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here.” She indicated a chair that was pulled away from the table.
    “We don’t know for sure they were shot yet,” Cardinal said. “But since the rest of it is post-mortem, yeah, I could see it. He shoots the man first, possibly right in the face, and the bullet ends up in the wall behind him. Then he shoots the woman, maybe through the side of the head, and it exits this way and ends up on the floor. Then he pulls out the axe.”
    Cardinal looked briefly over the living room, which was neat and undisturbed. He went down a gleaming hallway, his paper suit making swishing sounds with each step. Two of the bedrooms appeared not only undisturbed but underfurnished, as if no one lived in them. Lots of the houses in this area were vacant most of the winter, their owners having another residence in town. He checked the bathroom briefly, and finally the master bedroom.
    He stood in the doorway, arms folded. One window completely smashed—outward, not inward—the chair it had been attacked with lying on its side. No other signs of violence. The bed was made up, but when Cardinal lifted the corner of the bedspread, there was only a mattress pad underneath. The closet was virtually empty, as were the dresser drawers. No sign of any suitcases.
    He went to the window and looked out. Arsenault had set up so many lights, it looked like a movie set. He was on his knees, bent low over something.
    Cardinal asked him how it was going. Arsenault stood up. “Fantastic. I’m taking moulds before it melts.”
    “Give me the short version.”
    Arsenault pointed to two sets of tracks coming up from the lake. “Those are the two boys’. The prints right by the house—up to the back door at least—are mostly ours. I’m betting all the rest are crime related. That window you’re standing in? Someone came out of there pretty hard. Cut themselves up, too—we got blood on the left hand, blood on the knee. Fairly small person. Took off that way. Comes back this way.”
    “Really.”
    “Yeah, there’s a whole story out here, if we can just get it down before it melts or it snows again.”
    “I’ll send Collingwood out.”
    He went back to the dining area. The scene didn’t get any easier to take.
    Delorme held up her notebook. “Clothing labels are all American. Barneys, Bonwit Teller, Lord & Taylor.”
    Collingwood, the younger half of Ident, was plucking invisible items from the man’s coat with a pair of tweezers.
    “Hair?” Cardinal said.
    Collingwood nodded. He almost never spoke.
    “Arsenault needs you outside. He’s hit the motherlode.”
    Delorme pulled back the sleeve from the dead man’s arm. “Rolex watches, both of them. Fur coats, expensive labels. I’d say we’re dealing with some seriously wealthy people here. Whoever killed them took their wallets but left all this stuff.”
    “Idea being to hide their identities rather than get rich, maybe.” Cardinal looked around. “Where’s Dunbar?”
    “He went to canvass the neighbours on either side. See if they saw anything.”
    “Nearest house must be two hundred yards away. If they were even here. Not too many people live out here in winter. I don’t think it even gets ploughed this far, unless you want to pay a private contractor. Did you tell him to canvass the neighbours?”
    “That was his idea.”
    “Self-motivated,” Cardinal said.
    “Probably just wanted to get away, like the coroner. Can’t say I blame him for that.”
    “Not for that. No.”
    Cardinal was beginning to feel a peculiar ache in his bones. Not from cold—the house was warming up now—but from whatever it was that emanated from the two headless beings seated at the table.
    Cardinal and Delorme stayed silent for a couple of minutes. Cardinal was waiting for that big picture to develop, but at this moment it was all detail and no picture. He went to the front vestibule. He opened the door and examined the outside lock. There were scratches around the keyhole that could mean it had