Four:

Looking For Clues

The next morning, Judy still hadn't called, and Lucy decided it would be a good idea for her and Emmet to go talk to the bartender.

"Why?" Emmet asked after Lucy had told him her plans.

Lucy shoved Emmet in the shoulder, causing him to flinch away from him. "Because, silly, he might have some clues," she said, rummaging around in one of her drawers. "Plus, it will give us something to do while we're waiting on Bad Cop to get better." Having found what she had been looking for, she stood up, and held up a pen and tablet of paper, smiling. "Come, on, let's go!"

Emmet snapped his fingers. "Of course!" he exclaimed, "Why didn't I think of that?"

Lucy pinched his arm, making him cry out. "Because that's why you got me around, remember?" She grinned at him, dragging him out of the room. "I'm the one who does all of the thinking." She gave a extra tug on his arm. "Come on."

Emmet groaned, still rubbing his sore shoulder. "How do I let you talk me into these things?" he asked.

Showing no sympathy for his bruised arm, she grabbed it, and steered him out the door.

Emmet, having little choice but to follow her, allowed her to guide him to the bar.

Once they were standing in front of the place, Emmet looked up at it, frowning. "I didn't know Bad Cop drunk," he said, a little disappointed in his friend.

"I didn't either," Lucy said, going into the bar. "I can't say I'm really all that surprise, though."

"Why?" Emmet asked.

"He's a cop," Lucy said, as if that explained everything. "Cop's drink. A lot. Most of them do, anyway. It comes with the job. They see a lot of bad stuff happen, everyday, and I guess the drinking helps them keep their mind off of it."

"Oh," Emmet said, unable to come up with anything else.

When they got into the bar, they found the bartender standing behind the table. He looked up when he saw them come in, sitting the pitcher he had been cleaning on the shelf behind him in order to turn and around and look at them. Lucy led Emmet straight to the bar.

"Hello," Rick said, smiling at them. "What can I get for you today?"

Smiling at the bartender, Lucy sat down in front of the bar, pulling Emmet down onto a seat next to her. "Nothing, sir, but thank you," she said, taking a pen and paper out of one her coat pockets. "We were just here to ask you about our friend." She leaned over the bar, and folded her arms across the table, steepling her fingers under her chin. "You might remember him. He was an old guy, a cop."

Rick froze, his face turning white. "Yeah, I remember him," he said, "Hard to forget a guy like that. He was acting all tough and talked no nonsense but I could tell he was hurting when he walked in. I could tell he had arthritis, though, even before he sat down. He was moving slow and stiff, like he had been standing outside too long and had gotten frozen solid, but I knew that couldn't have been the reason because my mom had arthritis, too, and I knew it when I saw it. "

Lucy looked worried. "What do you mean?" she asked. "What was wrong with him?" He wasn't hurt was he?"

Rick shook his head. "No, not like that," he said, sitting down behind the bar with a sigh. "He dropped the mug he had been holding and broke it. You don't have to worry about it, though. I cleaned it up without charging him."

Lucy let out a sigh of relief. "Well, that's one good thing that happened that day, at least," she said, shaking her head. "What did you guys talk about, anyway?"

Rick closed his eyes in deep thought. "Nothing much," he said, opening his eyes again. "He just talked about what a rough day he had been having, and after he dropped the mug I told him how my mother had arthritis. Then, I told him how much I appreciated what he was doing for us, because he looked like he needed to hear it from somebody, even if it had to be me, you know?"

Lucy nodded. "What kind of a rough day did he have?" she asked.

"He said he had been on a stake out all day, but everybody had made it out okay," Rick said. "He didn't admit it, and he didn't have to, because you could tell, but he was still pretty tired."

Lucy held her head down over her notebook, writing everything down. "What made you follow him outside?" she asked, and looked up, stilling her pen.

"I was worried about him," Rick said. "To be honest, I felt guilty for letting him have the beer, especially after he had told me had already drunk one too many, even though he hadn't had a lot. I felt responsible for him, and I knew if anything happened to him it would be by fault. "

Lucy frowned in puzzlement. "If he didn't want to drink, why did he come in here?" she asked, tapping her pen against her chin, and Emmet knew she was asking herself the question rather than Rick.

All of a sudden, Rick became flustered, appearing unnerved by the question. "I don't know," he said, trying to hide his by shrugging. "I think he just needed someone to talk to at the moment, and I happened to be the closest person there."

Lucy lowered her pen. "Maybe," she said, "Did you hear anything after you followed him out?" she asked.

"No, the wind was too loud," Rick said. "It was blowing pretty badly. You couldn't see or hear anything that night."

"How did you find Bad Cop then?" she asked.

Rick shuddered, at the memory, perhaps. "I wandered over to the side of the building, until I stumbled over his body," he said, his eyes and voice growing distant. "I saw him lying there, with the blood all over his uniform, and I knew he wouldn't survive the night if I didn't go and get him some help, so I ran back inside and called the ambulance."

Lucy stopped writing long enough to look up at the bartender, her gaze scrutinizing. "That's it?" she asked.

"Yup," Rick said, appearing unruffled by Lucy's interrogating techniques, which reminded Emmet of Bad Cop's.

Lucy wasn't about to back down. "You sure?" she asked.

"Positive," Rick said. "Why are you giving me the third degree anyway? I've cooperated with you. I've answered every one of your questions. What else do you want?"

Lucy rose from the bar stool. "Nothing," she said, grabbing her tablet and pen off the table. "You've given us everything we need." Lucy grabbed Emmet's arm, yanking him off his stool, and gave the barman one last look. "Thank you."

Rick blinked. "You're welcome," he said, watching the odd pair leave.

Emmet waved at Rick as Lucy shoved him out the door. "What was that for, Lucy?" he asked, once they were outside. "The man was just trying to help! What are you, some kind of super detective now?"

Lucy grinned at him. "You know," she said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "That's not such a bad idea."

Emmet moaned. "I had to say something didn't I?" he asked, falling silent when he caught sight of Lucy's face. "What's wrong?"

Lucy's demeanor had, all of a sudden, turned solemn. "Let's go over to where Rick said he found Bad Cop," she said, pulling Emmet over to the side of the building.

Emmet, for some reason, thought this was not the time to argue with Lucy, and, without protest allowed her to drag him through the snow.

Both of their faces fell when they approached the crime scene.

Besides the crime scene tape circling the area where Bad Cop had fallen, there was nothing to suggest that anything had happened here at all. The snow had pretty much covered up what evidence there would've been over night. There wasn't even an impression of Bad Cop's body in the snow, or any blood whatsoever, or any of the other things you would've expected to find at a crime scene.

"Poor Bad Cop," she said, kneeling down in the snow next to the tape. "Who could've done this to him?"

Emmet looked around, growing anxious. "Some very bad people," he said, afraid those very same people would come back, returning to the scene of the crime. "Come on, Lucy let's go." He looked back over at Lucy, who was standing up now, and running her hand against the brick wall of the bar. "There's nothing here."

Lucy gazed up at the wall, her expression thoughtful. "There's got to be," she said, closing her eyes.

Emmet walked up behind her, draping a comforting hand over her shoulder. "Come on, let's go home," he said, squeezing her shoulder. "We can come back later. Maybe the hospital's called back."

Lucy turned around to look at Emmet, her expression solemn. "Yeah," she said, lowering her head. "Maybe."

Emmet, feeling guilty for dashing Lucy's hopes, led her back home this time.

After they got home, Lucy checked all of the messages on the phone, her expression turning crestfallen after she had gone through them all.

Emmet, standing next to her, had a pretty good idea what was troubling her. "Still nothing from the hospital?" he asked.

Lucy shook her head. "Nothing," she said, biting her lip.

Emmet extended her arms around her, embracing her in a warm hug. "I know it's hard, but try not to worry, okay?" he asked, and pulled her away from him, peering into her grief-stricken face. "I'm sure they would've called by now if he…you know…" He trailed off, unable to say the word.

"Yeah, you're right," she said, turning away from him. "I'm sorry for bringing everything down."

Emmet patted her on the back. "Don't worry, you didn't," he said, taking hold of Lucy's hand. "Stop beating yourself up." He started to lead her to their bedroom. "Come on, let's go to bed."

With great reluctance, Lucy allowed him to her guide her upstairs, but he could feel her dark mood bouncing back off of his back in waves.

Emmet didn't know what they were going to, but he did know one thing:

They were going to have to get Bad Cop home, and fast, before Lucy ended up hurting someone, because he feared that someone might be him.