Chapter Four: Night Out at the BowleramaSheriff Clayton Harris arrived home well past midnight to find his phone desperately ringing for his attention. On his way in, he stubbed his left toe against the doorframe while he hurried to answer the phone. He reacted by sheer instinct; he'd have done exactly the same in other, happier times—to avoid waking his wife and son—but things being as they were, there was no one at home to be awakened.
The phone stopped ringing when he almost managed to reached it. The last reverberation was dying as he placed his fingertips over the handset. Damn. Well, if it were an important phone call, the caller would try again.
Clay stared at the phone balefully; he was grumpy and tired. Having to watch Leonard Hamilton perform the autopsy of a dead eight-year-ol
