“No, just Daisy.” The chief leaned back in his chair. “Cody, Bart’s out with the flu, and I’m going to need you back on patrol tonight. But see if you can’t chase down a lead on Mary Sudbury. Have the two of you looked into this Masters of the Universe business yet?”

“No,” Cody admitted. “Sorry, Chief. We still haven’t had time.”

Chief Bryant leaned forward, his chair creaking beneath the shift in bulk. “Let’s make it a priority. Might be something more substantial if we need to subpoena the witnesses for further questioning. In fact . . .” His deceptively sleepy gaze slewed my way. “Daisy, maybe it’s best we don’t go to the funeral together. Let’s keep your options open.”

“So you don’t want me to go?” I asked hopefully.

He dashed my hopes. “Oh, I want you to go. Just not with me. If we need to go nosing around Triton House later, it might come in handy to have a pretty girl who can pass for a college student.”

“The family’s already seen me,” I reminded him. “Huizenga and Middleton, too.”

“Since the vic’s friends are under wraps, I’m assuming they won’t attend. The Vanderhei family will have bigger things on their minds. That leaves plenty of others who couldn’t ID you, including this Matthew Mollenkamp. It’s worth a shot.” He levered himself to his feet. “Cuypers and Sons, two o’clock. Don’t be late.”

I sighed. “I won’t.”

Dismissed from the conference, Cody and I exited past the protestors and drove to the address for Jerry Dunham that Stefan had provided us.

It was a run-down little rental property a few miles north of town. Not only was Jerry Dunham in residence, he was in the driveway doing something mechanical to one of the most beautiful motorcycles I’d ever seen. It was a vibrant, glossy red, the color deep and saturated, with a teardrop-shaped gas tank, sweeping oversize fenders, and a black leather seat with rivets around it. I actually felt a pang of regret when Jerry scowled at the sight of us and dragged a cover over it.

“Jerry Dunham.” Cody peered past him into the garage, where the covered forms of two more bikes lurked, along with a third that was uncovered, a gleaming black number. “Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Jerry picked up a remote and closed the garage door. “Yeah, Ossifer. I do.”

“Got a reason to?” Cody asked.

“No.” He wiped his hands with a greasy rag. “Don’t need one.”

“Stefan Ludovic said you gave the Vanderhei boy Ray D’s phone number.”

“So?”

“When I showed you the boy’s photo, you said you hadn’t seen him,” Cody said mildly. “Why’d you lie?”

Jerry shrugged and tossed the rag onto the driveway. “I must’ve forgot. All them college boys look alike.”