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photographs of Rawlins’s body, while Ash kept notes of each picture I took. It started to sprinkle again as I moved in for some closer shots of the victim. Suddenly, the barking stopped and I relaxed a little when there was no scream of pain followed by gunfire.
    As I bent to take a photo of Rawlins’s boots, Ash said, “Maybe I’m just not cut out for police work.”
    “Huh?” I lowered the camera to look at her.
    “After the pursuit, I got so jittery, my hands were trembling.”
    “That’s just adrenaline palsy, sweetheart. It used to happen to me all the time. What’s more, you didn’t sound scared during the pursuit.”
    “I didn’t?” Her face brightened.
    “No.” I reached out to brush my fingers against her cheek. “You did a great job and I’m proud of you.”
    “I just wish your leg were well enough so that we could work a patrol car together.”
    “Probably a bad idea, honey. We’d always be looking for a place to park and neck. Now, I’d better get back to work.” Inching forward with my legs spread on either side of the body, I moved into a position where I could take an overhead shot of Rawlins’s chest wound. I took the picture and then said, “Hmm, this is interesting.”
    “What’s that?”
    “You don’t really notice it until you stand right over him, but this arrow came in at a slight downward angle. You see?”
    Ash moved so that our heads were close enough that I could smell her Pure Grace perfume. At last, she said, “You’re right. It’s at a definite angle. Whoever shot the arrow was at a slightly higher elevation than Everett.”
    “Or the arrow was on the downward portion of an arc, which would have to mean it was a long-distance shot. That’s hard to imagine in this darkness.”
    Ash gave me a supporting hand as I carefully stepped away from the body. Then she glanced at the tree line and said, “Those pines are at the same level as the rest of the yard. The arrow probably wasn’t shot from there.”
    “I agree. So, where the hell did it come from?” I scanned the yard.
    “How about the second-floor window of the barn? No, that’s too high.”
    “We’ll check it out, though. But I’m beginning to think it came from somewhere near the bottom of that hill.” I pointed to an invisible spot in the blackness, just above the tops of the pine trees. “Which is just down the slope from where Chet parked his truck.”

Four
     
     
     
     
    There was shouting from inside the Rawlins house, and then the front door sailed open with a window-rattling crash. Longstreet was first through the door, followed immediately by the animal control guy, who was desperately trying to maintain his grip on the steel catchpole. The huge dog was furious over the tightening noose around his neck and turned to snap at the kennel cop. A second later, Longstreet saw us standing over his fallen master and things looked as if they were about to go from bad to worse.
    The snarling Rottweiler started in our direction, his progress slowed only slightly by the animal control officer, who couldn’t find any firm footing on the gravel. Randy darted forward to give the guy a hand as Tina yanked her gun from its holster and prepared to shoot the dog if it attacked us. Meanwhile, I was desperately trying to remember if I had one of Kitch’s Milk-Bones in my coat pockets.
    “He’s just scared and upset,” said Ash. Squaring her shoulders, she took several steps toward Longstreet and then stopped and put her hands on her hips. The dog stopped, looked up at her, and seemed to relax a little.
    My wife, the dog whisperer, I thought admiringly. Ash had grown up in a home full of large dogs, and during our marriage we’d owned a husky and then a Bernese mountain dog before we’d gotten Kitch. Every one of our four-footed furry kids suffered from selective deafness when it came to me, but they always listened to Ash. She was the pack leader.
    Ash held out her hand. “Give me the catchpole.”
    “I