CHAPTER 27There had been no fog when the Grumman had finally touched down at Bordentown, but it had begun to rain; it rained softly, like a woman’s hopeless tears, all the way to the Goethals Bridge. And all the way, in the taxicab they had called to the airport, Don sat with an arm around a desperately unhappy Sibyl and kept repeating “VETRPET…VETRPET…”
Occasionally he would silently interrupt himself to admit that he was beyond his depth. How come you’re swimming against the tide, boy; all you had to do was turn this whole thing over to Dooley, as Bob Stolz had suggested—or even to those tough Kentucky troopers—and you wouldn’t be on half a dozen different spots at once. He had a ready answer—though it did not completely satisfy him: The Lexington murders aren’t your business; your busi
