|
|
|
|
|
|
|
or any of a hundred variations Dawkins had tried on him. Instead, there was no answer to his knock, and because the Colonel's car was still parked where it had obviously been parked through the long, stormy night, Dawkins decided to take the risk. The door was unlocked, and he went in without hesitation. Only once before in his 27 years as an investigator for the RCMP had he found it necessary to use the small lie that "the door was standing open." He knew then, as he knew would be the case now, that his supervisors wouldn't believe him. But, he reasoned, they also knew that he was first and foremost a man with only one purposeto do his job. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Driver?" he called into the darkened house. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
There was no response. If anything, there was an eerie, almost stifling silence about the place. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He heard footsteps on the porch, turned and saw the imposing figure of Lieutenant Proctor standing in the doorway. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Just got here," he said defensively. "I rang the bell and knocked so hard the neighbors could have heard. Driver didn't answer. I think he's still here, though." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Proctor glanced back down at the Colonel's new teal blue and white Ford Victoria. During the night a cold front had moved through and the rain had slowly changed to ice and finally |
|
|
|
|
|