Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,8

other street that bordered Detroit, Mack Avenue, was legendary for carjackings, purse snatchings and even the occasional bank robbery.

Hey, your neighbor is one of the most dangerous cities in the country, you have to expect it. Grosse Pointe residents had become over the years naturally inured to the bullshit, although on the few occasions something really bad happened it often gave pause to consider a move to the northern suburbs where McMansions and golf courses rule the land.

I skimmed the Free Press article once again. It all seemed pretty clear cut to me. Someone had probably seen the guitars, a woman working alone, late at night. They broke in, killed her and grabbed what they could. Leaving the murder weapon and wiping it free of prints indicated a certain sophistication, I had to admit, but for the most part, it was probably what it seemed: a robbery that had gotten rough. Innocent people in robberies were killed all the time. Fast food workers killed execution style in the walk-in freezer. Why? Because some cold, sadistic psycho didn’t want any witnesses left alive. Or maybe a punk with a gun wanted to feel the ultimate power. Who knew?

There was only one thing that seemed to stick in the back of my brain as I re-read the article. It seemed odd to me that a thief, even taking into account the fact that not all thieves are terribly clever, would choose to knock over a guitar studio. It’s not a cash business. It wasn’t sexually motivated, at least there was no mention of an assault in the papers. And guitars would not be a terribly hot item on the market. From what I’d read and from the impression Clarence Barre had given me, the guitars Jesse Barre made were unique. I wasn’t exactly an expert on robbery and the fencing of stolen goods, but it seemed like trying to sell a Jesse Barre guitar locally would likely present problems. It also held that most guitar stores would not only recognize one of Jesse’s guitars, but would also have heard of the murder. My guess was that the cops had already called all the guitar stores and told them to be on the lookout for the kind of guitars she made. They would urge the shops to get a description and if possible, a license plate, of anyone trying to sell a Jesse Barre guitar. Pretty standard procedure.

I took a deep breath and thought some more. What if Clarence was right? What if this Hornsby had killed Jesse Barre and made it look like a robbery? That too was a trick as old as the hills. I suspected the cops had looked into it, Clarence said Hornsby had an alibi, but alibis can be manufactured. Good ones take a lot of time and effort and planning. Would this Hornsby, the ex-con, be able to do it?

I saved the article to my computer’s desktop and pushed away from the desk, propping my feet on the low bookcase next to the wastebasket. I put my hands behind my head and thought about Clarence Barre. I knew that I liked him. And my wife has told me time and time again that I put a filter on my brain when it comes to people I like. That I see too much of the positive in people, sometimes even create it when it’s not there. Maybe so. There was the off chance that I was looking for something that would justify my case for taking on Clarence Barre as a client.

But objectivity is a bastard. The fact was, I knew that the criminal mind is not a bastion of logic. Throw some booze and drugs into the mix and you’ve got a human being reduced to his or her most base instincts. A desperate person walks by a studio that may or may not be some kind of cash business, it’s night, a woman is working alone on loud woodworking machines; the perfect opportunity for a smash and grab. Maybe the woman tries to defend herself or her products, and things get out of hand. It happens.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I thought Clarence Barre was most likely off-base and wrapped up in the emotions of a grieving father and that I had somehow fallen victim to his genuine earnestness.

My first impression of Clarence Barre was that he was a good man. Had probably been a good father. And he was a