"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 happen
ed 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.