“Not automatically. There's an application being prepared for a search warrant, and a judge would have to assess it. I'm concerned the person pushing it may be connected to Caldwell. We need the sheriff and the appropriate independent prosecutors to know what we've found before anybody mistakes the false claim for an ordinary investigation.”
Ethan looked out the window at the fields passing in the dark. A familiar feeling was returning, the sensation of being too young or too poor or too unimportant for the truth to stand by itself. Russell had relied on that gap between accusation and proof. Caldwell seemed to be doing the same thing with more money and better stationery. If Jack was arrested, even briefly, the rumor might ruin the garage long before a courtroom could correct it.
“We need to get ahead of it,” Ethan said.
Doyle nodded. “I'm contacting a supervisor and coordinating with the sheriff. That's my job. I don't want you interfering with a pending investigation.”
“I won't. But can we tell the truth about what happened to us? About Jack helping me and those men threatening the shop? Our own story, with evidence we already have permission to share?”
Doyle considered him carefully. “You're allowed to speak about your own experience. Be factual. Protect witnesses' private information. Don't publish anything I gave you in confidence, and don't assume public attention will replace the legal process.”
Ethan nodded. “I understand.”
“Good. Because this needs to be handled properly, not just loudly.”
He thought about the riders still gathered at the garage, two hundred people with stories of Jack's kindness and phones that could show the world what he'd seen. He wasn't looking for a crowd to decide whether someone was guilty. He wanted the next official to hear the word chop shop and know there was a documented reason to question it. He wanted Jack's name to mean something more than whatever Caldwell's lawyer put in the first headline.
Doyle started the car. “You've got a good head,” she said. “Use it to keep yourself safe, too.”
Ethan glanced at the evidence receipt in his hands. “I'm trying,” he said. “But right now somebody's trying to turn the man who gave me a bed into a criminal. I don't think I can sit quietly and hope the truth catches up on its own.”
Back at the garage, the riders were still there. Smoke drifted over the gravel from two grills, and someone had set folding tables beside the back wall. Jack stood near the bay entrance, his expression changing as soon as he saw Doyle's car pull up. Ethan climbed out before she had fully stopped and hurried toward him. The older man listened to the news about the false complaint without interrupting.
When Ethan finished, Jack let out a long breath. “So that's how Caldwell plans to take the property. Make me look guilty first.”
“We're not letting that happen,” Ethan said.