Stryker sighed. "What the whole situation hints at, when you boil it down, is that it's somebody from here, that we all know. Somebody who went to that specific house, at that specific time, to do the killing. Somebody that they let into the house. No sign of struggle by the entrance. There was a glass of water by Anna's hand, on an end table, like she'd been sitting there awhile."

"Was it dark?"

"Probably. We can't nail it down exactly, but they were wearing the clothes that they wore Friday. Russell was still in his golf slacks with a fresh grass stain on the cuff. So, sometime after they got gas at nine-twelve-take them five minutes to get out to the house after paying-and before they'd changed clothes to go to bed."

"Nobody saw any cars?"

"No. I think the killer-I feel like it's one guy-came up the Stark River on foot, and then around to the front of the house. If he stayed down in the river cut, in the rain, hell, nobody would see him. A guy who knows his way around could walk downtown, almost, without being seen, on a dark night."

"So tell me what you think," Virgil said. "Who did it? Who might've done it?"

Stryker was shaking his head. "I don't know. This is too cold, for around here. There might be guys here who could do it, but it'd be hot. Lots of anger. Then they'd probably turn themselves in, or shoot themselves, or run for it. Or something. So, I don't know. You'll hear that all over town-that I don't know. But nobody else does, either."

"All right," Virgil said. "Give me the rest of the day to look at the paper, and I'll talk to you tonight. I'll be down at the Holiday, you got my cell number if you need me."

"Get you that key on the way out," Stryker said. "When you're done with the house, I'll probably let the Gleason kids have it. They want to get it cleaned out and set up for a sale."

"Nobody's touched it?"

"We've been through it, but we haven't taken anything out. Everything's like it was, but maybe a little ruffled."