Chapter 7
It feels like déjà vu when I return to the scene of the crime at Firewood Road ten minutes later. Looker-loos post like statutes on their front stoops, and I hear them whispering in the light of morning as a shimmering swirl of red and blue light from three police cruisers illuminate the street. An ambulance is parked in the driveway.
I cuss under my breath as I walk up the gravel driveway to the apartment building.
The police chief is waiting for me at the front door. He looks brooding and grumpy, his arms crossed over his muscular chest. Sweat stains darken the underarms of his uniform. His face is damp with perspiration.
He looks tired.
I climb the stairs and catch his wary gaze.
He is pale and withdrawn under the porch light. I ask, “You feeling all right, sir? Looks li
