She did so—omitting the personal aspects. “I assume you know about his altercation with the Floyd brothers?”
“Sergeant Knight filled me in,” Connell replied. “Bannock left them in bad shape.”
“After leaving their house, he drove me into Drakeland and let me out near the Chevron station.”
“Did he say why he let you out on the roadside?”
“No. But he…he did ask me not to call anyone until I reached the gas station.”
“Giving him a head start,” Connell said.
She didn’t tell him those had been Bannock’s words exactly.
“How’d he look?” the agent asked. “I mean overall. Healthy and fit?”
“Yes.”
“Did he seem depressed?”
“I wouldn’t call it depression.”
“What would you call it?”
She searched for a word to describe Hayes Bannock’s reticence. “Introspective.”
“Hmm. Was he hostile?”
“Toward the Floyds? Yes.”
“Toward you.”
“No.”
“Toward anything else?”
“Such as?”
“The government.”
She shook her head. “Not specifically.”
“What was his attitude about life in general?”
Again, she took time to find the right word. “He seemed resigned.”
The agent nodded as though he understood her meaning. “What did you two talk about?”
“Nothing substantive. Until a few hours ago, I didn’t even know his name.”
“What did he tell you about himself?”
“Virtually nothing. I guessed that he’d been in the military, and he more or less confirmed it. He didn’t say where he served or in what capacity, but I got the impression he saw combat.”
“He did.”
“On the subject of war, he said he didn’t recommend it.”
“He wouldn’t. He served in Afghanistan. Two deployments. Hard-core army. Did he mention his family?”