“Got to go back to the morgue,” he said. “You guys come with me, OK? We need to talk. Lot to talk about.”
“Why?” she said. “We’re fighting for our lives here and you want to talk about the Kliners?”
THEY HAD COME FOR US IN THE NIGHT. THEY HAD COME expecting a lot of blood. They had come with all their gear. Their rubber overshoes and their nylon bodysuits. Their knives, their hammer, their bag of nails. They had come to do a job on us, like they’d done on Morrison and his wife.
“Where did you say you were at midnight last night?” Finlay asked me.
Finlay looked up at me from where he was sitting. Shook his head.
“You know what this is about,” he said. “Homicide. With some very disturbing features. Victim was found this morning up at the Kliner warehouse. North end of the county road, up at the highway cloverleaf. Witness has reported a man seen walking away from that location. Shortly after eight o’clock this morning. Description given was that of a white man, very tall, wearing a long black overcoat, fair hair, no hat, no baggage.”