“I’m wiped,” Brenner said. “But we gotta keep going, right, partner?”

Taking stock of the fields and rolling woodlands, he thought how some zones were easy to miss and how they were all starting to look the same to him as he followed Orleans County Deputy Rob Steffano’s SUV up to the house.

Steffano stepped out with his clipboard.

While Brenner opened his tailgate to fix a long lead on Luna, she yipped, becoming a little excited as if she’d picked up something. Brenner and Steffano exchanged glances.

“Could be an animal on the property,” Brenner said, curling the lead tight to keep Luna close.

They went to the door, and Steffano knocked.

After what seemed like a full minute, they heard movement before the door opened to a man in a sweatshirt. His face and arms bore tiny flecks of paint. He was wiping his hands in a damp, paint-stained cloth.

“Yes,” he said.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Deputy Steffano with Orleans County, and this is Ben Brenner, with Search and Rescue. We’re investigating the missing person case of Samantha Moore from New York.”

“Oh yes. That’s such a terrible case.”

“Sir, are you the property owner?”

“No. I’m the caretaker for the property manager.”

“Would you have identification, and the name of the property manager?”

“Of course.” The man reached into his rear pocket for his wallet, and presented his driver’s license and Devlin Foxe’s business card.

Steffano noticed a strong smell, evocative of industrial cleaner.

“Lasius Byyle. You reside in Providence, Rhode Island.”

“Yes. I’m an artist. I retreat here to paint and watch over the property.”

Steffano took notes and photos of Byyle’s ID, and Foxe’s information, before returning the items.

“Mr. Byyle, do you own a vehicle?”

“Yes. It’s in the shed.”

“May we see it?”

“Certainly.”

While walking from the house to the shed, Luna’s lead uncurled as she approached Byyle. Still holding the damp rag, he lowered himself, rubbing his hands over her snout in a friendly embrace.

“Please don’t touch the dog, sir.” Brenner tightened the lead and pulled Luna to him, catching a hint of the turpentine-like solvent wafting from the rag.

“Sorry. I was cleaning my hands from refinishing a chair, and I have ointment for some joint trouble,” Byyle said.

Luna sneezed, then gave out a few protest whines as Brenner cursed under his breath.

The shed’s weather-beaten panels appeared ready to fall. The front doors were hanging precariously from their hinges as Byyle and Steffano swung them open to a white, late-model Jeep Compass.

“Do you have the registration and insurance?” Steffano asked.