I FOUND A SUSPICIOUS HOLE IN A MISSING MAN’S COAT—THEN A DEPUTY WALKED IN

Julian Flores ran his father's towing business from a low brick garage beside the railroad tracks.

When Elliot and I arrived, Julian was replacing a brake line on a pickup. He turned away the moment Elliot introduced himself.

"I've said everything I know," he told us.

"You said you towed the truck from the bus station," Elliot answered. "The sheriff said Owen left it there."

"That's what the dispatch sheet says."

"Is that what happened?"

Julian wiped his hands on a rag. A little girl in a yellow jacket watched us through the office window.

"Please," he said, lowering his voice. "My wife works nights. I can't afford to lose this contract."

I recognized the fear. It was the same weight sitting on my own chest every time the shop bell rang.

"We won't ask you to do anything here," I said. "But if an outside investigator contacts you, will you tell them what you actually saw?"

Julian glanced toward the window before speaking.

"When I got to the bus station, the truck was already parked. Deputy Voss had the keys. The right fender was damaged, and there was gray quarry dust packed under the wheel arch."

"Was Owen there?" Elliot asked.

"No."

"Who called you?"

"Voss. At 10:36."

"The sheriff said the truck was found at dawn," Elliot whispered.

"I know."

Julian reached into a drawer and set down a receipt book. He wouldn't let us photograph it, but he pointed to a carbon entry written in his father's old block capitals: 10:36 P.M., BUS DEPOT, COUNTY CALL, VOSS.

"My dad kept the books," he said. "I can't change what's written there."

"Then keep it safe," I said.

Julian hesitated.

"There's more, but it isn't mine to tell."

A black SUV slowed on the road, then continued past. Julian stepped back into the garage.

"You need to leave."

Elliot didn't move.

"You know something about my boy."

"I know somebody who saw him that night."

"Who?"