Joe wasn’t a murderer. He was a cop. A good one. And a loyal friend. Two rare traits in today’s world. But he was also something else. He was a source of information. Information relating to Artie. A depository of information who might, unknowingly, point him in the direction of who might have taken a shot at his partner.
“Tell me about Anne’s first husband.”
Joe set his empty cup down on the table in front of him and looked up at Smitty, eyebrows knotted together in a cloud of curiosity.
“How did you know Anne had been married before?”
“I get around,” Smitty replied, almost smiling. “I saw a picture. Her wedding day picture. Someone I’m not familiar with was standing beside the lovely bride. But it wasn’t Artie. Artie was in the position of the groom’s best man. Artie knew the groom.
