We stood inside the yellow warning tape which marked off the parking stall where the dead lawyer was found sitting in his car. It was late into the evening. Light was fading fast and already I could see lights in the high-rise buildings in the city, four or five miles away, beginning to come on like reluctant Christmas lights. We stood there staring at the empty parking lot and then up and out into the wheat field beyond the building. Both of us wrapped in our own thoughts.
The bullet came through the windshield and caught David Stewart in the forehead, passed through, exiting out of the back window. The bullet came in from above. Not below. Not from someone standing in the wheat field below. From above. The angle was downward. Slightly downward. When it exited out of the back of the wind
