Part Nine: Questioning (Part One)

Detective Anthony Marshall was new to Laurel after his stint in New York proved a little too… action packed for him. It was a week ago Monday when his for boss dropped a file on his desk, “recommending” a position in Louisiana that opened up in his cousin’s town. It would be a “good change of a pace” and a “great career move” and was “completely optional and not coming from hire ups at all”. Anthony might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but he’d seen enough guys pushed out to know what this was; a friendly transfer that preceded a “we need you to take an extended leave” if turned down.

That’s how he ended with Bryant Cobb’s missing person’s case on his desk. The ex-wife came to the precinct on his first day, putting on a show in a tank top and cut offs, claiming that her ex-husband had been gone for a week and that this just wasn’t like him. His camper was parked in the back of their house and she usually saw him go in and out at least a few times a day, but since last Monday his eyesore of a home had been vacant. Of course she’d searched it, looking for any signs of a struggle, abandonment, (or another woman, Anthony suspected), but now she had to come to the cops just in case he was hurt or in a ditch somewhere.

New on the scene meant he was the one to search the camper and he was the one to retrace Cobb’s credit card charges, which landed him at the local diner, Cup and Sup. When he walked in people went silent, eyeing him up and down. Anthony wasn’t offended; in small towns like this, anything new was a novelty and he was the latest shiny addition. Clearing his throat, he walked toward the counter.

“I’m Detective Marshall, can I ask you all a few questions?”

The older woman came forward, ready and willing, but the younger one hung back.

“How can we help Detective?”

“I’m investigating a missing person, a Bryant Cobb. Any of you know him?”

“Well most of the regulars do,” the woman looked around at almost everyone, most of which nodded their head in agreement. The younger one did not.

“Did you know him?” He asked her directly, taking in the way her eyes flitted around, occasionally landing on the ball of tension in the corner.

“Maybe.” She responded, with a small, squeaky voice he suspected was put on for effect. “What did he look like?”

“Five foot ten inches, 160 pounds, light brown hair, scar through his eyebrow. Last seen in a grey and blue plaid flannel shirt and black pants.”

“I’m not sure, we get so many people…”

The older woman frowned at her. “Bryant is a jerk, you’d remember if you served him.” Turning to Detective Marshall she said “He was in here a few days ago. She waited on him. I remember because he stayed until close and there weren’t many people left. Oh, and it was dark outside so Mickey” she jutted her thumb towards the kitchen “walked me to my car. She locked up.”

Marshall turned to the young woman. “Still don’t remember him?”

“Can’t say that I do, like I said, so many people… will you excuse me a moment?”

 She rushed off before he could answer.