A precarious stack of crockery perched on the draining board, including two glass tumblers. He glanced out of the window and saw a truck he knew belonged to Darby alongside a beater that presumably belonged to the victim. He walked back to the living room and scanned the room, not sure what he was hoping to find. He wished he’d had the opportunity to ask Darby to talk him through everything that had happened last night when she’d called him that morning. He’d known the best thing she could do was call the cops ASAP while he got his ass to Fairbanks. Right now, it left him blindly guessing what might have taken place.

Collect the evidence. Process the evidence. Put it together later.

He eyed the whisky bottle again. Dark smudges suggested the fingerprint guy had lifted some latent prints.

“I’d like the contents of that bottle examined for any traces of drugs.” Eban looked at the shelf of liquor sitting on a sideboard. “Actually, I’d like all the bottles sampled.”

Torgerson’s brows winged up. “What are you looking for?”

Eban remained silent. Bottomline was, he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for except some proof Darby wasn’t the only person who’d been here last night.

Torgerson blew out a large breath before stepping forward to bag the whisky. Her hair fell across her eyes, and she impatiently hooked it behind her ear, out of the way. “Our department has a limited budget so it might appear that we were sloppy not doing all the tests you’re demanding, but that was because our main suspect literally called us and has no alibi and claims not to remember what happened. It’s basically an open and shut case.”

It was anything but.

Eban wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. “The fact that she called you guys works in her favor.”

Torgerson stared at him. “She was seen leaving a party with the guy last night so it isn’t as if she wouldn’t have been our first point of call this morning.”

“Assuming anyone reported him missing for a few days.”

The detective looked unimpressed with his argument, but he was right and she knew it.

“If your department can’t afford to test all the contents of the bottles then send them to the FBI labs for processing. Either Quantico or Anchorage. The Bureau is happy to provide the service. Where was Martin Carstairs’s body found?”

Torgerson pressed her lips together, clearly suppressing what she really wanted to say. Eban followed her up the stairs.

He noticed the spare bedroom off to the left, crammed with a twin bed and two desks with PCs and gaming chairs. Black smudges stained the door handle and light switch.

Torgerson ignored that room and entered a good-sized bedroom with a stripped bed sitting in the heart of the space.

Eban noted a closet full of men’s clothes. Messy stacks of sweaters and t-shirts hanging haphazardly off coat hangers. No evidence of any women’s clothes.

“No girlfriend or significant other?”