Cooper nodded. “You know that means he will have the best team of lawyers on his case. Pearson made a point of reminding me that our evidence collection needs to be pristine.”

She flashed a look at him. “Ellis, let’s get one thing straight—it doesn’t matter to me who the lawyers are, I follow every single protocol, every single fucking time.”

He smiled. Geez, she was intense. “I know. Your reputation precedes you. I was passing on the Sergeant’s instructions.”

She crouched down by her kit. “He already spoke to me. And I’ll tell you the same thing I said to him: you do your job. And I’ll do mine.” She pulled the white hood over her auburn hair. Conversation over.

Lamond tapped his shoulder. “Come on, the father and son are over there.”

Cooper turned around. Mel Owen, the father, sat in his wheelchair, his eyes moving restlessly across the scene. Once in a while, his lips would move, and he would nod. But if he was speaking to his son, Harry Owen was oblivious. The younger Owen slumped in a chair, his dark head cradled in his hands.

He looked very different than the last time Cooper had seen him. It had been on television, where he flanked the Minister of Public Safety during the Minister’s announcement of changes to the gun registry. Harry Owen, Juris Doctorate, Member of Parliament for Halifax, had stood confidently, his white shirt immaculate, his dark suit impeccably pressed, not a hair out of place.

Cooper studied the politician. His hair was mussed from the fingers that dug into his skull. Blood stained his plain grey crewneck t-shirt and navy-checked boxer shorts. If that was the blood of the suspect, the shot had been at close-range. His feet were bare. He assessed the man’s feet and hands. No signs of scratches, cuts, or self-defense wounds. His feet were clean, the nails trimmed and tidy. No mud, dirt or bits of leaves caught in them.

Cooper strode over to the two men and cleared his throat. “Mr. Owen?” The older Mr. Owen’s gaze swung to Cooper. It was expressionless. Empty. Like a pair of headlights, flickering dispassionately over the officers investigating the scene.

Harry Owen lifted his head. Dark bags under bloodshot eyes. “My father is not well enough to answer any questions. He’s in shock.”

Cooper studied the father more closely. “Does he require any medical assistance?”

“He has already been checked out.” Harry rose to his feet. “He needs some rest.” He edged his body so that he stood between Cooper and his father.

Cooper noted the son’s protectiveness, vaguely remembering that Mr. Owen had been a victim of crime, years ago. He would have to dig out that case. “I am Detective Cooper Ellis, General Investigative Services. We would like you both to come to the station tomorrow for an interview, but there are a few questions—”