“What is your business, sir?”
For a moment - tired, confused, inane - Colin almost said that he was a lawyer, before realising in time to catch himself that the trooper meant his business at the farm.
“My name is Colin Arnott. That,” he hesitated to say it, to make it real, “that was my sister on the television last night - the one with the gun. I’ve flown over from England this morning.”
If the officer lived up to caricature, there would be a scene, low farce, Colin would either be turned away or end up under arrest. Instead, the trooper spoke into a radio mounted on the lapel of his lined winter jacket. On an instruction, he asked Colin for some identification - Colin gave him his passport. He told Colin someone would be down to see him, he could take his rental through the barrier, b
