Lake nodded. “Let’s check by the road.”

Any tire tracks or footprints had long since been obliterated by rain.

Lake looked at me a very long time. Then, “Come in to headquarters and we’ll write it up.”

Message clear: further analysis of the scene would not take place.

“I’ll do that.”

Lake shrugged. “These things happen.”

Before I could ask his meaning, Lake turned and trudged off toward the hotel.

What things happen? People getting shot? Bodies disappearing?

Drunks taking cops on wild goose chases?

Face flaming, I watched Lake disappear from the trees. He didn’t question my hesitation. Didn’t look back.

A raven cawed overhead.

Triggered a synapse.

“Tank,” I shouted.

Waited.

“Here, Tank.”

I retraced my steps, calling the name.

Several squirrels skittered out of my path.

But no dog.

*  *  *

Back in my room, I turned on the television and booted my laptop.

Twenty minutes later, I was unaware of what was on the computer screen. Of what was being broadcast on TV.

Guilt over Ruben. Worry over Katy. Apprehension over the meaning of Lake’s odd comment. Jesus. How many people thought I’d been on a bender and imagined the shooting?

And the goddamn dog.

While I was sitting on my pretty little ass, Ollie and Ryan were running down Scar.

Screw that.

I transferred a folder to my purse, threw on a jacket, and descended to the lobby.

Through the front door, I could see the Camry parked in the lot across the driveway. Knowing Ryan’s habits, I crossed to the desk. Working it was a woman whose name tag said Nora.

“Excuse me, Nora. Detective Ryan called and asked that I deliver a file ASAP. I know it’s unusual, but I wonder if I could have a key to two-oh-seven?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Brennan. We must have explicit permission to let a guest into another guest’s room.”

“That’s just it.” I leaned in, an informant with top-secret information. “Detective Ryan is at a crime scene and can’t be disturbed.”

As I suspected, word of Castain’s murder had already fired through the Yellowknife grapevine. With a conspiratorial nod, Nora swiped and handed me a key card.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“I hope it helps,” Nora whispered back.

We acknowledged the gravity of her act by locking eyes for a long solemn moment.

“By the way,” I said, “is Nellie Snook working today?”

Nora shook her head. “She’s off weekends.”

The keys were lying on Ryan’s bedside table.

I hurried to the Camry, fired up the engine, and swooped down the drive. Game on. It felt damn good.

When I parked on Ragged Ass, Nellie Snook was in her carport changing the litter in a cat pan. She wore a baggy black turtleneck and the same faded jeans she’d worn the day before. I got out and crossed to her.