Page 44 of Silencing Stolen Whispers
It took his eyes a moment to adjust.
Sunset was still a couple of hours away, and the artificial golden light emanating from the lanterns was a bit too dim for his liking. The tempting aroma of deep-fried food reminded him that he hadn’t had dinner yet.
Beck had been to The Plow a few times over the years, but the place was out of the way. He usually stuck to spots downtown, and the atmosphere of the establishment never ceased to amaze him. Vintage farm tools hung from the walls like museum exhibits—rusted plows, leather harnesses, and tools whose uses he could only guess at.
He wasn’t a farmer or rancher by any means.
The country music playing from speakers near the bar was mercifully low. Beck wouldn’t have any trouble conducting the interview he had arranged with Elliot Goff.
The former forensics tech had insisted on meeting somewhere "off the beaten path," and The Local Plow certainly qualified. Besides, Kinsley Aspen was almost certainly having dinner and drinks with her colleagues, preparing for the charity flag football game tomorrow. He had heard all about it from one of his contacts at the precinct last week.
It wasn’t like Beck didn’t understand the reason behind Elliot’s request. After what had happened with the Gantz case, Elliot couldn't afford to be seen talking to a journalist in any of Fallbrook's more visible establishments.
Beck spotted his new contact immediately.
Elliot Goff was standing near the bar like a man trying to disappear into his own shoulders. Even in profile, the man’s nervous energy was palpable, from the way his fingers drummed against the bar's surface to how his gaze darted toward the entrance every few seconds. He relaxed somewhat when he spotted Beck making his way toward him.
“Elliot,” Beck greeted, extending his arm as he reached the bar. “I appreciate that you were willing to meet with me this evening.”
Elliot shook Beck’s hand, and he was struck by how much the young man had aged since their last encounter nearly two years ago. Elliot had only been in his early twenties at the time, which meant he couldn’t even be over the age of twenty-five yet.Still, the lines around his eyes had deepened, and there was a grayish pallor to his skin, as if he hadn’t been out in the sun for a while.
Elliot’s palm was damp with perspiration despite the cool air inside the bar, and Beck resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his jeans.
“I was surprised to get your call,” Elliot replied, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had grown accustomed to disappointment. “After being fired and labeled the town pariah, not a lot of people are interested in hearing what I have to say.”
Beck tried to gain the bartender’s attention, but the man was engaged in an animated conversation with a small group of farmers at the other end of the bar. He was a stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair and forearms like tree trunks.
“Maybe we should find a booth,” Beck suggested, gesturing toward a line of seats that offered some privacy. “This conversation might be better suited for somewhere a little more...”
“Discreet?” Elliot finished, his mouth twisting into something that wasn't quite a smile. “Yeah, that's probably smart. Though I'm not sure why you think I have anything new to tell you. I was fired right after…well, you know. Anyway, I’m working at a private lab right now, and that’s only because my father made a call. Trust me, I’m lucky that my parents are still speaking to me after what went down.”
“You learned early on that there are consequences for your actions,” Beck said as someone brushed against him. The bar was getting crowded, but he couldn’t locate a vacant booth. There was an empty high-top table a few feet away. “I’m sure once some time passes?—”
“Time?” Elliot laughed humorously. “It’s been two years. I still can’t show my face anywhere near downtown Fallbrook. I’m living above my parents’ garage. Although I did put in for a job at a research lab in Fargo.”
“Let me guess,” Beck said lightheartedly, hoping to make Elliot more comfortable. It wouldn’t do for him to believe Beck was judging his past actions. “You didn’t put down the six months you worked in forensics with the Fallbrook Police Department. There’s nothing wrong with that, Elliot.”
“I just need to start my life over somewhere.”
“I don’t blame you,” Beck said, taking the opening to switch topics. “That’s actually why I asked you to meet with me. I’ve been investigating Calvin Gantz’s disappearance. Everyone thinks he wanted to get away from all the judgment after the trial, but I don’t think that’s the case. He had TV interviews lined up, book deals on the table, and there was even talk about some movie rights being negotiated. Why would a man with those types of opportunities just vanish?”
“Why would you think I know where Gantz ended up?” Elliot asked in confusion. “All I did was take money from a reporter so that her cameraman could get some footage of Gantz’s house. I didn’t know him personally.”
Beck had started out too aggressively, causing Elliot to feel uneasy. The man was studying the patrons around the bar with increasing suspicion. Beck followed his gaze and noticed that two men at the bar had turned in their stools, focusing all their attention on Elliot.
“Maybe Gantz got tired of being the most hated man in North Dakota,” Elliot suggested with what sounded like commiseration. “Maybe he decided a fresh start somewhere else was worth more than fame. Listen, I made a mistake coming here.”
“No, you didn’t,” Beck replied, sensing his moment slipping away. Elliot's discomfort was escalating by the second, and if Beck didn't push now, this opportunity would evaporate completely. He leaned forward, lowering his voice so that it wouldn’t carry down the bar. “I was hoping you could remember something from your time in Gantz's house. The official reports seemed to cover everything, but often there are details that don't make it into those types of documents. Did you notice any photos indicating Gantz might own a cabin or some property? Anyplace that he might have gone?”
Elliot’s breathing became shallow, and he shook his head in response to Beck’s questions.Beck had definitely lost him.
“Like I said, this was a mistake.”
Without another word, Elliot backed away from the bar and moved toward the exit. He weaved through the crowd, and Beck could do nothing to stop him. His chance was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
His fingers itched for a pack of cigarettes, the craving still there after years of quitting. The urge always hit him hardest when he was working a lead. He ran a hand through his hair before trying to capture the bartender’s attention once more. He needed a drink, because any other option could land his ass behind bars.
“Shit,” Beck muttered in regret.
