Цитата #612 из книги «"Этаж смерти" with W_cat»

I stared at him. I was getting mad.

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I gave him Hubble’s address and he made a wide, slow turn, shoulder to shoulder across the county road. Headed back to town. We passed the firehouse and the police headquarters. The lot was empty. Roscoe’s Chevy wasn’t there. No cruisers. They were all out. Up at Hubble’s. We made the right at the village green and swung past the silent church. Headed up Beckman. In a mile I would see a cluster of vehicles outside number twenty-five. The cruisers with their light bars flashing and popping. Unmarked cars for Finlay and Roscoe. An ambulance or two. The coroner would be there, up from his shabby office in Yellow Springs.

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“Where’s the gun, Reacher?” Finlay said.

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“Two, maybe,” he said. “Shooter could have tidied up afterward.”

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“Who would be his next of kin?” he asked.

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