She shot a glance in Clegg’s direction, perhaps to see if he knew more about this unexpected challenge than she did, but his eyes showed only surprise and confusion. She looked back at Gurney, then at her watch. “Come inside. I’ll give you exactly five minutes to make some sense. Meanwhile, Andy, you stay here and keep an eye on the TV vultures. They are not to put one toe on our side of the tape.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She led Gurney down a sloping lawn by the side of the house and up the steps of the rear deck—which he recognized as the location of Kim’s outdoor interview with Ruth Blum. He followed her through a back door that connected the deck with a large eat-in kitchen. A photographer was sitting at a table in a breakfast nook, downloading pictures from a digital SLR onto a laptop.

She looked around the kitchen, but it didn’t offer much opportunity for privacy. “Excuse me, Chuck, can you give us a few minutes here?”

“No problem, Lieutenant. I can finish this in the van.” He picked up his equipment and a moment later was gone.

The lieutenant sat in one of the chairs at the vacated table and motioned Gurney to the one directly opposite. “Okay,” she said evenly. “I’ve had a long day so far, and it’s nowhere near over. I have no time to waste. I’d appreciate some clarity and brevity. Speak.”

“What makes you think he parked in the driveway?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I do?”

“The way the three of you were standing carefully to the side of it when I arrived. The way everybody avoided walking on it, even though your tech crew must have already gone over it. So I figure it’s being saved for a more thorough microscopic analysis. How come you’re convinced he parked there?”

She studied him for a while before a cynical little smile appeared on her lips. “You already know something, don’t you? Where’s the leak?”

“No point in going down that path. That’s the FBI path. Confrontational waste of time.”

She continued to study him, not so long this time, then seemed to arrive at a decision. “The victim posted a message on her Facebook page late last night. After some comments about the RAM program, she described a car that was pulling into her driveway as she was sitting there at her computer. Why do I have a feeling that you already know all this?”

Gurney ignored her question. “What kind of car?”

“Big. Military-looking. No make or model mentioned.”

“Jeep? Land Rover? Hummer? Something like that?” She nodded.

“So the theory is that he parks out in the driveway, walks up to the front door, knocks … and then what? He kills her in the doorway? She lets him in? She knows him? She doesn’t know him?”