Chapter FourteenJones, the detective, who had taken the call, looked at the photo before slowly placing the phone back in his pocket. He couldn't see the bridge so clearly now, as several people had settled at the tables in front of him. Though it was still only March and quite cold, it was surprising how many people still preferred to sit outside and admire the view.
Jones knew better than to suddenly start bobbing his head around to scrutinize people as they streamed off the bridge. Everyone would wonder what he was looking at and turn around to see what it was. That was the last thing he wanted.
Calmly, he stretched across the table to where Smithers, a fellow detective, was sitting. He was giving the impression to anyone watching that his eyes were fixed on his newspaper – though, in
