No Mark Upon Her

picking up a cup of coffee from the station vending machine. But only briefly. He’d be walking right by Starbucks—not his favorite brew, but a huge improvement over brown slop in a polystyrene cup.
    A few minutes later, armed with a paper cup from Starbucks, and having downed a muffin in two bites, he rang Tavie Larssen’s bell.
    There was a chorus of wild barking, a man’s answering shout, then Kieran Connolly swung open the door. His forehead, which had just begun to bruise on Wednesday night, was now purple, but he’d removed the dressing, and Kincaid saw that he was indeed going to have a rakish Harry Potter scar slanting down to his eyebrow.
    But his face brightened when he saw it was Kincaid. “Have you come about the shed?” he asked, blocking the still-barking German shepherd and Labrador with his body.
    “Partly,” Kincaid said. “Can I come in?”
    “Oh, yeah, sure.” Kieran turned to the dogs. “Finn. Tosh. Quiet. Go lie down.”
    The dogs obeyed the first command but not the second. They had to sniff Kincaid thoroughly as he entered the room, their doggy breath warm against his trouser legs. “You smell other pups, don’t you?” he said, giving them both rubs round the ears. To Kieran, he added, “You forgot the biscuits.”
    “Oh, so I did.” Kieran opened the tin on the table by the door, and the dogs sat immediately. “You have dogs?” Kieran asked, looking at him for the first time as if he might be a person as well as a policeman.
    “A cocker spaniel. And our son has a terrier.”
    “Good dogs, cockers,” said Kieran. “Great at drugs and explosives work. Amazing energy, those little guys.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    Having finished their biscuits, the dogs went to their beds, now side by side in front of the fire. Tavie’s sitting room, Kincaid saw, no longer looked as though it belonged in a doll’s house. Aside from the two large dogs and one large man, the floor was scattered with dog toys, the tables held empty cups and scattered papers, and several articles of male clothing were draped haphazardly over the sofa and chairs.
    Kieran removed a pair of jeans from the sofa back and gestured Kincaid to a seat. “Sorry about the mess,” he said. “Tavie’s dryer’s on the blink. She’s borrowed a few things for me from her mates at work, but all my stuff needed washing.”
    “Is she here?”
    “No. She’s on rota today.” Kieran sat on the chair, his large hands clasped on his knees. “About the shed. Is it—can I—I’d like to go home.”
    It seemed to Kincaid that in spite of his assertion, Kieran seemed less anxious about the shed than he had been after the fire on Wednesday night. Understandable, certainly, as he’d been shocked, injured, and frightened. But today he also seemed to be moving round Tavie’s little house more easily, as if he was beginning to feel comfortable in the space.
    “I see you two haven’t killed each other yet,” Kincaid said.
    “Not yet. Although it’s been a near thing.” There was a glint of wry humor in Kieran’s eyes. “But still, I need to see if—if there’s anything left—”
    “DI Singla said the arson team has cleared your boatshed as of this morning. They’ve finished gathering evidence, and they’ve pronounced the shed messy but safe.”
    “Oh.” Having been granted his wish, Kieran seemed at a loss. “Great.”
    “I went through it yesterday. It’s not as bad as you might think, but you’ll have a job in store.”
    Nodding, Kieran reached up as if to scratch his forehead, then appeared to think better of it and dropped his hand back to his lap. “Tavie keeps telling me that things are replaceable, that I should be thankful I’m alive. And I suppose I know that, but everything I owned was in that shed. I could—” He shook his head, as if debating the wisdom of finishing his thought aloud. “Do you know who did this to me?” he asked instead. “Or why? Was it the man I saw by the river?”
    “We don’t know yet. But about that place by the river,” Kincaid said, seeing his opening. “You were right. There was someone there, and he left physical evidence.” Kincaid sat forward, glancing at the dogs, both now stretched out on their sides and seemingly oblivious to the world. “It occurred to me—is it possible that the dogs could associate scent left in that spot with a particular person?”
    Kieran frowned. “It’s been what, five days? And I’ve been there, not to mention your