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Max met Deputy Hartley a block from the scene of the explosion.

Overnight, tips about the incident had rolled in to the FBI and the sheriff’s office.

Officers were going through them, trying to figure out which carried weight and which ones were from bitter people turning in their significant others.

Max had captured some still images from the video of the person lingering in the alley before the explosion.

He still couldn’t tell if the person was male or female but hoped there would be something visibly distinctive to the people at the homeless encampment.

The video and stills would also be distributed to local news organizations to post on social media and show during their broadcasts.

But until then, it was Max and Deputy Hartley hitting the street and knocking on doors. And tents.

Groups of tents and old motor homes had popped up in a few places around the city.

Occasionally the local government would order them cleared out, but then they would simply show up in another location.

Deputy Hartley told Max this particular encampment behind the strip mall had been slowly growing for six months, and the police had been called to the area several times.

As they drew closer, Max studied the debris spread around the camp.

The light layer of snow couldn’t hide the poverty.

Tires, broken storage bins, children’s toys, bikes, cardboard boxes, old coolers, and propane tanks were all visible under the thin snow blanket.

One decrepit motor home had cement blocks in place of two of its wheels and bedsheets blocking the view through its windshield.

Max decided the people inside were lucky compared to those in the tents covered with tarps held down by random pieces of wood and metal.

A tiny bike lay on its side, its broken training wheels catching his eye.

This isn’t a place for a child.

Hartley approached the closest trailer and banged on the door.

“Deschutes County sheriff! I just have a few questions!” Max stood back, watching the windows of the trailer, wondering how it had originally parked there since it had two flat tires and there was no truck in sight to pull it.

A towel covering one window shifted slightly.

Max couldn’t see a face, but he waved, attempting to look as nonthreatening as possible.

The trailer shook as someone moved inside.

The door slowly opened and a man in a hoodie appeared. “Yeah?”

“Can you step out, please, sir?” asked Hartley. “We have some pictures to show you.”

Max moved forward, removing the printouts from inside his coat.

The man reluctantly stepped down two stairs, his hands thrust in the pockets of a jacket he wore over the hoodie.

His lip was pierced, his beard straggly, and his eyes exhausted, and the hood hid his hair.

He could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty-five.

Max held up two photos of the person in the alley. “Do you recognize this person?”

The man peered at it. “There’s no face. How’m I to tell?”

“The posture, the stance,” said Max. “Body shape.” He pulled out his phone and showed the video. “The way they move.”

The man studied all the images and video. “No idea. That could be anybody.”

“What are people saying about the explosion?” asked Max, trying a different topic.

The man’s eyebrows rose to vanish under his hoodie. “This guy did it?”

“Don’t know. What have you heard?”

He shrugged. “People just saying a car blew up. I heard it. I was outside and saw the smoke.”

“Did you go see what happened?”

“Nah. I heard the sirens and decided it was a good place to avoid. Went back inside.” He jerked his head toward the rest of the camp. “That’s what most everyone did.”

“Most everyone?” asked Hartley.

The man lifted one shoulder. “Some people like to gawk, you know? Can’t stay away.”

“Who?” asked Max. “Who checked out the scene?”

He pointed at three tents that appeared to be connected under several tarps. “They might’ve. Not sure. She described the burned-up car.”

“Any rumors going around about who might have done it?” asked Max.

Genuine surprise filled his face. “You ain’t caught no one?”

“Wouldn’t be knocking on your door if we had,” said Max.

The man looked past them down the line of trailers and tents. “Haven’t heard anything like that. Mostly people talking about the sound and smoke.” He met Max’s gaze and shrugged; he was finished.

“Thanks for your time,” said Hartley, handing him a card. “Call if you hear differently.” He followed Max to the group of three tents.

Max paused at the tents, looking for what could be considered an entrance under the layers of tarps.

“Sheriff’s department,” announced Hartley. He stepped forward and shook one of the tarps. “We’d like a word.” He shook it again.

“Hang on,” came an annoyed woman’s voice from inside.

The men waited. Max spotted an extension cord that ran from one of the tents and through a fence.

He took a few steps to follow it and saw it disappeared under the back door of one of the strip mall stores.

He wondered if the owner had allowed it or if an employee had taken pity on one of the campers.

A green tarp vibrated and was suddenly cast aside as a woman stepped out, giving Max a glimpse inside.

Blankets, sleeping bags, a space heater, stuffed garbage bags. A sour smell wafted out.

“What do you want?” she asked, looking from Hartley to Max. Like the man in the trailer, she wore a hoodie, and underneath it a knit cap covered her head, but a dark braid snaked out and hung halfway down her chest. Her lower front teeth were missing.

Max held out the photos. “Can you tell who this is?”

She grabbed one and held it a little farther away, squinting. She peered at the other one in his hand and then eyed the video on his phone. “Could be Silver. He walks like that. Sort of hunched, you know?” She spoke the name with a faint lisp.

“Where can we find Silver?” asked Hartley.

The woman pointed down the sad line of makeshift homes. “The plywood place.”

Max stepped back for a better view. Sure enough, someone had built a small unit with plywood and covered it with tarps. “You see the explosion?” he asked the woman.

“No, but I heard it. Everyone heard it.”

“Go check it out?” asked Hartley.

“Of course. Saw a crispy vehicle and lots of cops standing around.”

“Who are people saying did it?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Thought it just blew up. It happens, you know. Maybe one of those battery cars.”

Max silently sighed and handed her a card. “Let me know if you hear any claims about who did it. Reputable claims,” he added.

She took the card and stared at it. “FBI? Holy shit. Was it a terrorist? One of those Eastern fellas?” Wide eyes looked up at him.

Max held back the urge to reply “Yes, someone from the East Coast” but instead said, “Not sure what happened yet. Thank you for your time.” As they walked toward the plywood structure in search of a person named Silver, he told Hartley, “Maybe we should just give out your cards. Less questions and speculation.”

Hartley snorted and then rapped on one of the pieces of plywood. “Sheriff’s department! We’d like a word.”

Max gazed down the line of tents, which went on for another half a block.

Are we wasting our time?

“Fuck. Watch your step.” Hartley kicked at something in the snow. Needles. “Not surprised, though.”

Max scanned the ground, spotting a few other syringes sticking out of the snow and three yards away a kid’s broken scooter.

What if a child stepped on one?

Angry, he knocked on the plywood. “Sheriff’s department! Get out here.” He studied some black patches on the warped wood. “Is that mold?” he asked Hartley in a low voice.

“Wouldn’t be surprised. Probably a lot more inside. Damp this time of year.”

“Hold your horses!” said a man inside. “I’m comin’ out.

” Boards scraped and a low makeshift door slid to one side.

A man in a John Deere cap and a bulky jacket scrambled out on his hands.

He stood, brushing his hands on the thighs of his dirty jeans, and then glared at the officers.

Max estimated he was in his late twenties.

A dozen piercings lined his eyebrows. He had two hoops in his nose and several in his lips. His ears were bare.

He has to be Silver.

“I didn’t do anything,” he snapped.

“Didn’t say you did,” said Max in a casual tone. “Just looking for some help.”

“Right.” Distrust filled the man’s brown eyes.

“You Silver?” asked Hartley, deliberately studying the piercings.

“Who says that?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” said Max. He held out the two printouts and decided to take a chance. “This is you, correct?”

Surprise flickered across his face. “Don’t know.” He straightened, getting rid of his slouch, which was similar to the one in the pictures. “Why?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” said Max. “But you might have been in the right place at the right time. We want to know what you saw when you were there.”

“Didn’t see nothing.”

A backhanded confirmation that it’s him in the picture.

“You didn’t hear the explosion yesterday?” asked Max.

“’Course I did. Whole city heard it.”

Max tapped one of the pictures. “You’re standing twenty feet from where it happened thirty minutes later. What were you doing in the alley for over an hour?”

“Not a crime to be walking around.”

“I agree. Like I said, we just want to know what you saw while you were there.”

Silver tugged at one of the rings in his lips. “Didn’t see nothing. I always just hang out there. It’s my smoking spot.”

Max abruptly understood. “And you get to watch the women in yoga clothing during class and as they go in and out of the building while enjoying your smoke.”

Silver grinned, showing a lot of black spots on his teeth near his gums. “Not a crime to watch.”

“That’s true,” agreed Max. He showed Silver the video. “What are you doing when you bend down here?”

Silver instantly took a half step back. “Nothing, man.” Fear flickered in his eyes.

Got him.

“Did someone know that you frequently hung out there?” asked Max. “Did they ask you to put it under the vehicle?”

Confusion flashed and the brows narrowed, making their piercings move. “Finders keepers. It’s the law, you know.”

Finders keepers?

Max glanced at Hartley, who was scowling at Silver. “What did you find there?” Max asked.

“Finders keepers,” repeated Silver emphatically. “I didn’t steal it. I found it.”

“Found what?”

Silver shifted his feet. “The cash, dude. That’s what I’m picking up in that.” He nodded at Max’s phone.

“How much cash?”

“Four twenties. I figured it fell out of a pocket, but since I found it, it was mine.”

“Where is it now?”

Silver snorted. “If someone reported it missing, they’re too late. Finders keepers. Spent it yesterday. 7-Eleven. Got smokes and peanut butter.” He nodded earnestly. “Check the store’s video, man. I was in there around eleven yesterday.”

He’s telling the truth.

“I don’t care about the cash, Silver,” said Max. “What I want to know is if you saw anything going on that could possibly be related to setting up that explosion. You had a clear view of that vehicle.”

“Nah. Nothing fishy was goin’ on. Was just gonna watch the women.” He leered, impressively waggling his eyebrows and piercings. “Got lucky with the cash. It was a good day, you know?”

“Any rumors going around about who caused the explosion?” asked Max, feeling his lead crumble into dust.

“Nope. Don’t care.”

Also realizing the lead was gone, Hartley handed Silver his card with the usual request for a call.

Max reluctantly moved down the line.

“Keep knocking?” asked Hartley.

“Yep. Has to be done,” said Max as he stopped at a tiny tent.

Silver was there the entire time. If he didn’t see anything, the device was put on her vehicle somewhere else and then triggered with a remote.

Who would do that?