The Last Sister (Columbia River)(20)

Paul frowned. “I don’t know. Basketball? Sometimes he has funny stories about the kids at the high school. He never says their names, though,” he added quickly. “Just tells me about the shit they pull.”

“Who does he hang out with when he’s here?”

The owner crossed his arms. “I thought you wanted to know what happened Thursday.”

“I do. I’m also trying to get a better picture of the victim.”

“These are pretty standard questions,” Greer added.

Zander appreciated the backup, since so far the sheriff had been silent.

Paul twisted his mouth as he concentrated. “Sean doesn’t single anyone out. He just talks with whoever is closest.”

“How’d Sean seem on Thursday? Talkative? Was he watching the game?”

“He didn’t say much on Thursday. I think he mainly watched the game, but he’d been here a solid hour before the Osburne brothers came at him.”

Zander spoke to the sheriff. “Osburne brothers?”

Sheriff Greer grimaced. “Troublemakers. Not the brightest bulbs in the box. I’ve dealt with them at least a half dozen times for DUI, fighting, and speeding. They’re usually mellow unless they’re drinking.”

Paul was nodding at the sheriff’s words. “I’ve had to cut them off or ask them to leave a few times. Kyle is an obnoxious drunk. One of my bartenders has had a lot of trouble with him.”

“And the other brother?” asked Zander.

“Billy,” said Greer. “Follows his brother’s lead. Both big guys, but Kyle probably has thirty pounds on Billy.”

“The two of them together don’t create a whole brain,” Paul added.

Sheriff Greer snorted. “You got that right.”

“Okay.” Zander had a good picture of the men. “Who approached who?”

“Well, I didn’t see when it started. I heard the crash and turned around. Sean was on the ground, and his stool was knocked over, with Billy swinging and kicking at him, so I think he approached Sean.”

“What did you do?”

“Grabbed my bat.” He walked around the bar and pulled a hidden bat off a low shelf. “I hollered at them to break it up, but I was on this side of the bar, and they ignored me. Well, Billy ignored me. Sean had gotten to his feet, but he was focused on avoiding Billy’s fists and boots.”

“What was Kyle doing?”

“Holding back the crowd,” said Paul, resting the bat on his shoulder. “A couple people tried to get involved, but few will stand up to Kyle or Billy when they’re pissed. I came round the bar and knocked my bat on a few hips to clear a path. When I got through the crowd, I pointed my bat at Kyle and told him to get Billy off Sean. Both were back on the floor by then. Kyle gave me a shitty grin, grabbed his brother’s shirt, and hauled him off Sean. I ordered them out, and they left.”

“You didn’t call the police?” Zander asked.

Paul glanced at Sheriff Greer. “They got better things to do than bust up a fight. It was over, and Sean could stand upright. I gave him a beer on the house, picked up his stool, and he went back to watching the game. It was handled.”

“Sean wasn’t hurt?”

“Oh, he was hurting. I fixed up a bag of ice for his lip, and I noticed he moved stiffly when he finally did leave.”

Zander made a mental note to ask the medical examiner about abrasions and bruises.

“Did anyone ask him how it started?”

“Dunno. I didn’t. No one is surprised when the Osburne brothers act up.”

“Do you think Sean’s race had anything to do with it?”

Paul scowled. “Don’t know. I didn’t hear what was said between them.” His face cleared. “But I told you one of my bartenders always has a problem with the Osburnes—he’s Mexican. They give him shit about that.”

Two strong guys. Possibly racist.

The Osburne brothers were checking some boxes.

“Did you notice when Sean left?”

Paul thought hard. “He left right after the game. I remember he was disappointed in who won. He tossed down some cash for the beer and left. I can’t believe he’ll never be back,” Paul said in a stunned voice.

“Can you give us some names of other people who witnessed the fight?” suggested Zander.

Paul hesitated.

“We don’t have to say it was you who gave us the names. There were plenty of people there who could have identified others.”

Paul’s face cleared, and he rattled off three names, which the sheriff wrote down.

Checking what time the game had finished would be easy enough. At least Zander knew Sean had still been alive at that point. He spoke to the sheriff. “Can we visit the Osburnes?”

“I’ll show you where they live,” Greer said as he turned to the door.

“Hey, Sheriff,” Paul said. “You gonna make book club tomorrow?”

Zander gawked at Paul. Book club?

Greer paused. “Your wife making the nacho dip?” the sheriff asked hopefully.

“Yep.”

“I haven’t read the book yet.”

“You should start it. It’s a good one about a real plot to kill George Washington, but you know it doesn’t matter if you read the book. Just show up.”