“Do you have your original deed?” Arthur asked.

“In the tool shed.

The key is on a nail in the pantry.”

“Get it.

Not a copy.”

I slid the seed receipt across the table, and Arthur began filling out the search request.

At one o’clock I stood in the Hartwell Sheriff’s Office and laid the medical report on Deputy Mark Jennings’s desk.

Mark hooked his thumbs into his leather duty belt and read the first page without touching it.