"You know, Christian," he said, his voice low and thoughtful, "I don't buy that bartender's story for a second. My gut tells me he's lying to us. Did you see how nervous he got when he saw Rose's photo? Something's not right here."

An idea began to form in Nick's mind. Maybe they needed to speak with Arthur again, but not in the bar. After a brief discussion with Christian, they decided to return in a few hours, at the end of Arthur's shift, hoping to catch him alone and perhaps more willing to talk.

With their plan set, the detectives made their way back to Nick's police car, parked across the street from the Green Vault. As they climbed in, both men felt a mix of anticipation and unease. They were on the trail of something – but what that something was, and where it might lead them, remained to be seen.

Darkness had fallen over Austin, the streetlights casting long shadows across the quiet streets. Nick and Christian sat in tense silence, their eyes fixed on the entrance of the Green Vault. Finally, they spotted Arthur leaving the bar. The bartender had changed out of his work uniform, though he still wore the same black pants. He'd donned a sweatshirt, its yellow hood emblazoned with the image of a sleek sports car. As Arthur set off down the street, the detectives quietly exited their vehicle and followed at a discreet distance.

"Arthur, wait up," Nick called out as they drew closer. "We need to talk."

Arthur froze mid-step, then slowly turned to face them. His nervousness was palpable, his voice shaky as he spoke. "What do you want? I've already told you, I don't know anything."

"You see, Arthur," Christian said, his gaze steady and penetrating, "the problem is, we don't believe you."

Arthur's fingers on his left hand intertwined anxiously, and he began to rub his nose with his right, his eyes fixed on his shoes. Nick decided to change tactics, his tone becoming more friendly and approachable.

"Look, Arthur, I can see you're not a bad person," Nick said gently. "Please, just tell us what you saw that evening. Whatever it is, it's important."

Arthur's face contorted, the internal struggle visible in his features. It was clear his conscience was troubling him, and he seemed to be on the verge of deciding that coming clean was the right thing to do. When he finally spoke, his words came out haltingly, his lips tight with stress, slightly distorting his speech.

"Okay… yes, I saw that girl that evening," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "She was sitting at the bar with a guy. He was drinking alcohol, and she… I think she was drinking juice, but I can't remember exactly. They argued for a long time, and then they had a fight. After that, the girl left crying. The guy left almost immediately after her." Arthur paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "When I heard on the news that she'd been found dead, I got scared. And today, when I saw you in the bar, I knew right away why you'd come."

Nick and Christian exchanged a significant look. They believed Arthur's story, but now they needed to convince him to give an official statement.

"Arthur, can you describe this guy?" Nick asked, his voice calm but urgent. "We need to go to the station and create a composite sketch. This man could be the killer we're looking for."

"Yes, I'll help," Arthur agreed, his voice trembling but determined.

They made their way to Nick's police car and, within half an hour, were seated in the station's interview room, working with a sketch artist to bring Arthur's memory to life. Two hours passed as they painstakingly pieced together the suspect's features. When they finished, Nick stared intently at the composite sketch: a man in his mid to late thirties, with a distinctive zigzag-shaped scar on his cheek, light shoulder-length hair, thick eyebrows, and narrow eyes set in an oval face with sunken cheekbones.