“Okay, Liam said.

“Good, she said. “So long as were clear.

“Perfectly, he said.

“I mean it, she said.

“I know, he said. “Im sorry. He could feel Prince beginning to get restive, and he said, “Tell me what happened, Wy.

“What happened? she said. “What happened is Im on my mail run, Im landing at my last stop on the route, I start unloading the mail, and when Opal doesnt come out to carry it inside I go in looking for her. She swallowed. “And I found her.

“Did you know her? Prince said.

“Of course I knew her, Wy snapped. “I knew her like I know everybody on my mail route. She was the postmistress, I talked to her once or twice a week, weather permitting.

“What did you say her name was? Prince got out her notebook.

“Opal. Opal Nunapitchuk. Oh god. There were a couple of benches arranged around a lovely little copse of plants, shrubs and trees native to Alaska, evidence of someones inspiration and loving care, and Wy went over and sat down hard on one of them. “Oh god, she repeated, and bent over to put her head between her knees.

“She in the house?

Wy nodded without looking up.

“Better take a look, Liam said to Prince, and led the way up the path.

Opal Nunapitchuk lay sprawled on her back behind the counter that fenced in the corner of the room to the left of the door. Her eyes were wide open, her head at an odd angle because of the cramped quarters of the space behind the counter. Her left shoulder was shattered, a mess of white splinters of bone and congealed blood.

He looked at her face first, something he had trained himself to do from his first crime scene. He wanted to imprint the face of the victim in his memory, be able to call it up at need. He wanted the face of the victim right there as he gathered evidence, as he interviewed witnesses, as he swore out an arrest warrant, as he arrested a suspect, as he conducted the interrogation, as he testified in court. He made sure that the victim was always with him.

His first impression was how young she seemed, clear brown skin tanned from a summer in the sun, a long fall of shining black hair, a slim, muscular build that looked as if it had been vigorously active in life. There were creases in the corners of her eyes, laugh lines at the corners of her mouth, the telltale crepe beneath her jaw. Not so young, then, but a very attractive woman. Rape? No, she was still fully dressed, her jeans belted tightly around a slim waist. He looked at the wound. It seemed high, as if the shooters aim had been off. Or she had pushed it off.

“Not a body shot, Liam said, more to himself than to Prince, but she picked up on it.

“Not aiming to kill, maybe?