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"Recognize it?" Clay said.
"Looks like something you'd wear, so I'm guessing--"
"It belongs to a Stillwell."
"My father? Not exactly his style."
"It's not your father's and it's not yours. But it smells like you. Your kin. Want to know where I got it?" Clay didn't wait for an answer. "Off a mutt. One of the three who killed your father. Can you tell me why he'd be wearing it? Or who it belonged to?"
"Why don't you ask the guy who had it?" Joey frowned. "No, I suppose you can't do that, since he's probably no longer among the living. That's the problem with torturing and killing mutts, isn't it? You work so hard to get your answers, and sometimes they die on you first."
Joey's eyes lit up like Jeremy's when he hit the bull's-eye on a seemingly impossible target. But Clay just stood there, as if waiting for the punch line.
After a moment of awkward silence, Joey said, "I'm right, aren't I? You tortured him. Killed him."
"Yeah."
Again, Joey waited for a reaction--chagrin, embarrassment, shame. Again, Clay waited for him to get to the point.
"Did you use a chainsaw?" Joey said. "I seem to recall you like chainsaws."
"There wasn't a power outlet." Clay turned to me. "That's what I want for Father's Day, darling. A gas-powered chainsaw."
That flush crept across Joey's face, his eyes hardening. "You know what you are, Clay?"
"No idea, but I'm sure you'd love to tell me."
"Yes, we interrogated the mutt," I cut in. "We were trying to figure out what happened to your father, three dead men and three missing women. And yes, Clay tortured him until he admitted they'd tortured and killed your dad, killed at least one of the men, raped and presumably killed the girls. So what did you do with your day, Joseph? Write a catchy jingle?"
"You don't know anything about me."
"No," Clay said quietly. "I guess I don't."
Joey jiggled his keys, as if deciding whether to try shouldering past Clay. After a moment, he pocketed them. "What do you want?"
"I've already asked: who does this jacket belong to?"
"I have no idea."
"Can I guess?" I said. "You and your dad had a falling-out. Was that because another son showed up on his doorstep?"
"I'm a little old to be jealous of my daddy's attention."
"I didn't say you were, but you might be miffed with him for being careless and bringing another werewolf into the world, something I don't think you'd approve of."
"If my father did, I know nothing about it. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Clay moved aside to let him into the car. He waited until Joey's hand was on the door, then asked, his voice low again, "Did you call them this morning, Joey?"
"Call who?"
"The mutts. They paid a visit to our hotel after I talked to you."
Joey turned, meeting Clay's eyes. "I can't believe you'd ask me that."
"But you do have their number, right?" I said. "It's part of your deal with them."
"Deal?" He turned to me. "What deal?"
