Sophia was exhausted, all her energy gone. They were all in the same state of utter fatigue. The meeting had been intense, the pictures and details gruesome. They had talked it to death for two hours. Back and forth, up and down. Every detail of every gruesome crime scene had been rolled out on the table, both by the detectives and the Night Seekers. But the worst part had been the icy politeness and the blatant distrust.
Sophia kept coming back to the fact that the victim had been found on his porch wearing nothing but long johns and jeans, not an outfit one wore outdoors in Maine's freezing winter temperatures. The CID people wanted to insist he'd gone to the door to let someone in but there had been no trace of anyone approaching the house. And none of the detectives had a plausible explanation for why every bit of blood had been drained from his body.
"He must have heard something," one of the men said over and over. "We found his shotgun lying close to him."