Page 59 of Forever Dead

“No,” Connor replied.

A truck moved along the road outside, engine noise rising and fading.

The sheriff said, “Where were you the night before last?”

Curtis almost smiled.

Here it was.

“I don’t have an alibi.”

“Where were you?”

“Here,” Curtis said.

“Anybody with you?”

“Not one.”

“Anybody call?” the sheriff asked.

“I’m a solitary kinda guy, Sheriff.”

“Did you leave the house?”

“Not that night.”

Connor’s attention moved toward the small table beside the armchair.

Three empty beer bottles stood there.

Curtis followed his gaze.

“Were you drinking?” Connor asked.

“No. Those were from a couple nights ago.”

“You leave your empties sitting around a while?”

Curtis looked around the room. “As you can see, cleaning’s not exactly a hobby.”

The sheriff said nothing.

“I had a job interview today in the next county,” Curtis continued. “Didn’t want to turn up reeking of booze.”

“What kind of job?” Connor asked.

“Slaughterhouse.”

“You done that kind of work before?”

Curtis picked at a loose seam on the chair arm. “Meatpacking plant near Knoxville. Eight months.”

“What did you do there?”

“Kill floor mostly. Bleeding, skinning, breaking carcasses down. Whatever station they put me on.”

Connor’s expression did not change. “How’d today go?”