Byron had stopped listening, his attention having been arrested by the name of the elderly victim, Nicholas A. Strohmayer. His finger hung above it like a wasp, hovering and uncertain, unable to move on. He fished the list of names he had taken from Tom’s office out of his jacket pocket and quickly scanned it. N. Strohmayer appeared third down. His eyes flicked back to the newspaper to confirm the spelling; then up to the face of his counterpart.
“Steve,” he began softly, “you said there have been other unexplained murders recently—like Strohmayer?” The Columbus chief nodded his large, bullish head warily. “What were their names?”
Tanner paused for just a moment; then answered, “Robson, Fletcher and Forrester, Claudius…Claude to his friends when he was breathing. Why do you ask?”
Byron’
