Allan straightened and put his hands on his equipment belt. “Maybe the killer dropped it on purpose.”

Signy nodded. “Which is another possible scenario.” One she didn’t like. “Whatever the circumstances, we need to question the O’Roarke girl again. Immediately.”

“I’ll call her lawyer.”

“Thanks.” Signy was happy to pass on that responsibility. She should probably call SSA Winters, but she didn’t know why he was here and wasn’t feeling very charitable toward the Fed. He obviously had an agenda regarding the O’Roarke girl, one he hadn’t shared with Fairbanks, PD. She walked around the hall staring at the footprints. One in particular caught her eye. “Hey, Allan, see what I see?” She pointed at the distinctive zigzags across the soles.

He squinted down at it. “Yep. Looks like it might be the same brand of snow boot that Eban Winters found at the neighbor’s house tonight.”

“Let’s see how it compares to Darby O’Roarke’s boots.”

“We have her boots in evidence,” Allan reminded her.

“Ask the lab to compare them anyway and compare them to the other sets of tracks we found in the snow this morning.” She wanted to prove to the Fed that she knew how to cover all the bases. “Then let’s see if we can get a brand and size.”

Allan nodded and wrote a note to himself. “We also have a 911 recording of the killer talking to the victim.”

Signy swung around. “Way to bury the lede, Allan.”

Allan looked startled but she smiled to soften what he obviously thought was criticism. “I’m going to head back to the station and listen to that call. Let me know what Elliot Byrne has to say about his client’s whereabouts. I want her questioned ASAP.”

Chapter Seventeen

Eban woke at six AM the next morning. He’d been up late, going through photos and videos of the ceilidh that had been uploaded online. He’d spotted glimpses of Darby and Martin flashing in and out of a crowded dance floor, sometimes partnering each other, sometimes dancing with other people, obviously having fun. Jacqui Paulson and Lenny Serkoak had been part of that same group. No surreptitious shots of anyone spiking drinks. No candid portraits of knife-wielding maniacs. Presumably the police department had someone studying the images and identifying the people in attendance so they could be questioned.

Nothing in Martin’s emails or bank statements suggested the guy was anything other than a third-year graduate student. He needed to verify Torgerson had questioned Martin’s supervisor about the work he’d been doing and whether or not it threatened corporate interests. Finding a clear motive for Martin’s murder would be imperative for proving Darby’s innocence and someone else’s guilt.

He tried not to wake Darby as he got dressed and used the washroom, but shortly after he put the coffeepot on the burner, he heard someone upstairs moving around.

“Oh, hell,” Darby muttered.

“What is it?” He was halfway up the ladder when she appeared wearing plaid pajamas and looking mussed and ridiculously cute under the circumstances.