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Route 460 toward Tazewell. It was a four-lane highway with a flat grass median and wasn’t very busy for a Monday morning.
    “ Burkes Garden is n ’ t very far from here as the crow flies,” Branham explained, setting the cruise control at just a hair above the speed limit, “but we have to drive around the mountain to get there, so it takes a bit longer.”
    “Sure,” Karen said, not particularly caring. He was driving, so it was his problem, not hers. She tapped her heel against the black leather shoulder bag on the floor between her feet. She had grabbed it from her car before joining Branham in the cruiser.
    “ T ell me about the homicide , ” she said.
    “The call came in to 911 at 1:32 a.m. on Sunday from Pete Jablonski, a dishwasher at Gerry’s ,” Branham said. “ Responding officers got there about 1:40 a.m . Orton and Collins, whom you’ve met. Pete said he’d seen a guy walk by the kitchen window earlier, about midnight or so , going around to the back of the place .
    “He was rinsing dishes at the time and he says he glanced up at the window every few moments to see if the guy went past the window again, but he didn’t. He was c urious, so he dried his hands and went out to see if the guy was hanging around back there . He wasn’t.
    “He went all the way around the building and saw Donaghue get into his car in the parking lot and driv e away. He thought at the time it might have been a drug sale or something, because every now and again they ha d to chase people away from the rear of the bar who went back there to buy and sell weed . He wasn’t sure if the guy getting into the car was the same guy he’d seen walk by the window, but he made a mental note of the license plate anyway before going back in side .
    “ A t 1:30 a.m., he said, he took a Coke and a cigarette outside on his break. He look ed around to see if he could see anything, litter or something that might explain what the guy was doing back there. H e noticed two long, odd-looking scuff marks across a patch of sand on the pavement . He went back inside for a flashlight to take a better look. T he scuff marks angled off in the direction of the ravine . He crossed the paved area in that direction and continued on across the grass toward the ravine. ”
    “Do you know this guy? Is he a credible witness?”
    “ He’s good ,” Branham said, glancing over at her. “Clean record, originally from Harmony. Spent a few years in Lexington in the horse business, working here and there as a groom , stable hand, whatever, and then came back when his mother got sick. I’ve known him for a while . He’s honest enough. Very serious little guy. No sense of humor whatsoever .”
    “So he saw these scuff marks and followed them down to the ravine .”
    Branham nodded. “ The ravine runs through town behind the buildings on that side of Bluefield Street. There ’ s an opening in the brush right there and a path leading down into the ravine. S ome high grass and weeds on one side had been flattened , so he decided to go down the path a few yards . H e found the body on the ground just off the path . He said he didn’t touch her, just bent down to try to see her face with the flashlight. When h e saw h er clothing was in disarray he came right back up and called 911.”
    “ C ause of death?”
    “ Apparently m anual strangulation. We’ll know for sure when the autopsy’s done. She was strangled behind the bar, dragged for a few yards , then picked up and carried down to the ravine and dumped. Then the guy probably went further on along the ravine, came back up for his car , and drove away.”
    “What happened to her clothes?”
    “Her dress was torn. It was sleeveless, with cloth straps over the shoulders about two inches wide . The straps had decorative buttons on them. The right strap had been torn and the dress was pulled down from the top on the right side, along with the bra, to expose her right breast.”
    “Rape?”
    Branham