CHAPTER 7 – NO USE TO CRY OVER SPILLED MILK
––––––––
“THERE ARE b****y FOOTPRINTS in the hall, all the way to the kitchen,” Chris explained to the investigators while leading them up the stairs. “I don’t know how useful they are now, though,” he said, shaking his head with regret. “The sheriff walked all over them, I’m afraid. Nothing to do about that now.”
“So, you’re the deputy, I understand,” Mackinnon said and assessed the young man with sharp eyes.
He didn’t miss Chris Henderson’s eagerness. He also appreciated the young man’s unexpected wisdom in dealing with the crime scene. Considering the sheriff’s performance, he had to commend the deputy.
Mackinnon imagined that they hadn’t witnessed such a crime for generations in that small town. That wasn’t an excuse for the sheriff’s be
