* * * *
“Detective Hawk?”
Quint turned to look at Officer Greene—one of the men Quint had sent to Toppers with Clay’s sketch of Matty.
“Sir,” the officer said, “I think we have a name for this Matty person. According to two of the bartenders, he’s a semi-regular and pays for his drinks with a credit card in the name of Vincent Mathew Nelson. He told them to call him Matty because he hated his first name.”
“Hold on. Are they certain?” Quint asked, getting a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Yes, sir. The one bartender, Ted, told me he always asks for ID from someone he doesn’t recognize. When Matty came in the first time, Ted checked the guy’s driver’s license. It agreed with the credit card. Ted says the name stuck in his head because his brother’s name is Vincent and he’s a blond too.”
“I don’t suppose you asked Ted if he remembered anything else, like an address? And was it a Colorado license?”
“No, sir. He—”
“Damn it, just call me Quint,” Quint grumbled.