‘Unless they nab the bloke, it’ll be old news next week,’ he cautioned.
‘Paul says they’re a long way off solving this one.’
‘That’d be right,’ her editor grumbled, then hung up.
Chris let sleep take her. The phone rang what seemed like a minute later.
‘I’m here.’
Bruno, her favourite Courier photographer. Old-school, he took pride in his work and respected a good journo. They’d clicked on their first assignment together.
She rubbed her eyes and strained to read the clock. She’d slept for an hour and the vigil would kick-off in twenty minutes. Crap.
‘I’ll be there asap.’
When Chris pulled into the main street, the long evening shadows from the mountain casting over the buildings looked other-worldly. The air was thick with dust and heat and hushed animation as she joined Bruno. The
