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“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” said Wen. “Whatever claim you have on this land hasn’t been signed off on, and now it’s a crime scene.”

“What kind of crime scene?” asked Stomper. His eyes were too big for his face, giving him the appearance of one constantly surprised by life, though Stomper would have been surprised by a word with more than two syllables. It was a miracle he hadn’t yet killed anyone, even if Wen was aware of one victim who’d been left mildly brain-damaged after one of Stomper’s assaults.

Schuler spoke for the first time.

“You know anything about what’s in that barn, Clemmie?”

“Not unless you tell me, or let me see for myself.”

Wen wasn’t about to let Clemmie Dolfe or anyone else from her clan take a look at what was in there, not unless he fancied a career handing out parking tickets in purgatory. But as before, he doubted that anyone in the Dolfe brood—even down to some of the extended family who didn’t function at the higher intellectual level of Clemmie or Donnie Ray—would be fool enough to kill a man in one place before taking him to another property next to their own, a property to which they were, additionally, laying claim. He decided to test the waters.

“Someone left a body in there,” he said.

Stomper’s eyes couldn’t have grown any larger than they already were, but Clemmie’s certainly did.

“Whose body?” she asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Wen replied, “but just a few moments ago you were laying claim to this acreage, which presumably includes the barn as well. I think you and your kin are going to be answering some questions when the detectives arrive, because let me tell you, Clemmie, that boy in there went out screaming.”

Clemmie considered this.

“I have to make a call,” she said.

It wasn’t as though Wen could stop her, so he just shrugged.

Under similar circumstances, a lot of folk would have contacted their lawyer. Clemmie Dolfe called her father.

CHAPTERLIII

Donnie Ray Dolfe arrived at the barn at the same time as the deputy medical examiner from the Northern District office in Manassas. It turned out the DME had been staying over at a motel in Leesburg after a conference and so was barely a hop, skip, and a jump from the body. She nodded to Donnie Ray as they exited their vehicles together, the law in Virginia not being unacquainted with him, and he fell in step with her. Nobody tried to prevent Donnie Ray from approaching the barn. Frankly, some actions just weren’t worth the effort, and his children and nephews, who were more likely to kick off, were congregated at a safe distance, with Schuler keeping an eye on them. If any more Dolfes appeared, Wen thought, it would resemble a clan reunion.

Two detectives had reached the scene before Donnie Ray and the DME, and they were currently in the barn. Wen knocked on the door, which was now nearly closed to discourage the lookie-loos among the Dolfes.

“Medical examiner’s here,” he said. “And Donnie Ray.”

Hicks, the more senior of the two detectives, turned to the younger, Elkins.

“You stick with the medical examiner,” she said. “I’ll take a moment with Donnie Ray.”

“I won’t fight you for the pleasure,” said Elkins.

They exited together, Elkins making a beeline for the deputy ME and Hicks moving to block Donnie Ray, indicating that Wen should join her. Since Wen had briefed the detectives on everything that had happened so far, he knew as much as anyone on the scene and would, therefore, be useful to have at hand.

Although he was nearing eighty, Donnie Ray Dolfe remained an imposing figure. Age might have diminished him, but there’d been a lot of Donnie Ray to start with, so he still had a couple of inches and more than a few pounds on Hicks. He had been handsome once, and the ghost of it still haunted his features, and only some disfigurement below his left ear hinted at the damage the fire had done to the rest of him.

Donnie Ray didn’t look displeased to see Hicks. She might have been Black, female, and partly responsible for putting some of his people behind bars over the previous decade, but Donnie Ray wasn’t a racist, respected women, and didn’t take legal reverses personally. The Dolfes had their issues with the sheriff’s office, but Donnie Ray regarded Hicks as someone who played the game fair and square. Hicks, in turn, respected Donnie Ray, but respecting wasn’t the same as liking.

The Dolfes—or their agents, at any rate—were among those pressing legislators to establish a legal marijuana market in the state and were making progress. In the meantime, they continued to grow cannabis deep in their rural fastnesses, supplementing the crop with narcotics purchased from elsewhere, including cocaine and fentanyl. Their major supplier, according to the latest DEA briefings and local scuttlebutt, was Devin Vaughn, a local boy made good who was happy to help his own, for a price. The fentanyl-and-cocaine angle had caused Hicks to sour some on Donnie Ray, even if she suspected Clemmie had pushed her old man in that direction.

“Detective,” said Donnie Ray, “my daughter tells me you found a body.”

By now Clemmie had joined her father, but didn’t interrupt.

“On land your daughter is claiming for the Dolfes,” said Hicks. “If that’s the case, it would complicate matters.”

“My daughter may be mistaken,” said Donnie Ray, “if only on an issue of detail. We’re in the process of purchasing this land, but for the present, it isn’t ours. We have no issue with how it was entered or why. It’s none of our concern, not on that level, so it’s nothing to get pressed about.”

“Well,” said Hicks, “ain’t that a relief for all?”