“He was at a small motel near the western county line, just off the interstate exit.

He had his truck keys in his pocket.”

“Did he say anything?” I asked.

Harris clicked his silver ballpoint pen once, then slid it into his breast pocket.

“He told the arresting officers that you had promised to tell us he was at your apartment on Tuesday night.

He seemed convinced you would still show up to back him.”

I kept my hands flat against the sides of my wool coat.

“I told him twelve years ago that I was finished carrying his weight.”