“The first time I saw you, you were sprawled out over a couple of classroom desks sound asleep and drooling in a police academy classroom. My first thought was the circus must have lost their trained gorilla. My second thought was the gorilla picked this classroom to die in,” Turner answered, a wiry grin on his lips. “But, if it makes you feel any better, I’m feeling pretty damn old myself. Nobody has a right to be that young and that perky these days. Nobody.”
They entered the small suite of two rooms which was now Clifton Trenton’s entire world and saw him sitting in a wheelchair, his back facing them, staring out of a curtained window. A tall window, from floor to ceiling, with the curtains pulled back and the venetian blinds rolled up. Outside the view was a shaded patio surrounded by
