Lucy's fingers tightened on the camera. There was a big difference between jumping to a conclusion and learning it was true, a big difference between an unidentified body and one with a name you knew.
“I'm not supposed to say,” said Harry.
“You don't have to,” said Brian. “It's pretty obvious. The Bilge has been closed for days, and there's been no sign of him. He must've fallen in or something.”
“Took a long walk off a short pier,” said Dave, with a wry grin. “Can't say I'm surprised.”
“He was known to enjoy a tipple,” said Frank. He eyed the Bilge. “He'll be missed.”
“What a horrible way to go,” said Lucy, shivering and fingering her camera. “In the cold and dark and all alone.”
“Maybe he wasn't alone,” said Dave, raising an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” asked Lucy. “Do you think somebody pushed him in?”
“Might have,” said Frank. “He made a few enemies in his time.”
Dave nodded. “You had to watch him. He wasn't above taking advantage, especially if you'd had a few and weren't thinking too hard.”
Something in his tone made Lucy wonder if he was speaking from personal experience.
“And he wasn't exactly quick to pay his bills,” said Brian, sounding resentful.
Another siren could be heard in the distance.
“So I guess he won't be missed,” said Lucy.
“No, I won't miss the old bastard,” said Frank. “But I'm sure gonna miss the Bilge.”
The others nodded in agreement as a state police cruiser peeled into the parking lot, followed by the white medical examiner's van.
“The place didn't look like much,” said Brian.
“But the beer was the cheapest around,” said Dave.
“Where else could you get a beer for a buck twenty-five?” asked Frank.
The three shook their heads mournfully, united in grief.