He looks past me as if expecting an armada of police cars, lights and sirens. “What’s this about? Has something happened?”

“There’s no problem, sir.” I try to turn off some of my intensity. “I just need to verify some information.”

“Whew.” He puts a hand against his chest and laughs. “For a second there I thought maybe someone had been in an accident. My mom or sister.” Another sigh. “I guess the late hour made me think this was some kind of emergency.”

“I apologize for the late hour.” I try a smile to put him at ease. “If you prefer, I can come back tomorrow.”

“No, of course, not.” Stepping back, he swings open the door. “I’m kind of a night bird, anyway. Come in.”

I enter a large living room with textured stucco walls and tall ceilings bisected with rough-hewn beams as thick as a man’s waist. A leather sofa and two cowhide chairs form a grouping adjacent a massive river-rock hearth.

“Nice place,” I say.

“Thanks. I designed it myself and had it built four years ago. Been working on it ever since.”

Above the hearth, a striking black-and-white photo of a massive bear standing on a river bank with a big salmon in its mouth catches my eye. “You a photographer, too?”

“My nephew took that.” He grins sheepishly. “Right before we started running.”

I smile back.

He motions toward the sofa. “Have a seat.”

I cross to the couch and sit, noticing the Mexican vases on the trunk-style coffee table. On the wall opposite me, I see a slab of rustic wood upon which a hex symbol is painted.

“Interesting piece of art,” I comment.

He looks at the hex sign and smiles. “I tore down a barn for a guy down in Coshocton County a couple of months ago. The barn was almost two hundred years old. I asked him if I could cut out the hex symbols and keep them, and he agreed. I repainted them and sold them to one of the tourist shops in town. I liked them so much, I kept one for myself.”

Something goes ping in my brain. “Which shop?”

“Carriage Stop right off the traffic circle.”

“You go in there often?”

“You know, Christmas shopping. Birthdays.” Moving a Navajo print pillow aside, he takes the chair across from me. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee?” He smiles. “A beer? I’ve got Little King’s.”

He’s trying to charm me. Had the circumstances been different, he might have succeeded. Tonight, I’m too preoccupied with the case. “Can you tell me where you were Sunday night?”

“Sure.” He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees. “I left the office around six P.M. and stopped by the Brass Rail. Had a burger and a couple of beers. Played pool with some guys. I probably left around midnight or so.”

“You always stay out so late on a work night?”