The summer sun is just coming up beyond the Hudson River and the blue mountains of Massachusetts to the East. I’m riding shotgun while Miller drives us away from Lark Street in the direction of the Central Avenue Precinct. Since we’re going west, the sun is at our backs.
“There’s a reason I brought up the hammer aspect of the story,” he says, after a time. “All three victims of the mortician killer had their skull injured by what’s been described as a framing hammer.”
“I’m not what you call the handyman type, Miller. So, what’s a framing hammer exactly?”
“It’s a hammer with a longer than usual neck and a heavier than usual head. It’s engineered so that construction workers can drive a single eight-penny nail in one, well-aimed swing.” He makes like he’s got a hammer in his hand, and he
