"Why were you thinking they were lying down?"

"That's common in executions," said Dr. Peters. "Just as common as kneeling."

"You think that's for sure what we have here?"

"Now that I'm certain of the contact wounds, and the track… Yes. I should think so."

It wasn't exactly a revelation, but there's always a certain sense of having sailed over a major hurdle, when the pathologist reaches a definite conclusion. So, where did that leave us? Well, we were still in the creek, but with fewer holes in the boat.

"The lab results will be in a few days, I hope," said Dr. Peters. "There have been some problems lately…"

True enough. The state kept cutting the criminalistics laboratory budget, reducing the number of criminalists and analysts every year. There was such a backlog that they were currently unable to guarantee processing marijuana samples within forty-five days, for example. Doesn't sound like much of a problem, but since forty-five days is the limit for a speedy trial, it meant that a savvy defendant could get you in court before you had any confirmation of evidence. As in "acquittal."

We would have priority. But it still would be several days, at best, before the toxicology report came back. "Any real problems with that?" I asked. "Well," drawled Dr. Peters, "unless somebody got to them with an aerosol that caused instant paralysis… probably not."

"There's no sign of restraints," I said. "Is that going to give us a problem with the execution approach?"

"No," said Dr. Peters. "Not at all. The fact that there were no marks, I mean. Marks are caused by very tight restraints, by strong overpressure caused by someone resisting the restraints, or residue left by adhesives. And by length of time." He shrugged. "It's like wearing a belt with your trousers. It doesn't leave prominent marks when you take it off." He looked at me, and smiled. "Well, with some exceptions, of course."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He leaned back against a stainless-steel sink. "Don't forget that many things can restrain. Fear. Surprise. Dominance. The totally unexpected."

He described a case where a man had shot three women in the lingerie section of a department store. The three had been several feet apart, when the man came in and shot the clerk. He turned, and shot the customer she'd been waiting on, and then walked over to another clerk and shot her. Only the first clerk had died. She'd been his ex-wife. The other two victims had both been rooted to the spot by disbelief.

"He was quick about it," he said. "If he'd hesitated a few seconds, either of the other two victims probably would have reacted. But he shot all three within two to three seconds."

"Pretty efficient," I said.

"Remarkably so. And he never said a word. Lent an aspect of unreality to the whole thing. The other two women said in interviews that they'd been so immobilized by disbelief that they didn't even become afraid until after they had been shot." He shook his head. "The third woman took several seconds just convincing herself that she'd actually been harmed."

"I can see that. Environment, too, don't you think? If it had happened in a parking lot, they probably would have been more on edge in the first place."

"Precisely so. Even more if it had been at night." He began to take off his lab apron.

"Then," I said, "let me try this… Okay, our two victims break and enter what appears to be a vacant home. They just gain access, when they're confronted. Let's say they claim to be cops, looking for a burglar. It's worked for them before, maybe even something they've planned to say."

"Yes…"

"So they're really prepared to talk their way out of the thing, and all of a sudden, somebody sticks a gun in their face and says, 'Kneel down and put your hands behind your head.' One of them says something bright, like 'What?' and gets shot for being reluctant. The other kneels, right?"

"I would," said Dr. Peters.

"And probably asks not to be shot."

"And…"

"And, while he's asking, the captor walks around behind him and pops two into his head."

"Could have been," said Dr. Peters. "Sounds to me like you have a theory you've been working on."

"Well… yeah. Sort of. Long way to go, though."

"I certainly couldn't rule that scenario out," said Dr. Peters.

"Sort of like 'Don't shoot, we're cops.' Then 'You're what?' 'Cops.' Bang. 'Don't shoot me!' Bang, bang." I thought about what I'd just said. "You know what, I'll bet nobody had to say, 'Get on your knees.' I'll bet he did that spontaneously."

In my mind, at least, another little piece drifted into place. "The second victim…" I said to myself. "Yeah…"

"Elapsed time… what… five seconds? Hi. Boom. Hello. Boom, boom. You go in… I looked at the big wall clock with the sweep second hand. "Four seconds, maybe, if you have to wait for the first one to drop, and move to the second. All the way to ten minutes, once the second victim gets to his knees. Getting the first one dead, and the second one controlled is the key."

Back outside, where the air was fresh and cold, I met with Nancy and Shamrock.

"Well, that was fun." Nancy patted Shamrock on the shoulder. "I'm glad one of us is hardy enough for this."

"No problems," said Shamrock, who was busy ejecting the last roll of film from her "official" camera.

"Let's go sit in our car, and we can talk a couple of details," I suggested. "Where it's warmer."

Car meetings aren't the best way to do things, but cops have to use 'em all the time. It's cramped, the roar of the defroster muffles things, and the coffeepot is usually several miles away. But we managed. Shamrock transferred the required film to us, and we went over the ground rules.

"No number of shots," I said.

"Sure," said Nancy.

"Either specific or vague. None of the 'several shots were fired,' or anything like that. Just 'shot.' That's plenty. And no caliber. Nothing about a.22, or a.38 or anything like that."

"Okay, Carl. Not to worry."

"Now, how are you planning to go about getting us what we want?"

"Interview, like a follow-up. You know. Back to the ones who mentioned cops being killed. Like I'm following up a lead. Get talking. At least let them know I'm interested." Nancy turned to Shamrock. "She'll get some shots. One or two, with the interview subject."

"Don't take any chances," I cautioned. Unnecessarily.

"Yeah, right," said Nancy.

"We'll wait for you to call," I said.

"Don't let me dangle this time," said Nancy. She kind of grinned. Kind of. She'd done this sort of thing before.

"Wouldn't think of it," I said. I smiled.

Back in Maitland with only a few hours to go before my shift ended, I picked up a call from Jake at the crime lab. He was looking for Art, but good old Art was busy calling around for a parka on another phone. Dispatch gave Jake to me. Jake, himself, was in his middle fifties, and a really great guy. I'd known him for years, and agreed with the rest of the entire state that he was the best analyst the lab had.

We talked for a few moments about how the case was moving nowhere fast.

"Things," I said, trying to be profound, "aren't always what they seem."

"For sure," said Jake. "Like that cartridge case we found in our vacuum bag. I never would have guessed that in a million years."

There was a stunned silence on my end.

"Hey, Carl, you there?"

"Yeah. Did you say you found a casing from the Borglan crime scene?"

"Sure. Didn't Art tell you? I told him this morning."

Well, in his favor, Art had been a bit distracted by other things.