I felt guilty over my reaction to Katy’s news. The military performed an invaluable service. Provided vital defense for the country. Every branch needed capable volunteers. The sons and daughters of others were enlisting. Why not mine?

Because Katy was still my little girl.

The Irish anthem vibrated into my sternum.

I raised the phone to my ear. “Brennan.”

“I heard about your little adventure last night.”

In no mood for censure from Ollie, I said nothing.

“You’re not winning any points with the locals.”

“Is that what you called to tell me?”

“I called to tell you I need information. And I need it now. What I don’t need is a lot of crap.”

I waited, too irritated to speak.

“Describe what went down with Ruben.”

I did.

There was a long silence. I guessed Ollie was taking notes.

“I’ve got to ask you something, Tempe.”

His tone put me on alert.

“Did you knock a few back last night?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why in God’s name would you ask me that?”

“Chalker says he smelled booze on your breath.”

I felt a flash of heat in my cheeks. The minibar Scotch.

“Chalker’s a jackass,” I said.

“You and I both know you’ve had your moments.”

“Which is why I don’t drink.”

“Just had to ask.”

“Has CSU finished at Sunnyvale?” I changed the subject.

“Two hours ago.”

“Have you bagged Scarborough or Unka?”

“We’ve got Unka. The locals are sweating him. Ryan and I are doubling down on Scar.”

Really? Détente?

“Do you think Scar shot Ruben?”

“He’s capable of anything.” A beat. Then, “A guy from headquarters will come to the hotel around nine. I want you to take him through your version of events.”

My version of events?

“Then I want you to return to your room and sit on your pretty little ass. Got it?”

“Gee, Sergeant Hasty, can I go buy that book about diamonds, pretty please?”

“Yeah. You can do that.”

I got dressed and grabbed a quick breakfast of French toast and bacon. Nellie Snook was not in the restaurant.

Constable Lake called up from the lobby at nine-fifteen. He was blond and freckled and obviously worked out. He walked with me across the garden and through the woods to the spot where Ruben died.

Even in daylight, I could see no trace of blood. No boot or shoe mark. Not a scrap of physical evidence. Pine needles are resilient. There were no footprints from me or Ryan or Chalker.

“Nothing but needles,” Lake said after looking around.

“That’s the point. The shooter took the body and cleaned up the scene. Why bother to do that? Why not simply haul ass?”

“Where did the shots come from?”

“Over there.” I pointed.

Lake followed me. We did another visual scan.

“No brass,” he said.

“Of course not. If he’d take the body, he’d take his casings.”