“I’m going to get you a drink,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded but looked terrified. I brought the whiskey from the kitchen and poured it in glasses. I handed her one. I lit a cigarette and gave it to her.

“What’d you do? After you left?” I said.

“Finished off the coke,” she said. “Drove around.”

“I called you like ten times. I didn’t have a ride home.”

“My phone died. I was pretty fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”

“The cops,” she said. “What happened?”

“They said he OD’d. They asked a ton of questions.”

“What’d you tell them?” she said. I’d never seen her look so anxious and vulnerable.

“Just that we went by there to check on him.”

“You mentioned me?” Her voice rose in pitch. “Why did you do that?”

“You don’t have to worry, Audrey. They’re saying Brandon killed Danielle.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Audrey, listen to me. Brandon did it, then killed himself. The cops won’t bother you about anything now.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Ash told me.”

“And you believe him,” she said. “You think Brandon killed her?”

“The cops do. I didn’t know him that well.”

And now, I thought, I never would. I’d liked Brandon, I genuinely had. But what did I know about anything? I wasn’t a cop, I wasn’t even close to Danielle, not anymore. I’d never seen her and Brandon together, didn’t know what they were like. There were plenty of reasons to think he was guilty.

“When did you last talk to him?” I said.

“I went over there a few days ago. A day or two after the funeral. It seems like so long ago.”

“I wonder if he was already planning it then.”

“What? Killing himself? He didn’t say anything like that. He was crying. We talked about Danielle.”

“You really don’t think he could have killed her?”

“I don’t trust cops,” she said. “He was my friend.”

Her voice fell apart at the last few words. She was shaking. She looked so frightened and confused. As much as I wanted it to all be over, I kind of agreed with Audrey. It was too hard to imagine Brandon killing Danielle. Suicide I could believe, but not murder. Not like that.

“Audrey,” I said. “I’m sorry, we can talk about something else.”

“Let’s go somewhere,” she said.

“Okay.”

We took my car and traveled east along the bayou, a black emptiness that smelled like soggy garbage. We rolled down the windows and I listened to the air change pitch at each tree we passed. She loaded her pipe and handed it to me, and we smoked. Audrey seemed calmer, now that we were moving.

I followed her directions, steering the car through streets I didn’t recognize until we came to a corrugated metal building with a neon Lone Star sign in the window. Inside were two pool tables, a bar, and some scattered mismatched chairs. It was muggy and smelled like stale beer and piss. Audrey engaged a squirrelly guy in whispered conversation and went with him into the men’s room. I ordered Jack Daniel’s, which managed to taste both watered down and too bitter. After a couple of minutes the guy walked out of the bathroom and Audrey waved me over. I took my drink in with me and she locked the door.