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do, but Gleason was convinced that any hope of finding someone alive under the piles of rubble had long since passed. Slowly he led an entourage consisting of Merle Chesterton, Jeff Freeman and Carlos Avico back up between the dunes toward their cars. |
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"Tough one to explain," Gleason said wearily. |
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Carlos shook his head. "Weird," he muttered. "Sure makes a fella wonder what the hell went on in there." |
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"It must have been a nightmare," Freeman allowed. "What do you suppose happened to Bart Miller? He was all bandaged up, head all caved in. One of those collapsing roof beams must have scored a direct hit on him." |
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Merle Chesterton caught himself wistfully looking out at the tranquility of the gulf. "Yeah, but how do you suppose he got so banged up in the first place?" |
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Gleason slumped back against the door of his car and began peeling the cellophane off of another cigar. He bit a chunk off the end, spit it in the sand, lit it and inhaled. "It's a helluva way to put it," he drawled, "but did anybody keep score?" |
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Chesterton dug the spiral notepad out of his shirt pocket and began leafing through the damp pages. "There was the old woman we found near the steps. Another old woman that Doc here said looked a lot older than the first |
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