Chapter FiveI left my jalopy behind the cop shop thinking it would be as safe there as anywhere then stopped into my apartment to change my shirt and get cleaned up. I had axle grease on my hands and dirt and sweat encrusted in my face. The damn tingling didn't stop so I did what I always do—stuck sheets of paper up on the walls—nothing on them anyway, not a poster or a painting or a photograph—and wrote down Norma's name on one and Blake Rothwell on the other. Listed what I knew about each as well as any questions that popped into my head, such as, why did Blake wait such a long time to report Norma's drowning? How fast was he going? Was he drunk? Fragments of ideas that I hoped would gel into a bigger story. Heck, then I decided to put up another page and wrote Jan and Ned Beatty's names
