“What about that Spencer who confessed?” Dad says, not because he didn’t already know about Spencer, but just to encourage the conversation. It’s one of the reasons the others like him, because he’s willing to play right field. Ken, another beat cop like Dad, doesn’t even leave the bench but sits silently sucking down beer after beer. Maybe the main reason he comes is for the beer.

Mitch says, “He was already discredited by the sheriff.” He taps his cigarette in his ashtray with a hard tap that shows what he thinks of Spencer. Then he says, “A path-o-logical liar, made up everything. Buncha shit. Sorry, baby.” He says that to me because I giggle at the word “shit.”

I have gotten their attention with a giggle, so I giggle again to get more. I pull on the sleeve of Dad’s white undershirt. I ask, “Who’re the Walkers?”

Dad says, “A family of four that was murdered near Sarasota. That’s on the other side of our own state.” He has never held anything back, or treated me like a little girl. But then he does. “It’s like it’s … right … next … door.” Then he tickles me. It feels more like a thumb punch in my rib than anything nice, but I giggle again even though it makes me jump.

Rory gets up and helps himself to a cold beer from the fridge. Dad passes him the bottle opener and he pops off the top into a separate little pile on the table. Rory says, “We all know who we’re looking at for this one. Whoever killed the Clutters.”

“Are they liking anyone yet for the Clutter murders?” Dad asks.

“Two guys,” Rory answers with a scoff. “You don’t know this already?”

If Dad wasn’t on his fifth beer he might have taken offense at that. Now, not so much. He only shrugs.

Rory goes on. “Couple of parolees, Dick Hickock and Perry Smith. Some prison snitch came forward and told the FBI he had worked for Clutter. Snitch said that he told Hickock there was a safe with ten thousand dollars at the house. The FBI is looking for them all over the country. They’ll find them, all right, but it’s a crying shame they couldn’t move faster. The Walkers could have been saved.”

The rest of the men shake their heads and tsk. Damn that good-for-nothing FBI.

“It’s a killing spree,” Rory adds after downing half the bottle in one go before sitting down. He takes another bottle out of the fridge so he doesn’t have to get up again so soon. “With the Walkers you got the husband and wife shot. You got the two kids shot, a three-year-old and the littlest one drowned in the bathtub. What kind of a bastard has to shoot a one-year-old and then not leave her alone, but drown her in the bathtub? Jesus H. Christ.”