It wasn't exactly a hole in the wall, but JR's Roadhouse certainly didn't impress in the cleanliness department. And the warm welcome promised on the large sign at the entrance door never came, as Steve followed his partner into the establishment, the cracking of discarded peanut shells beneath the soles of his maroon cowboy boots quickly becoming unnerving.
"You must be the cops!", the bar tender yelled from across the large dining room, sending an assortment of worried frowns their way.
Trying to disguise the eyeroll, Steve moved off to the left to flank his partner, Kammers subconsciously following suit on the right.
Close to noon, the eatery was reasonably busy, as the aroma of fried food, burgers and sweet desserts clung heavily to the thick air. Off to the right was a small dance floor, bordered by an assortment of covered musical instruments.
Steve figured the median age to be around mid-late fifties, casual dress code, friendly and inviting atmosphere, if one was into country western themes.
Off in the far-left corner of the bar sat a lonely lady whose eyes grew wide with a mixture of excitement and romantic interest when she saw Mike walk by, taking a moment to lean forward to study his backside.
Upon noticing that she was being watched, the lady moved back to her original position, placing her index finger on his lips to beg for secrecy.
Steve chuckled, unable to hide a cheeky smile considering that his partner was completely oblivious to the flirtatious attempts happening behind his back.
"Are you Ronny Filmer?", Mike asked as he approached the large bar, his tone of voice unreadable, as he fished for the badge in his coat pocket, Steve following suit.
The man in his mid-fifties and greasy black hair that was wadded up in an unkempt pony tail resembling an abandoned Robin's nest nodded hastily, then threw his wash towel over his shoulder and approached the trio.
"My name is Lieutenant Mike Stone, this is my partner, Inspector Steve Keller and my associate, Staff Sergeant Simone Kammers. We'd like to ask you a few questions in regards to Leanne Harris."
Acknowledging their credentials with a brief nod, the bartender crossed his arms over his chest, and drew in a deep breath.
"Yeah the…ehm…the Inspector mentioned that earlier. Sure is a sad story. She was so young. Kinda strange but nice. Always tipped well."
Mike decided to slide into one of the comfy bar chairs, Kammers mirroring his move, her intelligent blue eyes following the Lieutenant's methods intrigued, trying to harness much of that legendary experience he carried with him after so many years on the Streets.
Stealing a quick glance over to the lady on the left, the one that was staring at Mike over the rim of her beer glass, seemingly focused on coming up with a good topic to strike up a conversation with the good-looking Lieutenant; Steve decided to remain standing, if nothing else to put another body between the love bird and her unsuspecting prey.
"You said you saw her here a few times with another man, is that correct?"
This time it was Simone who'd posed the question, as she reached into her dark gray suit coat to retrieve her notepad.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. It was just a couple of times, you know.", the bar tender stammered and ran a nervous hand through his disheveled hair, "Kind of a quiet fella. Drank whiskey straight up. No ice. They had quiet conversation. I never heard them argue or anything."
"Was there something specific you picked up in the way they interacted? Did they act like they were lovers? Friends? Did they kiss in public?"
As if to give the Staff Sergeant a chance to prove herself, Mike had fallen quiet, limiting his interaction with the bar tender to silent observation, taking in every last nuance of his body language, pitch in his voice, movement of the eyes, breathing, hand gestures. It was part of the Lieutenant's uncanny investigation methods Steve shamelessly enjoyed watching.
"Not kiss, no. I mean, they ehm…they'd face each other and talked. It kinda seemed intimate without being intimate. The only time I caught a few words here and there was when they were talking about hope. And discipline. But I guess…well, it's been a few weeks and it didn't matter as much then as it matters now, so I guess I didn't pay too much attention."
"I see. Ok.", Kammers hesitated, causing Mike to glance up ever so subtly.
She hadn't noticed the move but Steve did, reading it as a silent nudge to keep digging into the man's memory, rather than just taking his words at face value and move on.
Instead, Simone took a few more notes, then looked back up at the bartender, beginning to sense that she was being tested.
"Can you…can you describe the man she was with? Height. Weight. His hair. The color of his skin, or that of his eyes?"
There was an imperceptible trembling in the Staff Sergeant's voice, as if being put on display like that made her nervous; that same insecurity following her into this conversation where she could have resurfaced McPhearson's file photo and shown it to the bar tender, hoping for a positive ID instead of going through the litany of questions to narrow down specific biological markers.
Steve had no doubt that she had ran the show on other occasions before, gathering testimony from witnesses, collecting facts. Perhaps it was the presence of the iconic San Francisco Homicide Lieutenant that made her nervous after all these years.
"He was kinda short, I'd say 5'6", 5'7", maybe 150lbs. A bit stocky. Short black hair.", the bar tender explained, every word matching Horus McPhearson's description to a tee, "And he had muscles on him. His neck was strong and his wrists…a lot of muscle and then-"
Stopping midway, the other man's eyes rose beyond the bar area and toward the entrance, where a broad smile lit up his features.
"Well, wouldn't you know it? Here he is, right there."