"I can't believe…I mean…I am shocked that Amber is dead."
Aaron Hayes was barely forty-five, his bald head and old neck tattoos aging him prematurely. A few extra pounds made the stained t-shirt he wore stretch around his belly and upper arms.
Below, he was proudly wearing a gold buckle he'd won at a rodeo decades ago, several pictures scattered around the dimly lit bar area silent reminders of the long-gone event.
After having spent a good two hours outside, taking notes about the body as well as talking to neighbors who might have witnessed something; Steve's knee had been ready for a much overdue rest. He had been on his way to the waiting Galaxie when he had seen the bar owner walk up, sheer terror written all over his face.
Instead of opening the establishment as usual, he ended up learning about one of his employee's untimely death, shaking him to the core.
"Mister Hayes, you said that Amber worked here last night? When did she leave?"
Running a hand across his head, the other man shrugged, still struggling to hold back the tears.
"We're usually open until 2am. She was my bar manager and closing up shop with our head chef Christopher this morning. They would have called me if anything unusual happened."
"Can you get me Christopher's contact information please?", Steve asked cordially and slipped into one of the bar chairs, his aching knee thanking him immediately.
"Absolutely…", the other man said and grabbed a napkin from the bar to write down his phone number.
"How long has Amber been working here? Did she have any enemies? Did somebody threaten her?"
"No, not at all. She was well loved. I hired her eight years ago and she quickly became a favorite. There's never been any issues."
"Eight years, you said?", Steve pried and reached for the notepad in the breast pocket of his beige overcoat, "That's a long time not to make somebody mad. Are you sure about that? There were never any arguments here?"
It was a rhetorical question at best for a bar that was well known for its late-night fights, and Hayes seemed to catch on at last.
"Nothing personal anyway. There's always going to be somebody who gets upset when she'd cut them off, or she'd kick people out after a brawl. But nothing that would warrant killing her…"
"How about any secret admirers? Did she have a boyfriend? I noticed she wasn't wearing a wedding band."
It was the murder method that made him ask that question. The strangulation, a very personal way to kill somebody, practically screamed of a crime of passion. What emotions exactly were involved was for him to find out.
"Amber was single, she wasn't interested in a relationship. As far as I know, she never had any issues with a patron getting frisky or anything."
"What about your regulars? Was there anybody in particular that would come here just for her?"
The question seemed to set off an alarm bell for the owner who hesitated, then shook his head, buying himself some time to come up with a fitting answer.
"Not that I know of, no. But I will…I will keep your question in mind, Inspector. Now if you don't mind, I need to sit down and…and figure out how I am going to run this place without Amber."