"If they're Pike's men, they may be warning Cole not to talk," Decker said. "Or they may be trying to find out what he knows about the evidence. Either way, arriving with ten bikes at the house won't help if the place is already occupied."
Nolan listened, feeling the hard-sided document case Ruth had given them beneath his hand. "Then we should call for help before we get there," he said. Silas nodded. A club could look after its members, but investigating threats against a witness was not a reason to start a fight in somebody's yard.
They contacted the county sheriff's office to request a welfare check and described the suspicious vehicles. Decker spoke to a deputy who knew the property and agreed to approach without drawing conclusions in advance. Nolan wanted to drive straight to the house, but Silas insisted they wait near the county road until they knew whether it was safe. The delay felt unbearable. Every minute gave Nolan time to imagine a worse outcome, yet he remembered that Elias had tried to do the right thing without enough outside protection and had paid for it.
When the deputy called back, his report was cautious. The two vehicles had left, the door was open, and Garrett Cole was inside and able to speak. He appeared badly shaken but had declined medical assistance. The deputy said Cole would talk to visitors if he chose, and he was willing to remain long enough to establish who those visitors were. Silas thanked him and drove up the private road with Nolan and Decker following. They left the remaining riders at a distance, a decision Nolan knew had cost Silas effort.
Cole's house was low and weathered, set among trees beyond a stretch of rough driveway. A black sedan had left deep tire marks in the wet gravel. The front door stood ajar, and a single lamp burned inside. Nolan entered behind Silas, already conscious of how little the place resembled a home. There were no photographs on the walls, no children's drawings, no plants near the windows. Everything seemed selected to be used, not kept.
Garrett Cole sat in an old armchair with both hands wrapped around a glass of water. He was a heavy man in his seventies, his shoulders narrowed by age and his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. He looked toward Silas first and did not appear surprised to see him. Then his gaze found Nolan's face. His breathing stopped for an instant. "Elias's boy," he said in a hoarse voice.
Nolan had prepared several accusations during the drive. All of them vanished when he saw Cole looking at him as though twenty-two years of consequences had acquired a human face. Silas sat across from Cole and asked who had visited.