Page 39 of Brimstone Hollow

When Dishman hangs up, he looks back at the body and says, “We’ll see if the coroner can ID the murder weapon.”

“I can save him the trouble,” I say, pointing at the door. “I’d guess the door was jimmied open with a sharp screwdriver. Whoever it was broke in here to get something, Griffon saw them on the camera, came home, surprised the thief, and was killed with the screwdriver in the process.”

“Oh, sure,” he says. “I mean, you’ve got no evidence. No prints. No photos. No testimony. Just speculation and conjecture, but sure. Congratulations, you’ve cracked it. Now, get out of here. Go back to working your own case.”

“Chief,” I say, taking a step toward him. “Thisismy case. Dean Griffonworked for Ezra King. Ezra helped Griffon get sober and Griffon helped Ezra with the revival circuit. Now they’re both dead and both of their doors were tampered with. Maybe whoever it was that broke in here also broke into Ezra’s place and killed him too, but in that case, they had time to go back and cover their tracks. So—”

“Wait, wait,” he says, cracking an ironic smile. “Let me get this straight. The story you’re trying to tell me is that someone broke into the parsonage and killed Ezrawith a snake. Then, while Ezra slowly succumbed to venom, the killer moseyed over to the Walmart nearly an hour away, bought new door hardware, drove back to Mount Zion, and installed the set to cover his tracks. Well, hell, maybe that’s where our killer is now! Off to Walmart to get a new doorknob. Maybe all we have to do is wait here and he’ll come strolling up.”

I roll my eyes and he gives me a look that oozes disappointment and impatience. It’s the daddest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Okay, listen, I didn’t say it was a perfect theory.”

He snorts.

“But someone broke into the parsonage and—”

“Someonemighthave broken into the parsonage,” he corrects. “Or maybe Ezra just replaced the dead bolt and forgot to give anyone the receipt.”

“But someonedidbreak into this garage,” I say. “And Ezra’s RV is right here. Maybe the killer was looking for something at Ezra’s house, didn’t find it, came here to look instead.”

“Fine,” he says, exasperated. “Fine, let’s give it a look.”

We both walk around the RV and my heart jumps when I see more scuff marks around the RV door. It’s been pried open.

Dishman gives me a glance warning me not to tell him I told him so and opens the RV door. I follow him up the steps and inside. I don’t know much about RVs, but this seems like a newer model. It’s all gray or gray-stained fake wood and it’s all fairly clean.

We both use our lights, in the cramped space, to search the RV’s interior and it’s not long before Dishman says, “Here it is.”

The paneling on the wall that stands at a right angle to the refrigerator is scratched up. Dishman gives it a nudge one way and then another, and a section of the panel swings open to reveal a hidden compartment about the size of a microwave.

“Empty,” Dishman says.

I lean in closer, shining my light around the inside. There’s a scattering of particles, like black sand, along the edges of the compartment. I swipe my gloved fingertip over them, picking up some of the granules, and give it a sniff.

“Coffee grounds,” I say. “Weird. Why hide coffee?”

When I look at Dishman, he’s chuckling, so low it’s almost soundless.

“What?” I ask.

“Not coffee,” he says. “Drugs. Somebody was probably using coffee to throw off drug dogs.”

“What?” I laugh. “That wouldn’t work.”

“No,” he says. “Not in real life. They probably got it fromBeverly Hills Cop.”

“Ah. I’m afraid I never got around to watching that one.”

“Well, you should. It’s a classic.”

But the way he says it, it sounds like more than justa classic. It sounds personal. When I grin at him, his cheeks redden.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “That old movie’s probably the reason I became a cop. I saw it at the drive-in. Started cutting the bottom third of my sweatshirts off like Eddie Murphy. He was the absolute pinnacle of cool.”

“And the coffee grounds thing?” I ask.

“The bad guys in the movie do it. Back in the nineties, a lot of low-rung dealers tried to mask their drugs with coffee. Since then, most have wised up or, I guess, are probably too young to have watched the movie, but when I first became a cop, I saw this a lot.”