-Caruso had the same information she had.
She continued, “When Oliver Maddox turned up dead, I approached my boss and asked if he would look into what happened. I never believed Oliver when he told me my father was innocent and he felt he could prove it. But with Oliver being murdered, it looks like he was right.”
“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me or Frank.”
“Rogan-Caruso uncovered information about Chase Taverton, the prosecutor who was murdered, that leads us to believe that he had a plea agreement with Frank Lowe regarding a capital offense that Mr. Lowe could testify