A few of his neighbors were out, standing on their lawns, watching the sheriff’s people and agents of the BCA moving in and out of his house. The driveway was blocked by a Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department cruiser and a dark blue sedan with state plates, and the garage door had been raised. Jenny’s Subaru, which normally would have been in the garage, was parked on the street. Cork pulled up behind it and got out. Agent Phillip Holter and Captain Ed Larson came from the house and met him on the porch steps. “What’s going on?” Cork asked, keeping his voice low, though he wanted to scream the question. The sun was up, the sky clear and bright, but the morning was still cold enough that his breath huffed out visibly, like blasts of steam. “The arrow that killed Jubal Little,” Holter replied. “Your prints are all over it. And only your prints.” “I put my hand around that arrow, Agent Holter. Jubal insisted that I see if it might easily be pushed through or pulled out.”
