Fifteen minutes later, two FBI vehicles left the scene. Nathan, Harv, and Larry Gifford were in the lead with Bruce Henning and the Bridgestones following. Holly stayed behind with the two SWAT agents to secure the cabin until an FBI forensic team and the Sacramento County ME arrived.

It was a somber, quiet ride down a granite canyon under a red and orange sunrise. Nobody felt like talking. Back in Sacramento, Gifford took the J Street exit for the Hyatt Regency while Henning’s vehicle kept going south on I-5. Henning flashed his brake lights twice and Gifford flashed his high beams in return.

Good riddance, thought Nathan. The Bridgestone cousins were human debris. He still couldn’t get over the condition of their farmhouse. It had been like an indoor landfill, except the garage, which he’d fully expected to be as filthy as the house. Think, damn it. He tried to clear his mind and concentrate on the garage, but couldn’t do it. His mind was shutting down due to sleep deprivation. Sitting next to him, Harv looked in roughly the same shape.

As if reading his thoughts, Gifford asked, “How much sleep have you guys had in the last forty-eight hours?”

“Not too much,” Nathan said.

“Do yourselves a favor and get some shut-eye at the hotel. You’re no good to anyone in your present condition. We’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”

“Thanks, Larry.”

Gifford dropped them off under the portico of the Hyatt just after nine in the morning. As the bellman retrieved their bags from the trunk, they shook hands with Gifford and waved as he pulled away. They staggered up to the counter and checked into adjoining rooms on the sixth floor overlooking Capitol Park. At their rooms, Nathan slipped the bellman a twenty, dialed the operator, and asked to have their calls forwarded to voice mail.

* * *

When Nathan awoke, the message light was blinking on the nightstand phone. He picked it up and hit the retrieve button. It was from Holly, asking for a return call. He dialed Harv’s room.

“Get any sleep?” Nathan asked.

“Four hours. You?”

“About the same. I’ve got a message to call Holly.”

“Two minutes,” Harv said.

Nathan used the head, splashed some water on his face, and stared into the mirror. That damned garage, he’d awakened still thinking about it. For some reason he couldn’t get it out of his head. What was bugging him? The tools? The Enduro?

He answered the soft knock on the adjoining room door and Harv stepped through. Without sitting down, he punched nine, waited for the dial tone, and called Holly Simpson’s cell.

“Holly Simpson.”

“Holly, it’s Nathan. I have you on speaker. Harv’s with me.”