“He didn’t say anything more about being watched or the dark truck and I didn’t bring it up,” said Daney. “He took a walk and came back and said he’d been by a construction site and was going to go back in the afternoon to talk to the boss.”

“What time was the first walk?” said Milo.

“We eat early . . . maybe eight, eight-thirty a.m.”

“What kind of job was he looking for?”

“Anything, I guess. He had no real skills.”

“C.Y.A. rehabilitation,” I said.

Daney’s husky shoulders bunched. “Don’t get me started.”

Milo said, “Sir, your wife says Rand left at five p.m. to meet the supervisor. But the site closes down by noon.”

“I guess Rand was misinformed, Detective. Or someone misled him.”

“Why would they do that?”

“People like Rand tend to be misled.” He consulted his watch again and stood. “Sorry, I need to get going.”

“One more question,” said Milo. “I’m going to be contacting Rand’s family. Any idea where to start?”

“Don’t bother to start,” said Daney. “There’s no one. His grandmother died several years ago. Complications of heart disease. I was the one who informed Rand.”

“How’d he react?”

“Just what you’d imagine. He was extremely upset.” He glanced at his Jeep. “I don’t know if any of this was useful, but I thought I should tell you.”

Milo said, “I appreciate it, sir. You didn’t want your wife to know because . . .”

“No sense upsetting her. Even if it was relevant, it would have nothing to do with her.”

“Is there anything else that might help me, sir?” said Milo.

Daney jammed his hand in his pocket. Looked at the Jeep again. Ran a hand across the steel needles of his beard. “This is . . . ticklish. I really don’t know if I should be bringing it up.”

“Bring what up, sir?”

“Rand was found far from home, so I was thinking, maybe that truck . . . what if someone did take him for a ride?” He tried to tug at an eighth-inch beard hair, finally managed to pincer one between his fingernails, pulled, stretched his cheek.

“A dark pickup,” said Milo. “That ring any bells?”

“That’s the thing,” said Daney. “It does, but I’m really not comfortable . . . I know this is a murder investigation, but if you could be discreet . . .”

“About what?”

“Quoting me as the source,” said Daney. He bit his lip. “There’s a whole lot of history here.”

“Something to do with eight years ago?”

Daney pulled at his cheek again. Created a lopsided frown.

“I’ll be as discreet as possible, sir,” said Milo.

“I know you will . . .” Daney turned as a truck loaded with bags of fertilizer drove onto the lot. Dark blue. A stick-on sign said Hernandez Landscaping. Two mustachioed guys in dusty jeans and baseball caps got out and entered the doughnut stand.