“And he’s not homeless,” Richie said. “Or if he is, he’s got somewhere he can have a wash, himself and the sleeping bag. No smell.”

I said to the nearest floater, “Get onto the Dog Unit and have them send a general purpose dog out here ASAP. Tell them we’re after a murder suspect and we need the best trailing dog they’ve got.” He nodded and backed into the hall, already pulling out his phone. “Until that dog gets a chance at the scent, no one else goes into that house. All of you”—I nodded to the floaters—“can pick up the search for the weapon, but this time keep well away from that hide—head out the front, around to both sides, and cut down to the beach. When the dog handler arrives, I’ll text you all, and you’ll come back here at a run. I’m going to need chaos outside the front of this place: people running, shouting, driving up on full lights and sirens, crowding around to look at something—give it as much drama as you can. Then pick a saint, or whatever you’re into, and say a prayer that if our man’s watching, the chaos lures him round to the front to see what’s going on.”

Richie was leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets. He said, “At least he’s after leaving his binoculars behind. If he wants to see what’s up, he can’t just stay somewhere out the back and check it out long-distance; he’ll have to come around the front, get in close.”

“There’s no guarantee he hasn’t got a second pair, but we’ll hope. If he comes close enough, we might even get our hands on him, although that’s probably too much to ask; this whole estate is a warren, he’s got enough hiding places to keep him going for months. Meanwhile, the dog goes around to that nest, scents off the sleeping bag—the handler can bring the bag down to the ground, if he can’t get the dog up there—and gets to work. One tech heads up there with them, inconspicuously, takes video and fingerprints, and leaves. Everything else can wait.”

“Gerry,” Larry said, pointing at a gangly young guy, who nodded. “Fastest print tape in the West.”

“Good man, Gerry. If you get prints, you head straight back to the lab and do what you do. The rest of us will keep up the action out front for as long as you need it, and then we’ll go back to what we were doing. We’ve got until six o’clock sharp. Then we clear the area. Anyone who’s still working inside the house can keep going, but the outside needs to look like we’ve packed up and gone home for the night. I want the coast clear—literally—for our man.”

Larry’s eyebrows were practically in his bald patch. It was a gamble, staking the whole evening’s work on this one chance—witnesses’ memories can change even overnight, rain showers can wash away blood and scent, tides can pull dumped weapons or bloody clothes out to sea forever—and gambling isn’t like me, but this case wasn’t like most cases. “Once it gets dark,” I said, “we re-deploy.”