Page 45 of Go Alone

“Yep,” Marcus confirmed.

“And Curtis Dalby butted heads with Howard Greer in the past while representing Barbara Finch.”

“And Deborah Holt again over Earl and Sylvia Garfield,” Marcus added. “While he was also homeless.”

Kate nodded. “That’s our motive. Now we just need to know what he looked like.”

“Yeah, I’m working on that.”

Kate returned to her computer while she waited. Because Dalby had been homeless for so long, they needed to be prepared not to find a useful picture of him. That didn’t mean they couldn’t find other evidence to support their case. “Marcus, can you send me what you have on SEAL?”

“Sure. Heading to you. Okay, Ohio Criminal Information Service shows nothing on Darby. NCIC and the DMV are still working.”

“No worries. We might not get anything anyway. If he’s been homeless for ten years, he might not look anything like what he did back when he had a home.”

“He might look close enough to it to fit with a chubby forty-year-old Caucasian with blond hair and blue eyes.”

“Good point.”

The SEAL information arrived a moment later. As Marcus had warned, it was a collection of internet apocrypha, blurbs and archived websites and social media posts that offered only vague information.

But some of that information was a quote from Mr. Dalby himself in the form of an old Facebook rant posted shortly after the end of the Brannigan adverse possession case.

Ohio’s homeowners used to stick up for each other. They formed a covenant in 1907 to make sure everyone who obtained land fairly kept it fairly. I don’t know how, but we’ve lost our way since then.

Kate grinned. “It directly references the land covenant.”

Marcus didn’t answer. Kate looked at him, and a cloud formed over her mind when she saw the look on his face. “What? What is it?”

Marcus sighed. “I found Curtis Dalby.”

“And? That’s not good news?”

Marcus turned his computer to her. The image was of a middle-aged African American man with a shaved head and eyes brown enough to be almost black. It was from the National Crime Information Center and detailed Mr. Dalby’s arrest nine months ago for possession of fentanyl with intent to distribute.

His arrest in Jacksonville, Florida.

“He was sentenced to a year,” Marcus informed her. “I checked the Lake Correctional Institution Website. He’s still there. He was denied early release for sneaking contraband into his cell.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Might as well cancel the Ohio DMV request.”

Kate sat on the edge of her bed, the wind gone from her sails. It all fits. Everything was perfect. Everything had fallen into place.

Only when they tried to place the final piece did it all fall apart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Martin Cole sat on the back porch of his home in Upper Arlington and told himself the same thing he’d told himself every night since he moved in. He deserved this.

And like every other night, the voice in his head that he couldn’t quite silence told him he was full of shit.

He sipped his scotch, the Lagavulin he prized for its smooth, peaty texture, and told himself again, I deserve this.

The peat meshed well with the gentle odor of oak and walnut. It was a soft odor, a sheltering odor. A belonging odor.

He shifted on his porch chair, pulling his blanket tighter to combat the chill of the night. The blanket was a gift from Beverly, one of those plush velvet ones with sleeves and a neck warmer. She always used to laugh when he wore it, saying it made his head look like a bulldog’s wrinkles. On her friskier nights, she’d say it made him look like something else. He’d tell her to look more closely and be certain she was right with the comparison. And sometimes she would.

And he deserved that too. It wasn't like he was bad to her. She was lonely. She was tired. Her husband was a deadbeat and had been for their entire marriage. She'd saved him from homelessness more than once, and in return, she got lectures about how he had to stand up against the government and fight for his right to live wherever he wanted without registering or getting a driver's license or paying taxes or anything else that literally every other adult on Earth had to do.

So, of course, she wanted a way out. And Martin wanted a way in. He didn't love her, but she was pretty enough, and he was kind to her.