Part 22 (1/2)

'No?'

'No, Glory was playing games. She wasn't serious.'

'If my girlfriend was grabbing c.o.c.ks under the water, I think I'd be pretty mad,' Cab said.

Troy's face reddened. 'She didn't do that!'

'We talked to a girl who said you were so mad you were ready to go off like a bomb.'

'I was just - that's not what happened. I told you, Glory had been acting weird all day. I was frustrated. It was our last day, and she was ruining it.'

'So you left her at the pool with the boys.'

'She wasn't doing anything crazy. She was just being Glory. I was mad at first, but I calmed down.'

'Did you go straight back to the hotel room?'

Troy nodded. 'I watched a movie. I already told you that.'

'Then what happened?'

'I fell asleep. That's it. I got up when Tresa woke me in the morning and said Glory wasn't in the room.'

'What did you think?' Cab asked. 'Did you think she was with another boy? Did you think she'd spent the night with someone?'

'No!'

'Are you sure you didn't wake up overnight and realize Glory was gone?'

Troy shook his head fiercely. 'I didn't.'

'Would you have gone to look for her?'

'I don't know. Maybe. I don't know. That's not what happened.'

'What if you saw her on the beach with Mark Bradley? That would have made you mad, wouldn't it? Particularly if you saw them kissing.'

Troy crumpled the collar of his T-s.h.i.+rt in his fist. 'Glory wouldn't let him touch her.'

'But what if she did? What if you saw her?'

'I didn't! You're trying to make it out like I killed her, and I would never hurt her, never.'

'I hear you, Troy. I do. You can help us prove it.'

'How?'

'Someone from the sheriff's office is going to pay you a little visit and stick a cotton swab in your mouth.'

'What? Why?'

'To get a DNA sample to match against Glory's fingernails. We think she scratched the person who killed her.'

Troy's eyes widened. 'Yeah, but she was my girlfriend. I don't know, what if she scratched me accidentally that day?'

'Did she?'

'I don't think so, but I don't know. I don't remember.'

'Give us a sample. We'll check it and see.'

He hesitated. 'Yeah, I guess. But it doesn't mean-'

'Troy!'

Cab heard a shrill voice from the side door of the bar, which hung open. Delia Fischer stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Her face was worn, with suspicion etched in her bloodshot eyes. She shouted again. 'Troy, your dad wants to know where the h.e.l.l you are.'

'I have to go,' Troy said.

'Sure.'

Troy looked relieved to have an escape. He jogged for the bar and squeezed past Delia, who stepped outside and closed the door behind her. She waited for Cab. Her bottle-blond hair hung limply at her shoulders. She wore a roomy polo s.h.i.+rt with the bar's logo on her breast and an ap.r.o.n tied round black jeans. She looked like a woman who had shrunk over the years and was growing smaller.

'How are you, Mrs Fischer?' Cab asked.

'How do you think I am?'

'I'm sorry, I know how hard this must be.'

'What do you want, Detective? What are you doing here?'

'I'm doing everything I can to find out what happened to Glory,' he told her.

Delia's hands were damp, and she dried them on the ap.r.o.n. 'Why were you talking to Troy?'

'I just had some more questions for him.'

'What kind of questions?'

Cab shrugged. 'It's routine.'

'The person you should be talking to is Mark Bradley,' she snapped.

'Mr Bradley isn't talking.' He added, 'It looks like people around here are trying to take matters into their own hands. Someone tried to kill him and his wife.'

'Am I supposed to feel bad about that?'