A Thin Dark Line

"How much have you had to drink, Mr. Bichon?"

"Why? Is there now some law against a man drowning his sorrows in the privacy of his own office?"

"No, sir," A

He raked a hand through his brown hair, mussing it, and propped a shoulder on the door frame. The smile he flashed her seemed thin and forced. He looked tired, physically, spiritually. Sad, A

"Are you always so straightforward, Detective?" he asked. "Whatever happened to those coy games women learned while under their mothers' white-gloved tutelage?"

"It's Deputy," A

Do

A gooseneck lamp was the only light on in his office, glowing gold on the polished oak desk and giving the place an intimate feel. A bottle of Glenlivet single malt scotch sat on the blotter beside a coffee mug that declared Do

"Have you seen Josie this week?" A

Do

"Careful who you say that to, Mr. Bichon."

"That's right. Anything I say can and will be used against me. Well, I'm past caring at the moment. I miss my little girl."

He sipped at the scotch, stroked his fingertips over the printing on the mug. There was an air of surprise about him, as if he had never expected to face any difficulty in his life and what he was going through now was a rude and unwelcome shock. Things had come too easily for him, A

"Please have a seat so I can focus my eyes, Deputy. And please call me Do

A

If she was going to play detective, it was her role to draw him out from behind his public facade. Get him to relax, get him to talk, see what he might reveal. She could once again play off the adversarial positions Stokes and Fourcade had taken with him. She could be his friend.

"Okay, Do

"What isn't? I'm separated from my child. I'm being stalked by a psychopathic cop who I bailed out of jail. Now I've got Stokes coming in here asking me did I bash in Lindsay Faulkner's head-like I even thought anything could put a dent in it. Business is…" He let the statement trail off on a heavy sigh. "And Pam…"

Tears filled his eyes and he looked away. "This isn't what I wanted," he whispered.

"It's not working out for the best for anyone," A

"But that's got nothing to do with Pam," he declared. "It was that rapist."

A

"It's the talk of the town," Do

"Are you one of those people?"

"Hell, yes. Did I pull the trigger? Hell, no, and for once I've got half a dozen witnesses to back me up. I was here last night, working on the parade float."

"And the crew is off tonight?"

"It's finished. I'm celebrating." He lifted the bottle and raised his eyebrows. "Want to help me?"

"No thanks."

"That's the second time you've turned me down. If you're not careful, I'll get the feeling you don't like me."

"And then what?"

He shrugged and gri

"What about competition? Lindsay told me you were jealous of Detective Stokes spending time with Pam."

The grin flattened. He poured a little more scotch and took the mug with him as he unfolded his lanky body from the chair. "The guy's a jerk, that's all. He was supposed to be investigating. All he really wanted was to get in her pants."

"Do you think he ever succeeded?"

"Pam didn't sleep around."

"And how would it be any of your business if she had?"

"She was still my wife," he said, his expression tightening with suppressed anger.

"On paper."

"It wasn't over."

"Pam said it was."

"She was wrong," he insisted. "I loved her. I screwed up. I know I screwed up, but I loved her. We would have worked things out."

His determination amazed and u

"She still had my name. She still wore my ring, for Christ's sake." Tears welled in his eyes again and his hand trembled a little. "And she's out with that-"

He wasn't drunk enough to finish the sentence. He shook his head at the temptation, turned away from it.

"What do you mean-out with him?" A

"Lunch to discuss this aspect of the case. Di

"How do you know that?"

He blinked at her. "Because I-I know. I was there."

"Where?" A

Unless you were involved.

He didn't answer for a moment, didn't look at her. "You ask him," he said at last. "You ask him what he was doing. Ask him what he wanted. I can't believe he hasn't wanted the same thing from you." His gaze moved over her face. "Then again, maybe he has. Maybe you go for his type. What do I know?"

"His type?"

Sipping at his scotch, he moved away.

"Did you ever confront him about his interest in Pam?" A

"He said if I had a problem with him, I should take it to the sheriff, but that I'd look like a jackass 'cause Pam sure as hell wasn't complaining."