BooksBarbecue
Back We Were Killers Once
Chapters (65)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty–one
  25. Twenty–two
  26. Twenty–three
  27. Twenty–four
  28. Twenty–five
  29. Twenty–six
  30. Twenty–seven
  31. Twenty–eight
  32. Twenty–nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty–one
  35. Thirty–two
  36. Thirty–three
  37. Thirty–four
  38. Thirty–five
  39. Thirty–six
  40. Thirty–seven
  41. Thirty–eight
  42. Thirty–nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty–one
  45. Forty–two
  46. Forty–three
  47. Forty–four
  48. Forty–five
  49. Forty–six
  50. Forty–seven
  51. Forty–eight
  52. Forty–nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty–one
  55. Fifty–two
  56. Fifty–three
  57. Fifty–four
  58. Fifty–five
  59. Fifty–six
  60. Fifty–seven
  61. Author’s Note
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. Also by Becky Masterman
  64. About the Author
  65. Newsletter Sign-up

“Richard Hickock and Perry Smith,” Meadows said. But you could tell he wasn’t as interested in the Clutters. He was beginning to get bored and changed the subject back. “The Walkers? I’m on a cold case squad in this county, and I just reopened the case.”

“No. Really? You’re a detective?” Beaufort said, with that combination of slyness and squirming excitement a person exhibits when they meet a celebrity. He drew his hand across his mouth like meeting Meadows had made him salivate. “Can I buy you a drink? Sir,” he said to the bartender, “another of whatever…” Beaufort looked expectant, and the man supplied his name.

“Ian Meadows.”

“Whatever Detective Meadows is drinking,” Beaufort said. “And another Bud for me.”

Detective Meadows waved a dismissive hand, but you could tell he was suitably charmed by the reaction, enough to ignore the fact that Beaufort had not supplied his name in turn. It might have also been that he had been bored to an anesthetic state by all Beaufort’s chatter, and was relieved to be able to do a little talking himself, and about a topic that no one else cared to hear anymore.

Beaufort asked, “So why are you so interested in the Walker case? You’re a damn sight younger than me. Doesn’t seem like you’re old enough to even be born when it happened.”

“That’s what they say back at the station. I get ribbed all the time, how I’m looking for a dead man. They tell me the murderer must be in his eighties or nineties now if he’s even alive. I dunno. Why are people still interested in Jack the Ripper? Why do they still talk about the Black Dahlia here in the States? The Walker killing happened near here, so we all grew up knowing about the family where they never found the killer. Just like you. Plus there’s this possibility of DNA profiling that has opened up all kinds of cold cases.”

Beaufort felt his breathing quicken at the mention of DNA and even with the beer had to concentrate on keeping his chest from rising and falling with his alarm. He decided to change the subject until he could get better control of himself. “They kind of have a point, you keep investigating even after the killer is dead.”

“What makes you think so?” Meadows asked.

“I don’t know, I just figure all this time. Like your friends say.”

Meadows nodded and took a drink. “But there’s the DNA.”

Beaufort shook his head slowly in amazement, better able to talk about it now. “That DNA business. That’s really something, isn’t it? What did you have to test? And hey, am I keeping you from something?”