CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Make that four murders attributed to our Odessa friends. As Frank and I climbed out of the warmth of the Shelby we hunched shoulders up and bent our heads down and away from the cold bitter wind. Trekking our way across the snow-packed, frozen ground we eyed the huddled group of uniformed officers in front of us. All of them had powerful flashlights in their hands and beams of light danced off into every direction of the night or danced around on the surreal mountains of crushed steel towering over us.
We were in Macy’s Salvage Yard on the west side of the city and beside the Little Brown. It was perhaps the biggest salvage yard in the state. If not the country. Around us the crushed hulks of smashed cars stacked one atop the other created a metallic mountainous landsc
