James leaned over the desk and tapped the top of the sheet. “You see, it’s all there, it’s not possible! According to the Taft coach, Travis leaves the game at 10:15. Now, Travis said he didn’t hang around like usual after the game, but he still stayed until the end, because he said he got out of there as soon as the horn went off to end the fourth quarter.”

Duane eyed him with skepticism. He shrugged. “So? That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have gotten to the farm. C’mon, Jimmy. Are we going to go ’round this again?”

James clenched his jaw in a physical attempt not to rage. Was Duane serious? Even with hard evidence staring him in the face, the man wasn’t going to change his view? He took in a deep breath and willed himself calm. “So then I try doing that ride, and Duane, I’m not in my best shape ever, but I rode that distance from the game to the Pearce place over and over, fast as I could. Twenty-five minutes was my best time. And I pushed that. Even if Travis beat me by five minutes, or ten even, you’re looking at fifteen minutes. Add it all up, and he couldn’t have gotten there by the time Ed Beaujot says that fire started. There’s no way!”

James stepped back and waited for Duane to react—to come around to logical thinking. After a few moments of thick silence, James figured he needed to go on. “Look, Ed said the fire was started at 10:26. Duane, he insisted it started precisely at 10:26. No earlier, no later. The man wouldn’t even let me say it started ‘around’ 10:26 he was so darn sure.

“Then, Earl Jackson said he called in the fire as soon as he saw it. He was outside having a cigarette. So Earl calls the fire in at 10:26 or right about there. Travis leaves the game at 10:15. Ride takes fifteen minutes at best. Add it up, that’s 10:30! Duane, he wasn’t there, at least not when Earl called it in. Couldn’t’ve been. Even if everybody’s off by a couple a minutes.” James took a cleansing breath and filled his lungs with the air his rant had restricted.

Duane lifted himself out of the chair, his expression one of schooled patience that hovered somewhere between annoyance and patronization.

James remained silent and tried not to read too much in to Duane’s body language.

Duane looked James in the eye. “I asked you to stop, but clearly you haven’t, and I can’t legally make you do anything to stop. So unless you do something stupid and make it my business, I’m just gonna step back and let you dig your own grave.”

Rage traveled the length of James’s body like a spark eating up real estate on a fuse. It exploded out his mouth. “Open your eyes!” He snatched the note paper from Duane’s hand and headed for the door. On his way past the counter, he slapped the paper down and then gave Duane a heated look.