Leaning his shoulder into the wall, Archer folded his arms over his chest. 'I fucked up.' Damn fucking right he did. Playing the remorse card was rare enough these days that the sheriff held his tongue and just watched, just listened to Marcus go on.
The pieces of information knitted together in Archer's mind, finally coming up with a picture that would've surprised him if he had any surprise left. So, Caravahlo and O'Neill, huh? Well, stranger things had fucking happened. Were fucking happening, all over the fucking town. Frankenbrit hadn't even been one of Marcus' conquests, either; he'd mattered, enough to kill over, and though any reason to kill a man didn't make it legal or right, at least it was something to understand. Hearing that Rob apologized for Bryant's death was more than a little puzzling but for now Archer had to shelve that in favor of the living.
"You and O'Neill were together." A statement of fact, not a question. Archer's tone was level but a drop of pity was wrung from him, as much as a murderer could. And the shirt was from Bryant, why Marcus wouldn't take it off. "Saw you. In the hospital." Seeing Marcus fold in on himself was so fucking... eerie. Just another in a long line of things in Crows Landing that shouldn't be happening. Even the little things mattered.
Archer ran a hand over the back of his neck, let his frank blue stare come to rest on Caravahlo's face. "Why'd you think it was York?" Actually, that wasn't the question Archer wanted to ask, but he couldn't string together words to ask things that were gnawing at the back of his mind, so he went with that one. Something told him the guy wanted to talk.