“Slow down. You asked me why we believe that the killer—or someone who coincidentally visited her at approximately the time she was killed—parked in the driveway. And I gave you the answer. We believe it because the victim herself told us that’s what happened. It’s the victim’s eyewitness account, posted on her Facebook page, before she was killed.” Lieutenant Bullard’s expression of triumph was diluted with a pinch of worry. “So now you owe me a brief, clear explanation of why you think Ruth Blum would say those things if they weren’t true.”

“She didn’t.”

“Beg pardon?”

“None of it happened that way. The scenario you’re presenting doesn’t make any sense. First of all, before we get into the logical problem, you’ve got a physical-evidence problem at the end of the driveway.”

“What physical-evidence problem?”

“The ground is fairly dry. How long has it been since the last rain?” He knew when it had rained in Walnut Crossing, but the weather system around the Finger Lakes was often quite different.

She thought for a moment. “It rained yesterday morning. It was over by noon. Why?”

“There’s a strip of dirt in a crevice out there at the edge of the road, maybe an inch wide. Anyone coming into the driveway would have to cross it, unless they drove through the woods and across the lawn. But that little strip of dirt doesn’t seem to have been disturbed, at least not since the last rain.”

“An inch is not necessarily enough to register—”

“Maybe not, but it’s suggestive. Plus, there’s the psychological factor. If the Good Shepherd is back, if this is his seventh victim, then what we already know about him has to figure into it.”

“Like what?”

“One thing we know is that he is extremely cautious, extremely risk-averse. And that short driveway is too exposed. Any vehicle sitting out there—especially anything the size of a Hummer—would have its rear bumper practically on the road. Way too eye-catching, way too identifiable. A local cop cruising by might zero in on a strange car like that, might stop to check it out, might run the plate number.”

Bullard frowned. “But the fact is, Ruth Blum was killed, and if the killer came in a vehicle, he had to park it somewhere. So what are you saying? Where did he park it? On the shoulder of the road? That would be even more exposed.”

“My guess would be at the body shop.”

“The what?”