Malloy was nodding while she twined a strand of hair between short-nailed fingers. The eyes were really quite captivating. “And then you needed to prove your theory.”

“I showed all the kids, except Erik, some pictures of dealers from Canton I said I was going to investigate. After that I started tailing Orin Trimbeaux.”

“Heard of him, sure.”

“He was my first choice—he was the biggest gunrunner in the group. And it was likely Travis had bought from him. Travis started tailing me.”

“And this PI of yours had surveillance on you?”

“Yep.”

“You took a chance.”

He thumped his chest. “Body armor. I minimized the risk.”

“And, on January twelfth? How did it go down, you reckon?”

“Travis and Erik were making their way to the clearing to hook up with the others. He sees the Subaru, unlocked. He finds the stash in the trunk. And comes up with the plan. He takes his own gun, the Smittie, wipes it down and then rubs Williams’s soda cup on it. For the DNA. He goes to the clearing, hides in the brush so nobody can see him. He shoots Williams and drops the gun on the path. He tells Erik that if he says anything he’ll kill him too. He buries the drugs and his own gloves somewhere and then takes Erik’s. When they did the GSR test on the four kids, Erik was the only one not wearing gloves, I’ll bet.”

“I think you’re right.”

“The kids leave and go back home. A day or so later Travis goes back to the scene and collects the drugs. He then signs up for NA to make it look good.”

A flash of lightning exploded in the distance. A guttural rumble arrived, leisurely. This seemed to silence the bullfrogs for a moment, though perhaps it was a coincidence. “Oh, here’s a bonus.” He reached into his backpack and handed her the to-go bag from the pizzeria where Trimbeaux and Garcia had lunched. It contained their beverage glasses. He’d wanted to get samples in Erin’s bar the night before but the boys in the crew were getting suspicious, so he’d left early.

He explained, “DNA samples. Trimbeaux and his main gun supplier—Eduardo Garcia.” He gave her the man’s residence, which Mack had narrowed down to an address on Miller Street. “Probably’ll match that DNA your forensic people found on the slugs in the Smittie. I’ll come by the office tomorrow and sign a chain of custody card. Oh, and I’ll upload a video of Trimbeaux selling to some neo-Nazis.”

Malloy exhaled a laugh of surprise at this. “Were you ever law enforcement?”

“No.”

She frowned as she looked him over. “You want to be law enforcement?”

Shaw smiled.