“Evelyn! I’m so sorry to have to ask you down here like this.” He reached for her arm and gave it a squeeze, an intended gesture of comfort that made Evelyn shrink away.

“And it’s been a terrible night for you, hasn’t it? Just a terrible night.”

Evelyn shrugged, partly in answer to his question, partly to free herself from his grasp.

“I know it’s hard, dealing with this. And I didn’t want to bother you, not today. But you know how it is. All those reports to be filed.” He looked at Chase, a deceptively casual glance. The little Napoleon, Chase noted, had sharp eyes that saw everything.

“This is Chase,” said Evelyn, brushing the sleeve of her blouse, as though to wipe away Chief Tibbetts’s paw print. “Richard’s brother. He drove in this morning from Connecticut.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Tibbetts, his eyes registering instant recognition of the name. “I’ve seen a picture of you hanging in the high school gym.” He offered his hand. His grasp was crushing, the handshake of a man trying to compensate for his size. “You know, the one of you in the basketball uniform.”

Chase blinked in surprise. “They still have that thing hanging up?”

“It’s the local hall of fame. Let’s see, you were class of ’71. Star center, varsity basketball. Right?”

“I’m surprised you know all that.”

“I was a basketball player myself. Madison High School, Wisconsin. Record holder in free throws. And points scored.”

Yes, Chase saw it clearly. Lorne Tibbetts, rampaging midget of the basketball court. It would fit right in with that bone-crushing handshake.

The station door suddenly swung open. A woman called out, “Hey, Lorne?”

Tibbetts turned and wearily confronted the visitor, who looked as if she’d just blown in from the street. “You back again, Annie?”