'Anything special on your mind?'
Glynes shook his head, no.
'Just passing through. I thought I'd stop in and ask about Dan Springs. How is he?'
'He must have really hit his steering wheel. If he hadn't been wearing his seat belt, he'd probably have killed himself. He's got three cracked ribs. He said it doesn't hurt except when he breathes.'
Glynes chuckled. 'What happened?'
'He was out in the Barrens,' the sheriff said, 'and he run over something. Blew his right front tire, run off the road, and slammed into a tree.'
'Jesus!'
The sheriff raised his voice and called, 'Jerry!'
A uniformed deputy put his head in the office.
'Jerry, you know Mr. Glynes?'
The deputy shook his head, no.
'Revenoooooer,' the sheriff said. 'Don't let him catch you with any homemade beer.'
'How do you do, Mr. Glynes? Jerry Resmann.'
'Chuck,'Special Agent Glynes said, smiling and shaking Resmann's hand firmly. 'Pleased to meet you.'
'Jerry, is that piece of scrap metal still on Springs's desk?' the sheriff asked.
Deputy Resmann went to the door and looked into the outer office.
'Yeah, it's there.'
'Why don't you go get it, and give our visiting Revenooooer a look?'
'Right.'
Resmann went into the outer office and returned and handed the twisted piece of metal to Glynes.
'Can you believe that thing?' the sheriff asked. 'They found it in the wheel well, up behind that plastic sheeting, when they hauled Dan' s car in. No wonder he blew his tire.'
Jesus Christ! What the hell is this? That's one-eighth, maybe three-sixteenth-inch steel. And it's been in an explosion. One hell of an explosion, otherwise that link of chain wouldn't be stuck in it.
'You have any idea what this is, Sheriff?'
'It's what blew Dan's tire,' the sheriff said. 'A piece of junk metal. Probably fell off a truck when some asshole was dumping garbage out in the Barrens, and then Dan drove over it.'
'You know, it looks as if it's been in an explosion,' Glynes said.
'Why do you say that?' Resmann asked.
'Look at this link of chain stuck in it. The only way that could happen is if it struck it with great velocity.'
The sheriff took the piece of metal from Glynes.
'There's burned areas too,' the sheriff said. 'I read one time that in a hurricane, the wind gets blowing so hard, so fast, that it' ll stick pieces of straw three inches deep into a telephone pole.'
Glynes took the piece of steel back and lifted it to his nose, and then, carefully, touched the edge of the burned area with his fingertip, and then looked at his fingertip. There was a black smudge. When he touched his finger to it, it smeared.
'The explosion happened recently,' he said, handing the steel to the sheriff. 'You can smell it, and the burned area is still moist.'
The sheriff sniffed. 'I'll be damned. I wonder what it is?'
'I'd like to know. I'd like to run it by our laboratory. You think I could have this for a while?'
'Would we get it back?'
'Sure.'
'I know Dan would want that for a souvenir.'
'I can have it back here before he comes back to work.'
'What do you think it is?'
'You tell me. Have there been any industrial explosions, anything like that around here?'
The sheriff considered that for a moment, and then shook his head, no.
'Take it along with you, Chuck, if you want. But I really want it back.'
'I understand.'
Special Agent Glynes was halfway to Atlantic City when he pulled to the side of the road.
I don't need the goddamned laboratory to tell me that piece of metal has been involved in the detonation of high explosives. What I want to know is where it came from.
It could be nothing. But on the other hand, if somebody is blowing things up around here with high explosives, I damned sure want to know who and why.
He made a U-turn, stopped at the first bar he encountered, bought a get-well bottle of Seagram's 7-Crown for Deputy Springs, and asked for the telephone book.
He found a listing forSprings, Daniel J., which was both unusual and pleased him. Most law enforcement officers, including Special Agent Glynes, did not like to have their telephone numbers in the book. It was an invitation to every wife/mother/girlfriend and male relative/acquaintance of those whom one had met,professionally, so to speak, to call up, usually at two A.M., the sonofabitch who put Poor Harry in jail.
He carefully wrote down Springs's number and address, but he did not telephone to inquire whether it would be convenient for him to call. It was likely that either Dan Springs or his wife would, politely, tell him that it would be inconvenient, and he was now determined to see him. If he showed up at the front door with a smile and a bottle of whiskey, it was unlikely that he would be turned away.
Glynes had been on the job nearly fifteen years. When he saw advertisements in the newspapers of colleges offering credit for practical experience, he often thought of applying. He had enough practical experience to be awarded a Ph.D., summa cum laude, in Practical Psychology.
He found Springs's house without difficulty. There was no car in the carport, which was disappointing. He thought about that a moment, then decided the thing to do was leave the whiskey bottle, with a calling card,'Dan, Hope you 're feeling better. Chuck.' That just might put Springs in a charitable frame of mind when he came back in the morning.
But he heard the sound of the television when he walked up to the door, and pushed the doorbell. Chimes sounded inside, and a few moments later a plump, comfortable-looking gray-haired woman wearing an apron opened the door.
'Mrs. Springs, I'm Chuck Glynes. I work sometimes with Dan, and I just heard what happened.'
'Oh,' she seemed uncomfortable.
Why is she uncomfortable? Ah ha. Dear Old Dan isn't as incapacitated as he would have the sheriff believe.
'I'm not with the Sheriff's Department, Mrs. Springs. I work for the federal government in Atlantic City. I brought something in case Dan needed something stronger than an aspirin.'
'Dan went to the store for a minute,' Mrs. Springs said. 'My arthritis's been acting up, and I didn't think I should be driving.'
'Well, maybe I can offer some of this to you.'
'Come in,' she said, making up her mind. 'He shouldn't be long.'
Deputy Springs walked into his kitchen twenty minutes later.
He's not carrying any packages. And his nose is glowing. If I were a suspicious man, I might suspect he was down at the VFW, treating his pain with a couple of shooters, not at the Acme Supermarket.
'How are you, Mr. Glynes?'
'The question, Dan, is how are you? And when did you start calling me 'Mr. Glynes'? My name is Chuck.'
'Cracked some ribs,' Dan said. 'But it only hurts when I breathe.'
Glynes laughed appreciatively.
'Doris get you something to drink, Chuck?'
'Yes, she did, thank you very much,' Glynes said.
'I think I might have one myself,' Springs said.
