Page 35 of Backtrack

“What do you mean,my friend, Millner? I barely know the guy.”

“Come on, Ms. Blaisdell,” Cutter said. “You visited Vincent Millner at least a dozen times while he was in prison. Lovelady is what, two hundred miles from Fort Worth. That’s a heck of a drive for someone you barely know.”

Blaisdell eyed Cutter while she took a long drag of her cigarette, then leaned back against the bar and blew a jet of smoke toward the ceiling. “Okay,” she said. “I knew Vince. So what? Was he involved in the armored car deal?”

“He was,” Cutter said.

“I mean, aren’t you supposed to sayallegedly involved?”

“We’re positive,” Cutter said.

“Damn,” Blaisdell said. She took a long drag from her cigarette. “The thing about Millner is that he’s always on the verge of hitting it big. Doesn’t happen very often, but when that guy has money, it’s real money. Know what I mean? We never really broke up, officially, I just moved on while he was in the joint. He came by here after that, but we were never an item when he got out. I do know one thing, though. He won’t go back to prison. He made that very clear.”

“Who else?” Cutter asked.

“Who else?”

“Who else did Millner or Watts associate with when they were here?”

“Hang on now, hon,” Blaisdell said. “Let me ask you something. Is there any money in this? I mean, I’m not a fool.” She swirled her glowing gin and tonic, tinkling the ice. “TheStar-Telegramsays the robbers made off with stolen diamonds. That’s some sexy loot for Parker County crimefighters right there.”

Johnson’s face fell. “We’re trying to catch some killers here, ma’am,” he said.

She wagged her head, mocking him. “And I’m trying to make a living here, kid.”

Cutter had learned a long time ago not to expect much from people. That way they didn’t let him down.

Johnson barely concealed a sneer. “Did the newspaper mention the robbers blew the heads off the armored car personnel, including your friend Curtis Watts?”

“To tell you the truth, I skimmed the article,” Gloria said. If she was bothered by the young deputy’s disapproval, she didn’t show it. “Surely y’all are offering some kind of reward if I tell you where to look for Millner.”

“We know exactly where to find Vincent Millner,” Johnson said. “He’s not the problem.”

“Gotcha.” She looked at Cutter, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together. “But you do want information. How about it?”

“The armored car company’s offering a reward for information that leads to the location of the diamonds.”

“Well, okay, then,” she said. “Just make sure I’m named in your report.”

“You can count on that,” Cutter said.

“Vince came here a lot after he got out of prison,” Blaisdell said. “The last few months he was always with the Man Cub.” She gave a wolf whistle and raised her eyebrows up and down. “The kid has a body like Clint Walker and a face like Wally Cleaver.”

“What’s his name?” Cutter asked. “This Man Cub?”

“He never said.” Blaisdell stubbed out her cigarette in a glass ashtray and tossed back the last of her gin and tonic. She flicked her bright red nails at the bartender, gesturing toward the empty glass. Jorge the bartender, a peevish man who spent as much time pushing his eyeglasses back up his nose as he did pouring drinks, scribbled a note in a ledger beside his till and then made her another gin and tonic. No free booze for the help.

“We only ever called him Man Cub,” she continued. “To tell you the truth, he mostly kept to himself—no matter how much the girls and I tried to chat him up. He was different from the others. Fresh.” She gave a leering nod at Johnson. “Like this one. You know what I mean?”

“Think you could describe him to a sketch artist?”

“The Man Cub?” Gloria said. “Absolutely. You’re thinking he helped Vince rob that armored car?”

“Too early to know,” Cutter said. “Mind if I borrow your phone?” He half expected the squinty bartender to charge him, or, at the very least, make a mark in his ledger for the call. Of course this Man Cub was involved. He was hanging out with Watts and Millner at the same strip club. Cutter didn’t believe in coincidence. For all he knew, Gloria Blaisdell was part of the conspiracy. He’d work that part out later.

Sheriff’s Deputy Brian Wright was a passable sketch artist, but he was out of state visiting his wife’s family. Cutter called Weatherford PD Dispatch instead. Two minutes later, he hung up and turned to Johnson.

“Horton Granger with the city is on his way to do a sketch. Should be here within the hour.”