“Anyone else?”

“Jesus fuck, how I hate this,” McGuire said, staring into his mug.

Len said, “Erik got into a conversation with Kimberley Petroff. It looked pretty intense.”

“Did anyone else see?” Like her husband?

Len shook his head. “I don’t think so. They were out in the yard there—” he nodded his head at the window “—and it was getting dark by then.”

“Anyone else?”

“Blue Jay Jefferson, maybe? But then he’s cranky with everyone. And he’s the one who separated Houten and Erik.”

“Did you hear any traffic on the road after everyone left?”

“No. There’s a lot of insulation in the form of shrubbery between the house and the driveway.”

Gabe shook his head.

“Could you do me a favor? Could the two of you take some time over this list and give me a sense of who left in what order? Erik left last, okay, but who left first? And how much time between departures?”

The two men looked at each other and shrugged. “Sure.”

They put their heads together over the list. After a little argument, they handed it back with numbers in front of all the names.

Liam stood up. “Thanks for your time.” He folded the piece of paper and tucked it away. “You’ll be around for a while?”

“This you telling us not to leave town, lawman?” Len said, drawling out the words like he was an extra in a Randolph Scott movie.

“It kind of is,” Liam said. He pulled on his cap and nodded. “Later, gentlemen.”

Fourteen

Wednesday, September 4

LIAM SAT IN HIS PICKUP FOR FIFTEEN minutes, on the phone with Ms. Petroff. He read down the list for her and she gave him everyone’s addresses and phone numbers. The Reeses and the Kinnisons were nearest but no one was home at either house. Probably everyone was at work and school. Liam left his card in the door jambs of both. He’d call them later.

After Kinnison and Reese was Domenica Garland, who lived in a Teutonically square house with one steep roof whose peak nearly achieved low earth orbit. It was shingled with large squares of dull black slate. At that angle if one of those suckers slid off it could decapitate Liam with one slice. The trees here all kept a safe distance as if they were thinking the same thing.

He got out of the truck and was startled by a flock of barn swallows swooping back and forth through the air. It was September, not the height of mosquito season, and he wondered what they were eating.

He’d never given a damn about birds or bothered to learn their names and habits until a raven had started stalking him in Newenham. He needed to stop jumping every damn time something shook a tail feather at him.

He walked up a wide path made of more slices of slate, these a rusty gold in color. The slate continued up the broad low steps that led to an enormous wooden door that looked as if it had been looted from a Gothic cathedral. He pressed the ornate wrought iron doorbell, disappointed when he heard only one low, drawn-out “bonnngggg.” By rights there should have been a rope with Quasimodo on the other end of it.