The results were in and Bowen was cleared of Ellis’s torture and murder. The hitch on his Dodge Ram was in pristine condition and the tire treads weren’t a match. He had also come up with a sufficient alibi for Simpson’s time of death. He was a free man. It was ten o’clock at night but we were headed to Ellis’s neighborhood. My argument about people not being helpful at this time of night fell on deaf ears. Jack had his mind set and his temperament fell somewhere between frustration and raw anger. I wasn’t sure exactly why his mood had taken a fowl turn, but I surmised it could have stemmed from any number of things—Hogan, the fact we had spent time on the wrong guy, or maybe it was a simpler matter, the nicotine in his system was running low. We started with the house to the right of Ellis’s. At least there was light casting from the front window. It dulled and brightened telling me someone was watching TV. “I’ll handle it if you want,” I said, offering out of compassion for the people behind the door.
