CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Roose
The body lay stretched out upon the undertaker’s table. Having cleaned up most of the blood, the gaunt looking man in black suit with tails who conducted the preparations of the body, thrust out a crumpled piece of paper towards Roose. “It was in his shirt pocket. I took a look, thought you would be interested.”
Taking it with great care, Roose unfolded the paper and read the scrawl. Each word grew larger as he took them in, emotions ranging from startled disbelief to, by the time he finished, desperate urgency. “How long has he been dead?”
“Can’t say,” replied the undertaker. “I ain’t no doctor, but the rigor has passed, so I’d say at least twenty-four hours, maybe less.”
Grunting, Roose whirled away and went outside. He mounted his horse and kicked it into
