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sat down, shucking off his rubber gloves.
    “Give me your take on what happened here,” she said.
    Hurst sighed. “Somebody came in through the frontdoor with a shotgun, used it on Hank and walked out. Simple as that.”
    Holly nodded. “Why was the dog in the kitchen with the door closed?”
    Hurst furrowed his brow. “Good point. I can’t think of any reason why Hank would shut the dog up in there.”
    “Maybe Hank didn’t do it. Maybe his visitor did.”
    “Why would the dog mind a visitor, a stranger?”
    “Maybe it wasn’t a stranger.”
    “Granted. I’ve been around Hank and the dog, though; the dog didn’t listen to anybody, unless Hank…”
    “Gave his permission?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Maybe the visitor asked Hank to shut the dog in the kitchen. Maybe the dog made the visitor nervous.”
    “Maybe,” Hurst said, “but why would Hank do that? If he told Daisy to lie down and be quiet, then that’s what she did. No reason for anybody to be nervous. On the other hand, anybody who was planning to shoot Hank wouldn’t want Daisy in the room; she’d tear his throat out.”
    “She’s trained that way?”
    “She’s trained every which way,” Hurst said. “That’s some dog.”
    “I think our perp came in through the kitchen door,” Holly said. “I think Daisy went to investigate, recognized him as somebody she knew and trusted, and as he walked in here, he shut the kitchen door behind him, trapping her in there.”
    “Makes sense,” Hurst agreed.
    “The front door was unlocked when I got here, and so was the back door.”
    “Makes a lot of sense. Especially if it was the chief.”

    “You think the chief would kill Hank Doherty?”
    Hurst shook his head. “No, but it wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about something like that. It’s his shotgun. Daisy knew and trusted him, knew he was a friend.”
    “I don’t think it was the chief either,” Holly said, “but we’ve got to touch that base.”
    “Right.”
    “Tell me about last night.”
    “I got a call at home at eleven-fourteen; I was out there at eleven-twenty. The chief was lying on his back, lit by his car’s headlights, and a man from Vero Beach was with him, trying to help. The ambulance got there at eleven twenty-three and rushed him off to the hospital. I worked the scene in a standard manner, took a tire impression from another vehicle parked in front of the chief’s car. There were some footprints, but nothing good enough for an impression. The tire was a Goodyear Eagle, common rubber, no indication of the kind of car. Hurd Wallace got there right after the ambulance left, and we walked around the scene together; didn’t find any other evidence.”
    “Did you find the chief’s weapon?”
    “No.”
    “That’s a good report,” Holly said. “Now tell me what you think went down, based on the evidence you found.”
    “Looks to me like the chief stopped a car, maybe for a traffic violation, maybe because something about it made him suspicious, and it went sour. They shot him, took his gun and went on their way.”
    “Simple as that?”
    “Simple as that.”
    “You said ‘they’: more than one perp?”
    “One, maybe two. Couldn’t tell.”

    “You think he knew them?”
    “It’s possible, but there’s no evidence of that.”
    “When you stop somebody, what usually happens?” she asked. “Does he get out of the car?”
    “Not usually. They sit there and roll down the window.”
    “If you stopped a car with two men in it and both of them got out, what would you do?”
    “I’d back off and tell them to put their hands on the car.”
    “Wouldn’t the chief do the same?”
    “Unless he knew them. I see your point.”
    “There was a fight,” Holly said.
    “I didn’t see any evidence of that,” Hurst said.
    “The hood of the car was deeply scratched. I think the scratches were made by the chief’s handcuffs, on his belt. I think somebody hit him, knocking him onto the car, and that he fought