Leaning against the bar as if he owns the place, he watches Pickles and me approach with the amusement of a parent watching a toddler take his first steps.

“Drew Krause?” I ask.

“Chief Burkholder.” He turns his gaze to Pickles. “Officer Shumaker. What a pleasant surprise.”

“I bet.” I show him my badge.

“What’d I do now?”

“We’d like to talk to you.”

Smiling disarmingly, he taps an index finger against the T-shirt. “Can’t you guys read?”

I invade his space, letting him know we’re serious. “We can do this here or I can embarrass you in front of all your buddies by cuffing you and hauling you down to the station.”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not easily embarrassed.”

I pull the cuffs from my belt. “Neither am I.”

“Hey. Come on.” Smiling, he raises his hands. “I’m just kidding around.”

“Here’s a newsflash for you, slick,” Pickles says. “We’re not amused.”

“I’m getting that.” Sobering, he looks from me to Pickles and back to me. “What can I do for you?”

“Where were you last night?” I begin.

He assesses me, a wily teenager poking fun at his clueless, overbearing parents. The bartender moves to within earshot, picking up a glass I know is already dry, and running his dingy towel over it.

“I was here,” Drew replies.

“Can someone substantiate that?”

He looks at the bartender. “Hey, Jimmy. Where was I last night?”

The man behind the bar, rail thin and sporting a goatee that’s going gray, concentrates on his glass. “You were here, running your mouth and your tab, as usual.”

I give Jimmy a hard look, wishing I’d gotten Drew outside where we could be alone with him. Get him out of his element. Away from all his fair-weather friends. If he’s the man with the drugs, there’s no doubt his regulars would lie, cheat or steal to maintain a steady flow.

I glance at Pickles, lower my voice. “Go talk to the skinny shit behind the bar. I’ll take Mr. I-didn’t-do-it.”

Reaching over a row of shot glasses lined up on the counter, Pickles snags the barkeep’s shirt. “C’mere, slick.”

I turn my attention back to Krause. “What time were you here?”

“Till closing.”

“Were you alone?”

“Just me and about fifty of my closest friends.” He makes a sweeping motion that encompasses everyone in the bar.

“Can anyone else vouch for you?” I pull out my notebook. “I want names.”

His eyes narrow. “Usually I know why you guys are fuckin’ with me. This time, I don’t have a clue.” He grins. “Whatever you’re pissed about, I really didn’t do it.”

Grinding my teeth, I try not to think about the Plank family, their bodies slowly decomposing atop the stainless-steel gurneys at the morgue. “Names. Now.”