It was clear the lieutenant didn’t plan on staying long. He’d dispensed with the small talk and seemed unwilling to take a seat. He wore neither his jacket nor his Panama hat tonight, so he stood with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his loosened tie dangling. The reporters and photographers must have packed up and called it a night, Keegan thought. No need for the man to look his best. The leather shoulder holster he wore looked worn and abused, but the gun in it gleamed like a new dime.

The cottage’s windows and doors were all open, and most of the lights were off to keep it cool. In the cross-ventilation that drew in the front door and out through the kitchen, the cottage was beginning to feel almost comfortable. Maybe he’d manage to get some sleep tonight. He was coming up on forty-eight hours.

The lieutenant flipped his wrist and the revolver snapped shut. He looked at Keegan. “You didn’t clean this before you used it the other day?”

Keegan grinned and gestured around them at the living room. The cartoon whiskey glasses still sat on the coffee table. That morning’s newspaper lay scattered across one end of the sofa. “Do I strike you as the kind of guy who cleans his gun every chance he gets?”

Moore looked around the room. “Point taken.”

Keegan leaned back on the sofa and stretched his legs across the coffee table. It was important that he look at ease. He hadn’t yet thought through to his next move. It was only a matter of time—a day, maybe two—before the lieutenant pulled the paperwork and realized the gun he was holding wasn’t the one registered to Keegan. “What is that you’re carrying these days?” Keegan said. He nodded at the lieutenant’s shoulder holster.

The lieutenant patted the holster with his right hand but didn’t unsnap the leather strap. Maybe he didn’t want to smudge the gun’s nickel finish. “Smith and Wesson. Model 39,” he said. “Christmas present from the wife.”

“You like it?”

“Jury’s still out,” he said. “It can be a little temperamental.” He slipped Keegan’s gun back in the canvas pouch and zipped it shut. “Thanks, Jimmy,” he said. “This shouldn’t take more than a couple of days. I’ll get them to move it along.”

“No rush,” Keegan said. “It’s not like I ever use the thing.” He glanced over at the kitchen door. Nora was still asleep under the table on the cool kitchen tile. “You don’t have time for a whiskey?” Keegan asked.

The lieutenant consulted his watch and shook his head. “Not tonight, Jimmy. I’ve gotta work late.”

“Well, that’s reassuring to hear,” Keegan said. “None of us can relax up here while there’s a killer still at large.”