He found a long series of emails and several WordPad documents, including one that was a list of range members, with their addresses, phone numbers, and emails. He printed out the list, which turned out to be twenty-four pages long, then scanned through the last hundred or so emails, where he found nothing of interest.

He remembered what Bud Dexter, Andorra’s shooting friend, had said about Andorra getting a new showerhead. He climbed the stairs to the main bathroom, where he found what looked like a new showerhead in the stall and, in the wastebasket, the package it had come in. Maybe Andorra never emptied the basket, but it seemed more likely that he’d been killed shortly after Dexter had spoken to him on the range.

As he was walking back down the stairs, a civilian Crown Vic that dated back to 2011 pulled into the driveway, followed by a Ford Explorer. Jenkins got out of the Crown Vic, waited for Shrake to catch up. They were both large men, somewhat battered, who wore too-sharp gray suits and high-polish steel-toed dress shoes.

Virgil went to the door and let them in, and Shrake wrinkled his nose, and asked, “You got something in the oven?”

“Guy was dead here for a couple of weeks,” Virgil said. “Anyway, we need to interview a bunch of people. We’re looking for a good marksman who knew Glen Andorra. Andorra was the dead guy here—”

Jenkins interrupted. “We got a briefing from Jon before we came down. He told us you’d screwed up the investigation, as usual, and were looking for a couple of pros to figure it out for you. We know about Andorra and Osborne and the two wounded victims, and that you can’t figure out why nobody could hear the gunshots—”

“Figured that one out,” Virgil said.

He brought them up to date, including the fact that they were back to square one. “We’ve got some legwork to do. I’d be willing to bet that the shooter was a regular out here and knew Andorra well enough to be invited to his house and allowed to walk around, out of sight, while Andorra sat in his easy chair. The range has something like a hundred and eighty members. I don’t think we need to interview all of them; I think we can talk to a couple of dozen, at random, and get some pointers to the real possibilities.”

He divided up the list of range members, taking eight pages himself and giving eight more each to Shrake and Jenkins, and added, “We’ll want to spot these addresses on our mapping software so we can work through clusters of people instead of running all over the place.”

“Good,” Jenkins said. “Let me get my iPad. Does this place have WiFi?”

It did.

—