“I really should get him out. Why don’t we leave this for tomorrow?”

“This won’t take but a minute,” said Breger. “The strips are already prepared, which makes it go really quickly. And it could really help us move the investigation forward.”

“Hold out your hands, Mr. Forrest,” said Stone in a quiet but commanding voice that left no possibility of refusal. Guy did as he was told.

Shirley took wide strips of clear adhesive and pressed them on the back of each of Guy’s hands, concentrating on the web of flesh between the thumb and the forefinger. With a flourish she ripped the strips off, one at a time, and carefully put them on a fresh backing. Then she did the same to each palm.

“What do you think?” said Breger.

“His hands seem too clean,” said Shirley. “How long was he out in the rain?”

Breger turned to me and raised an eyebrow.

“Could have been twenty minutes,” I said, “could have been more.”

“Doubtful there would be anything left,” said Shirley, “but you never know.”

“Okay, thank you,” said Breger. “We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Carl. See you tomorrow.”

I grabbed hold of Guy’s arm and tried to rush him out of the house before they could think of some other hoop through which they wanted him to jump. We were just about to step outside when I heard Breger say, “Oh, Mr. Carl.”

I stopped, breathed deep, turned.

He was bent on one knee, examining the carpet to the left of the doorway. Without looking up, he said, “It’s a little nasty out there tonight. Be sure to drive carefully.”

Suburban cops.

If this had been just a few blocks over, on the city side of City Line Avenue, it wouldn’t have gone down with such sweet understanding. The city cops would have put Guy in custody right smack away. They would have seen him as the obvious suspect, as the only suspect, actually. And the fact that he had called a lawyer before an ambulance would have been for them absolute proof of his guilt.