20
The churning mass of computer nerds felt much less energized as they shuffled up into the arcs of auditorium seats. Where they’d been all noisy excitement at breakfast, Lash’s death—hospitalization, that’s all we know right now, he’s in the hospital—had drained the joy from the gathering. The room stank of bleach and soap, where the cleaning crew had attacked Warren’s spilled coffee.
That was evidence, Dale thought, looking at the gleaming tiles. They threw away his breakfast, his coffee, everything. How are the police supposed to find any clues now?
The answer was, they wouldn’t.
Dale let that grim thought gnaw at him as he trudged up the stairs, letting it bulldoze over the itch of the crowd around him. It worked, up until the moment he got near the back of the room and saw a scra
