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Chapter 10

Barrie McNeil looked as if Rob Barrows had just spoken in Chinese. "What?"

"This is a search warrant," Rob repeated, shouldering him out of the way to enter the garage and allow access to Joe and four more deputies. "Look, it's not really your problem. This is your copy. Call the boss or whatever lawyer you have on tap. They'll know what it is. Meantime, we'll get to work." Barrows paused to add, "Unless you want to argue the point and be arrested."

Barrie raised both dirty hands in surrender, one now filled with the slightly crumpled document. "No, no. Knock your socks off. I don't give a shit. Dan will, though, and I will call him. Or my ass is grass."

"Go for it, then," Rob recommended before unleashing his team to find what they were all looking for.

The warrant covered any tools that might have been used to remove the now infamous tie rod nut, and any documentation, electronic and not, pertaining to the servicing of Leo's car. That latter part sent Rob and Joe directly to the decrepit-looking computer nestled in the corner of a cluttered and paper-strewn office.

Barrie, seeking whatever privacy he could amid the invasion, went to a phone in the service bay wall to call Dan Griffis, a task his body language clearly indicated he didn't relish.

Rob gingerly pulled out the lopsided, duct-taped office chair parked before the computer, and, after studying its seat for both springs and foreign matter, settled in to address the filthy keyboard.

"Jeez," he said softly as Joe pulled over a folding metal chair to join him. "Good thing they're building these things to resist wear and tear."

He shuffled the mouse under his right hand to illuminate the screen. A desktop surfaced with a cluster of different icons, spread out like colorful confetti. He'd barely double-clicked the first one when the office door banged open and Barrie appeared on the threshold.

"He is really pissed," he announced. "And he's gonna be even more pissed when he sees you guys on that thing."

"You talking about Dan?" Rob asked without looking over his shoulder at him.

"Well, yeah. Who else?"

"How long till he gets here?"

"Three seconds, the way he sounded."

Rob sighed slightly, keeping at his task. "How long?"

"Ten minutes."

"Okay. Send one of the deputies in here, okay? On your way out."

Barrie hesitated a moment, translating both the content and the meaning of that last request. He then vanished, to be replaced by one of Rob's team, an older officer with mostly gray hair.

"What's up?"

This time Barrows turned to face the man. "We're about to be visited by Dan Griffis, the owner."

"I know him," the deputy said in a near growl.

"Then you know what to expect. Keep him outside. Thanks."

Rob and Joe returned to the screen. Under the former's prompting, icon after icon began opening, revealing spreadsheets, correspondence files, financial records, inventory lists, and more, some of which was clearly recreational, such as games, and certainly one of which was password locked.

"What do you think?" Joe asked his guide when they hit that one.

Rob worked the keyboard harder, uncovering what he could about the file. "It's accessed a lot. I can tell you that much," he reported after a couple of minutes.

At that point they were disturbed by the sound of shouting from outside the building.

"That'd be Dan," Rob murmured, his eyes still on the screen. "You want to do anything about it?"

Joe straightened, considering the proposal. Initially, he saw no point. The man was worked up, he was being controlled by the deputies-or would be arrested-and discovering that Joe Gunther was part of the investigation would only be inflammatory.

That last detail made Joe get up, his own irritation finally rising to the surface. "Maybe I'll just say hi," he said.

Rob glanced at him, waiting a beat before smiling and saying, "Yeah. Why not? I'll just keep poking around."

Joe left the office, crossed the waiting room, and opened the door onto the frozen front parking lot-and two deputies bracketing a red-faced, spittle-lipped barrel of a man who was bouncing on the balls of his feet in barely controlled fury.

"Hey, Dan," Joe said from the door. "Long time."

The man froze in mid-expletive and stared at him. "Gunther?" he finally asked, his tone incredulous.

"Yeah."

"What the fuck're you doing here?"

"Assisting the sheriff's department."

Dan Griffis took two steps in his direction and was immediately closed in on by the two deputies, one of whom rested a restraining hand on his shoulder.

It was a defining moment-a split second when the entire course of the next few minutes rested with Dan and whether he chose to take that hand as a challenge to fight, or as the pacifying gesture it was meant to be.

As far as Joe was concerned, it was a no-loser, with his personal preference being for an old-fashioned piling-on. His famous self-restraint notwithstanding, Joe Gunther was feeling a slow, boiling rage deep inside. The mere possibility that his family had been threatened by this man was enough for Joe to wish him ill beyond a simple threat of legal action. In his youth, Joe had never hesitated to join a fight-a fact only rarely recalled by others now. But in this moment, had Dan offered even the slightest excuse, Joe was ready to try his hand in a nostalgic and perhaps soul-cleansing violent blowout.

But it wasn't to be. Right at the edge of letting loose, Dan took a deep breath and suddenly relaxed, giving Gunther a nasty smile. "You bastard. You know I'm still looking at the Bitch. One fuck-up and I get life." He gently slid the deputy's hand off his shoulder. "Well," he added, "no such luck. I don't know what you jerk-offs're cooking up, but I'm gonna get a lawyer and shove it up your ass."

"Asses," Joe told him. "Proper grammar."

Dan's eyes narrowed before he smiled again. "Right. You would know. Mister Straight-and-Narrow. Guess your brother's not so fancy, though. He have too much to drink before he tried killing your mom? Or did he do it for the inheritance? Must be driving him nuts waiting for her to kick the bucket."

Joe could feel his face burning, despite the cold, but he remained silent, not trusting himself to use his voice. The older deputy, to his credit, spun Dan around and pushed him toward his pickup. "Go home, Dan," he said. "Let them do their job. You wanna call a lawyer, do it from there."

"You bet I will," Dan snarled at him, yanking the truck's door open. "And then I'll sue every last cop in this fucking department." He pointed a finger through his window at Joe, adding, "I'm also gonna make it my life mission to knock you off your pedestal, you preachy cock. You're gonna wish you were in intensive care instead of your faggot brother. You wait. You won't know what hit you."

Again Joe didn't react, although, by now, the initial onslaught of Dan's venom had dulled through repetition.

Dan Griffis gunned his engine and shot out of the garage's dooryard, his vehicle's back end slithering back and forth on the icy ground.

The three men watched him hit the asphalt beyond and squeal away, tires burning. The older deputy turned toward Joe. "We could nail him for that, just for what-the-hell."

Joe nodded, acknowledging the point, but answered, "I'd sooner save my ammo for when it counts."

"Yeah," the deputy agreed. "I see what you mean."

Joe stepped back inside and closed the door. He paused before rejoining Rob, for a moment's worth of privacy. Dan Griffis had always been a bully, a drunk, and a self-involved show-off, from the first time Joe met him, many years ago.

Unfortunately, despite the soothing adage that such people were forgettable, they were not, and their abusiveness mattered and cut deep. It was, in fact, their very careless aggression that caught the public eye and put them higher on the food chain of notoriety. They became a force not only because of the violence of their demeanor but because of the paradoxical respect society granted them as a result. People may admire a good man, but they will more often rally around a brute.

This depressing truth had been Dan's fuel his whole life, as it was for so many of his kind, and yet, whenever Joe encountered it, it rattled him still. He wasn't cynical enough, even now, not to find the insult fresh and disappointing every time.

Pulling his earlobe and sighing slightly, he reentered the office.

"Noisy," Rob commented. "He gone?"

"Gone," Joe told him, thinking, but far from forgotten.

Barrows pushed his rickety chair away from the desk and gestured toward the screen. Hovering in its center was the earlier rectangular warning advising the need of a password. "We need to get past that," he said. "And I'm definitely seizing this computer and applying for a warrant. 'Cause from what I've been able to see, there's a whole lot more here than garage business."

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