Chapter NineteenDufort walked back to his house from the station so that he could drive his own car to Molly’s. The police car was available, but he preferred a more low-key approach, having found that showing up in an official car—even without sirens and lights flashing—tended to put people ill at ease. Even people who were not guilty of anything. Even someone like Molly, who he guessed would be eager to help with the case.
He knocked on the door and stood waiting, looking around at the property of La Baraque. It was a mess, really—the front garden still had tall frozen stalks of something or other leaning this way and that. A woodpile lay in disarray near the side of the house. The lawn needed raking. Yet the place gave him a good feeling; it didn’t seem neglected so much as a lot going
