Chapter 5
It was quiet in the apartment. The swarm of men with cameras and measuring tapes and sketching pads and powders and camel's-hair brushes had finished and gone away.
Laurel had gone away, too. There was only a chalked outline on the rug to remind anyone that she had ever been there. It was curiously impersonal. It was like the things children draw in the sand and mark "This is you."
Edmond Clive paced up and down in front of the windows. Hot afternoon sun lay squared on the floor. He watched his black shoes move across it and thought, The ram's over.
Detective-Lieutenant Jordan Games of the Central Homicide Bureau stood by the door, talking in low tones to a grinning little man named Korsky. A uniformed cop sat in a corner, balancing a shorthand pad on his knee and studying th
