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a thin blanket of clean white snow. It was a brighter world than they had seen for days. He looked back at the Inspector. |
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''The door was standing open," Dawkins repeated sheepishly. |
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Proctor stepped around him and called Out, "Colonel Driver, are you here?" There was nothing timid about the young officer's effort. He glanced back at Dawkins. "Maybe somebody came by and picked him up." |
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The Inspector graced the young officer with a benign smile. "Colonel Driver lives on a hill overlooking the bay. It's a long way down that hill, a very slippery hill under that fresh blanket of snow. Hardly the kind of weather a man goes traipsing about in. Added to that, my young friend, is the more obvious fact that there are no tracks either up or down that hill made by anyone other than you or I." |
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Proctor didn't appear to be overly impressed. He was assigned to the legal side of the Air Provost Marshal's office; logic and deduction weren't his game. That was left up to the investigative team from the military police. "Colonel Driver," he shouted again, "are you in there?" |
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Dawkins started first, meandering aimlessly from one first floor room to the next, and finally into the bathroom where Flora Saint Quentin had died. Proctor's people had done a good job. There was no trace of the violent |
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