"So what's the story?" I said.
He lifted his head up with an effort and looked at me.
"Why should you care?" he said. "What was he to you?"
A good question. One I couldn't answer. Jeremiah didn't know what I knew about pritchard. I'd kept quiet about it. So Jeremiah didn't see why pritchard was so important to me.
"Just tell me what happened," I said.
"It was pretty bad," he said. Wouldn't go on.
He was worrying me. My brother had been shot in the head. Two big messy exit wounds had removed his face. Then somebody had turned his corpse into a bag of pulp. But Jeremiah hadn't fallen apart over that. The other guy had been all gnawed up by rats. There wasn't a drop of blood left in him. But Jeremiah hadn't fallen apart over that, either. pritchard was a local guy, which made it a bit w
