“I’d like you to find him for me.”
“He go missing?”
“Not officially.”
“As in, the cops aren’t looking him.” It’s a question.
“The police have not been notified and nor will they be. Roger is no longer on probation for that shooting all those years ago, but his file is open and it would be messy and complicated for him if they were to get involved.”
“I understand,” I say. “But how long has he been gone?”
“About a week. He’s on one of his . . . how shall I say it . . .” Tossing up her hands.
“Benders,” I say for her.
“Yes, benders,” she repeats, dropping her hands into her lap. “Like I said, Mr. Walls is one of the last of the bad boy writers.”
“He still call Chatham home?”
“Aren’t you going to write down some notes?”
I tap what’s left of the dime-sized scar on
