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that there was a good reason to ignore that misdemeanor file: Ray’s history of bad behavior enhanced his standing among other bad actors in the region. Enough so to give him a pipeline into the activities of the questionable characters who lived down logging lanes with no fire numbers. Ray could harvest information from sources neither she nor Officers Adamczak nor Donovan could tap.
    As Lew continued to sort through the photos, Ray placed a zip-top bag onto the empty salad plate to her right. The zip-top held three cigarette butts. Lew raised her eyes to Ray’s. “Yes,” he said, “you can forget the rest of those Wausau boys, but you do need Bruce.”
    He looked over at Judith. “He’s the best forensic tech they have down there. Plus,” he grinned, “he loves to ice fish. You give him a call this evening and I guarantee he’ll turn on a dime and give you nine cents back—he’ll be here by morning.”

Chapter Nine
    Osborne, realizing how hungry he was and seeing no sign that Ray was likely leave soon, said, “Would you join us for dinner?”
    â€œI would be as happy as the flowers in the field,” said Ray.
    â€œAfter you explain the cigarette butts,” said Lew.
    â€œSure, but first the photos.” As he spoke, Ray tipped his head with a questioning look toward Judith.
    â€œIt’s all right,” said Lew. “Not only is Judith a close friend of the victim’s, she was driving up from Madison for a meeting with Rudd when Doc reached her by phone with the bad news.
    â€œNow, Judith,” said Lew, her voice lifting in warning, “you have got to keep what you are about to hear in confidence, especially if you’re talking to any Tomlinson family members. Agreed?”
    â€œNo question—you can count on me to do whatever I can to help out.” The intensity in Judith’s eyes convinced Osborne that she was as determined to find the person behind Rudd’s death as they were.
    Pushing his chair closer to the table, Ray leaned forward over the photos. The auburn curls released from under his hat glistened in the glow of the votive candle near his plate. He was wearing a cream-colored Irish fisherman’s sweater, which highlighted his ruddy cheeks above the curly beard that matched his hair, though streaks of grey were sneaking in. His eyes were so lively as he explained the photos to Lew that even Osborne had to admit his neighbor looked handsome.
    â€œNow, Chief,” said Ray, eyes on Lew, “remember you told me that young kid, the dishwasher, was looking out a window toward the driveway when he saw an old man go by?”
    â€œRight . . . ”
    â€œWell, after photographing the victim and the logging truck, I took a walk back along that side of the building. That area isn’t a driveway but a snow-covered patio that the café uses for summer dining, which means it isn’t used in the winter— but it was this morning .”
    â€œYou found something,” said Lew, her arms folded as she listened.
    â€œYes, I did. I found these footprints, which could only have been made this morning because they broke through the surface of the snowfall that we got last night.” Ray passed the photo around so everyone could see.
    â€œI followed the footprints through the snow all the way back to a snow bank along the street behind the parking lot. And there they stopped. Disappeared. The snow on the street is so packed down by the plows that boots don’t leave an impression unless you’re an elephant.”
    â€œOh,” Lew slumped back in her chair. “Damn. For a minute there . . . ”
    â€œHold on,” said Ray, raising his index finger. “The footprints stopped in a snow bank right in front of a house where a guy was out shoveling his walk. I asked if he might have seen anyone parked there earlier and he said he had. A red Honda sedan was parked there from about