Hardwick grunted. “So you’re saying on the one hand we have a Bible-waving drive-by lunatic boiling over with hate for the rich guys who are fucking up the world …”

“… and on the other,” said Gurney, completing the thought, “we have a stone-cold hit man who’s apparently rich enough to toss fifteen-hundred-dollar handguns out the window.”

A prolonged silence suggested that Hardwick was mulling this over. “And you want the autopsy data … to prove what?”

“Not to prove anything. Just to give me some idea of whether I’m on the right track with my sense of contradictions in this case.”

“That’s the whole reason? You know, ace, I’m thinking there might be something else.”

Gurney couldn’t help smiling at Hardwick’s acuity. The man could be—and frequently was—a smirky, abrasive, boorish pain in the ass. But he was far from stupid.

“Yeah, there might be something else. I’ve been poking a sharp little stick at the accepted theory of the Good Shepherd murders. I intend to keep doing that. In the event that some FBI hornets come swarming out at me, I’d like to surround myself with as much data as I can.”

Hardwick’s interest rose a noticeable notch. He had an allergic reaction to authority, to bureaucracy, to procedure, to men in suits and ties—in other words, to organizations like the FBI. Poking a sharp stick in that direction was an activity he would naturally approve of. “You’ve stirred up a little conflict with our fed brothers, have you?” he asked, almost hopefully.

“Not yet,” said Gurney. “But I may be about to.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Hardwick disconnected without saying good-bye, which was not unusual.

Chapter 25

Love and Hate

Gurney was slipping his phone back into his pocket when there was a light knock at the open den door behind him. He turned and saw Kim standing there. “Could I interrupt you for just a minute?”

“Come in. You’re not interrupting anything.”

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?

“For taking that ride on the back of Kyle’s motorcycle.”

“Apologize?”

“It wasn’t the right thing to do. I mean, my timing was really thoughtless—going out for a silly motorcycle ride—when there’s all this serious stuff going on. You must think I’m a selfish airhead.”

“Taking a little break in the middle of a big mess seems pretty reasonable to me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think it was appropriate for me to be out there acting like nothing happened, especially if there’s a chance that your barn was destroyed because of me.”

“Do you think Robby Meese is capable of that?”

“There was a time when I would have said, ‘Not in a million years.’ Now I’m not sure.” She looked confused and helpless. “Do you think it was him?”

Kyle appeared in the doorway behind her, listening but saying nothing.