"The p-lead?" He wasn't thinking all that clearly, and it took him a moment to follow. "Oh, yeah. The wire connected to the ignition, I mean the mag switch." He did look at her then, eyes all cop. "You mean it's not connected to the switch?" he said sharply.

She nodded dumbly.

"So the switch was ..."

"It was on," she said. She jerked her chin toward the front of the plane. "It was on when Bob thought it was off. When he pulled the prop through."

There was a stir in back of them, and a bluff voice calling out, "What the hell's going on here? Get the hell outta the way, Gruber, let me see." Heavy feet slapped to a halt against the pavement, followed by a long, drawn-out, "Jeeeesus H. Key-riiiiiist."

Liam turned. Gary Gruber had returned with a blue plastic tarp. He was holding up one end for the perusal of an Alaska state trooper in full-dress blue and gold glory, a square red face beneath the badge pinned to the center of the black fur cap, earflaps tied neatly together over the crown, bushy black eyebrows over deep-set dark eyes. He wore sergeant's stripes.

The new arrival took in the body, the silent crowd, Liam and the pilot standing next to the Cub. His eyes, their look of surprise fading into the professional assessment of the practicing policeman, narrowed on Liam's face. "Well, well, well. Liam Campbell, isn't it? Sergeant Liam Campbell?" he added, emphasizing the first word.

Face wiped clean of all expression, Liam replied in a neutral voice, "Trooper Campbell now, Sergeant. Roger Corcoran, isn't it?" He held a hand out. "I believe I'm relieving you."

"You're out of uniform, trooper," Corcoran said.

Wy looked from the trooper to Liam and back again, a frown puckering between her brows. Gary Gruber let the tarp fall and stepped out of range to join the crowd, which was following along with a curiosity they didn't bother to hide. Liam nodded at the Metroliner, still sitting where it had slid to a halt fifty feet away. "Just got in. Haven't had time to change." He kept his hand out.

Waiting just long enough for his hesitation to become obvious, Corcoran took Liam's hand in the briefest of grasps and immediately released it. "How's Glenallen these days? Arresting any drunk drivers up there lately?"

Next to him Liam heard Wy draw in a sharp breath. "Like always," he said, his voice steady.

There was a tiny pause. Then Corcoran, evidently abandoning the effort of trying to get a rise out of Liam, nodded at the body lying in front of the plane, the rain keeping the blood a rich and vivid red. "Walk into the prop?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Corcoran's brows rose. "Oh?"

Liam jerked his head, and Corcoran came over to stand next to them. Dropping his voice, Liam said, "The p-lead was disconnected."

"What the hell's a p-lead?" Corcoran was no pilot, either.

Liam let Wy explain.