Ice Shear by M. P. Cooley Page A

York.”
    â€œThey’re everywhere. They are legion.” He swung his arms and the vehicle on-screen made a sharp right.
    â€œDo the Abominations, or any other gangs, have anything to do with Danielle’s death?”
    â€œNo!” His on-screen car skidded off the road. “No, nothing like that!”
    Dave and Marty walked in. Marty moved quickly across the room, standing in front of his brother. “You okay, Ray?”
    â€œYes. They’re stupid. They should leave.” Ray threw his controller on the floor. Marty grabbed him up in what looked like a headlock but I realized was a hug. Marty’s muscular arm completely encircled Ray’s head. Marty whispered to Ray, Ray responding yes softly, before Marty pulled away. “Look,” Marty said, “do your thing here. I’m going to trust you for now, trust you to find Danielle’s killers. My folks’ll be in tomorrow to pick up Ray—”
    Ray’s head bobbed over Marty’s shoulder. “Did you talk to Dad?”
    Marty didn’t acknowledge Ray’s question. An indirect lie, I thought. “—after the funeral. Which I need to plan.”
    â€œAbsolutely,” I said. “But I have one follow-up question for you. Ray, the earrings?”
    Ray looked stricken. “What?”
    â€œThe earrings in your pocket. Can you show them to your brother?”
    After fumbling with the snap, Ray slowly pulled the earrings out of his pocket and handed them to Marty.
    â€œWas she wearing these,” Marty asked, “when she . . .”
    â€œNo,” I said quickly.
    Marty continued to study them. Even in the dim light of the living room the earrings had a real sparkle. Finally he said, “But she wore them?”
    â€œRay says so.”
    Ray nodded. The brothers didn’t look at each other.
    â€œWell, I guess the earrings are hers. Were hers. You taking them?” I told him no. Ray looked ready to reach over and grab them back, but Marty folded the bag and gripped them tightly.
    Dave and I left the brothers in the living room for some solace, if not solitude. In the backyard, we found Annie pulling a finished cast out of one of the footprints.
    â€œAnnie!” bellowed Dave, grinning broadly.
    Annie jumped. “Don’t do that!”
    â€œWhat? We’re old friends,” Dave said to me. “Annie and I did great work together on that string of B&Es last spring. We understand each other.”
    â€œShut up,” Annie said.
    â€œDid you get a footprint?” I asked, figuring the less time spent on social niceties—did Annie have any social niceties?—the better.
    â€œThree!” Annie pointed to two bags and a box. “And I was about to tackle that drag mark.”
    Dave jumped off the porch and over the footprints. “So, we’re just in time.”
    I paused for a moment, looking at the tracks. There were footprints away from the house, but not toward. The killer had come in, or been invited, through the front door.
    I jumped over the fence. Midcalf on Dave, the snow was up to my knees. We all approached the imprint, and Annie crouched down.
    â€œAha!” Annie pulled a hair out of the snow. I held out a bag for her. The three of us settled into a happy pattern, finding hairs, drops of blood, and even a piece of fabric. While we worked, I explained to Dave that I had suspicions about the earrings. We arrived at the edge of the fence, which was made of flat wooden planks of varying widths and in a range of shades of drab, depending on the water damage. The planks were woven unevenly through poles, and the gaps provided toeholds.
    Annie hit the fence. It vibrated out three houses on each side. “She went over here!”
    â€œNo shit!” another tech yelled back. “Something got dragged, all the way down past the power plant to the river.”
    â€œAny blood?” called Dave.
    â€œA little. Any blood over