Bowers nodded soberly. “Yes.”
His reply had an astonishing effect on the beautiful girl. She leaped to her feet. “You—admit it!” she blazed. “You admit that you’re responsible for her death. You murderer!”
Bowers recoiled from her sudden fury, took a step backwards and tripped against a chair. That alone saved his life. The g*n in the girl’s, hand had cracked, and a leaden pellet whizzed past Bowers’s ear, missing it by less than an inch.
The discharge of the g*n seemed to shock the girl. Bowers sprang forward and wrenched the g*n from her hand. Then he pushed her back into the chair.
She began to sob softly. The special prosecutor judged by her dress that she’d been out somewhere for the evening when she heard of her sister’s death. Shocked, she’d come to shoot the man she believed re
