“It’s fine, Pat.” Conor led the way down a short hall. Ahead was the kitchen; on the left, the restrooms. He turned right into a small office and took his place behind the scarred oak desk that had belonged to his father. The old wooden chair squeaked. The seat was hard and uncomfortable, but neither Conor nor Pat would ever replace it. Dad had been gone eighteen years, but if Conor closed his eyes, he could still smell the faint hint of cherry pipe tobacco. The detectives followed him in. Jackson took the plastic chair next to the desk. Ianelli leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his gut.

“We’re looking for a young woman.” Jackson pulled a photo from the chest pocket of his jacket and handed it to Conor. It was a snapshot of Zoe. “Have you seen her?”

“Yes. Her name is Zoe. She was in the bar last night. Her boyfriend got drunk and started pushing her around. I had to bounce him.”

“What did Zoe do?”

“She couldn’t get ahold of her roommate for a ride, so I drove her down to the subway station.” Conor paused, still kicking himself for not taking her all the way home. “It was late. I didn’t want her to walk alone.”

Jackson took notes. “Which station did you drop her at?”

“Pattison Ave.”

“She didn’t indicate that she was going anywhere else?”

Conor thought back, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. She said she was going home.”

“I assume you have surveillance cameras in the barroom?”

“We do.”

“Could we have a copy of last night’s tape?”

“Of course,” Conor said. “I can have that for you in about an hour.”

“I’ll send someone over to pick it up.” Jackson stood. “Thanks for your help.”

The cops left, and Conor went back to the bar.

Pat popped the tops off two bottles of Heineken and served them to a couple of guys on the other side of the bar. Turning to Conor, he wiped his hands on his black apron. “Want to tell me what that was all about?”

“It’s a long story.” Conor filled him in.

Pat frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No. It doesn’t.” The police interview had been quick and painless, but Conor had a nagging feeling in his gut that they’d be back.

“Your curator is hot, though. So the day wasn’t a total loss.”

“She’s not my curator.”

Pat shrugged. Under the concern, a spark of humor glinted in his eyes. “If you say so.”