“Czernin was—” He cut himself off. “He’d been driving her around the neighborhood the last two weeks, that’s what I learned on the floor when I told the men what had happened to him.”

“You tell me Marcena Love was in Billy’s Miata and also that she was in Bron’s cab,” I said. “But the truck and the car weren’t together, so Bron was driving for By-Smart that night, right?”

He looked at me, stone-faced. “He signed out a load at four twenty-two. He reached his first delivery in Hammond at five-seventeen. He was thirteen minutes late to his next delivery, in Merrill, and twenty-two minutes late to the third, in Crown Point. After that, which was ten-oh-eight, we didn’t hear from him again. Now, if that’s it—”

“That isn’t ‘it,’ although it’s interesting that you have those times down so exactly. What did you and Bron fight about Monday afternoon?”

“We didn’t.”

“Everyone heard you shouting,” I said. “He thought you’d help with his kid’s medical bills.”

“If you knew that, why’d you ask?” His tone was belligerent, but his eyes were wary.

“I’d like your version.”

He studied me for a long moment, then said, “I don’t have a version. Truckers are a rough bunch. You can’t manage them if you’re not ready to go head-to-head with them, and Czernin was the worst in that regard. Everything was a fight with him, his hours, his routes, his overtime. He thought the world owed him a living, and fights were a regular part of life with him.”

“I always saw Bron as a lover, not a fighter, and I’ve known him since high school,” I objected. “If he was so obnoxious, why’d you keep him on for twenty-seven years?”

Grobian distorted his mouth into an ugly leer. “Yeah, you broads all saw his loving side, but in the shop we saw his fighting side. Behind the wheel, we didn’t have a better driver—when he kept his mind on the job. Never had an accident in all those years.”

“So going back to his pitch for By-Smart’s help with his daughter’s medical bills—”

“It didn’t come up,” he snapped.

“Hnnh. I have a witness who heard you promise Czernin you’d discuss—”

“Who’s that?” Grobian demanded.

“Someone in the witness protection program.” I smiled nastily. “This person said Bron had a document, businesslike, shipshape, that showed you promised to help with April’s medical care.”

He sat very still for a minute. The light reflected on his glasses, so I couldn’t read his expression. Was he alarmed or just thinking things over?

“Your witness showed you the document, right?” he finally said. “So you know I never signed anything.”

“So you agree that there was a document? Just not one you signed?”