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individual?”
    “  ‘Fraid not, Sheriff.  It would appear that whoever did this was wearing gloves.
    Lyle sat in his office and thought it through after the ME had left.  He had a strong case against Ray Marshall, and hoped that a pair of leather gloves retrieved from the PT Cruiser’s glove box would prove to have trace evidence that would give him the final confirmation he needed to charge the boy.  There was almost always a transfer of hair, fiber or other material when a crime was this up close and personal.  But it was to be expected that it would be apparent in this case, due to the suspected perp and the victim being in a relationship.  A confession would have been the cherry on top of the cake, but you had to work with what you’d got, and Ray Marshall kept telling him exactly the same story, which he needed to break.  Maybe the kid had not meant to kill Tanya, which ruled out premeditation, but Lyle was convinced that he was guilty.

CHAPTER FIVE

    Logan set off on foot from the motel at just before sunup, crossed the highway and walked south and then east through woods to reach the spot on the back road that he had parked at two days ago.
    The sheriff thought it was a wrap; that even without a confession he had enough circumstantial evidence to charge Ray.  But he was waiting for the official report from the ME to land on his desk, and the analysis paperwork on the white powder that they already knew was high-grade cocaine.
    Logan was standing up to the plate for Clifton and his boy.  That entailed a different mindset to the simplistic conclusion the sheriff had come to.  What bothered him in the main was that Ray hadn’t panicked.  He had gone home and slept off the effects of the night before, and had appeared totally bewildered and upset when he found out that Tanya was missing.  Logan did not think he was putting on an act.  And as an ex-homicide detective he’d attended all types of murders, including those of vics that had been strangled.  Tanya would have fought for her life.  If the deed had been carried out by Ray in his car after an argument, then he should have been marked.  She would have lashed out, scratched his hands, face, or both.  And they should have found traces under her fingernails.  As far as he knew from Kate Donner, they had nothing.
    Only a couple of vehicles drove by heading in the direction of town as he walked along the side of the road.  He crossed over and cut through trees onto what was presumably still land that made up part of the Carver property.  That was a place to start, just on the off chance that some hobo had been living rough in the gutted house.  He didn’t think that scenario was even a long shot, but would be thorough and put himself in the position of being lead cop investigating the case.
    There was no evidence of any recent occupation inside the roofless shell.  Outside the front of it was a clearing of still scorched earth and a few stunted bushes.
    Heading back towards the highway, Logan did not spend any time at the spot where Ray had parked up on the track.  As far as he was concerned it had not been the crime scene.  He reached the blacktop, turned right and walked slowly, eyes down and searching for anything that did not belong.  After maybe ninety or a hundred yards a very small item glinted in the grass.  The light covering of snow that had lain for thirty-six hours had melted to display a few beer and soda cans, and the usual trash that was thrown from moving vehicles.  But this was an unexpected find.  He was wearing woolen gloves, so picked the object up and slipped it into the side pocket of his parka.
    As he crossed the road, intending to return to the motel through the woods, the single whoop of a police siren broke the silence.  He stopped and waited for the cruiser to roll up next to him and park.
    “Are you lost, Logan, or just some kind of ghoul attracted to murder scenes?”  Deputy Sheriff Carl Purvis said as he