Satoshi Nakamoto stands at the end of his sunbaked driveway looking timorous. And annoyed. He's wearing a rumpled T-shirt, old blue jeans and white gym socks, without shoes, like he has left the house in a hurry. His hair is unkempt, and he has the thousand-mile stare of someone who has gone weeks without sleep. He stands not with defiance, but with the slackness of a person who has waged battle for a long time and now faces a grave loss. Two police officers from the Temple City, Calif., sheriff's department flank him, looking puzzled. "So, what is it you want to ask this man about?" one of them asks me. "He thinks ... (full story)