Hangman: a Novel
“The hordes hadn’t arrived yet. Abbie parked the car in front and walked quickly to the porch. A uniform—short, pigeon-toed, nervous—stood there, shifting from foot to foot as he glanced up and down the street.
“Kearney,” she said. “Where’s the body?”
The uniform grimaced. “Back there,” he said, pointing to the driveway.
“The garage?”
He nodded and Abbie was down the steps, running. The one-car garage, door open, was lit harshly from a naked bulb. Black silhouettes moved in front of ladders, sho...vels, household goods. There was no car. In the corner, she saw a man crouching. He turned, and she recognized Raymond.
“Kearney,” he said, standing quickly. “You got here right quick.”
The other men—the search team members, she guessed, nodded and walked toward the garage’s open door. As they left, Abbie saw a body behind them, the body of a middle-aged white woman. Not a teenage girl.
“Who is she?” she asked quickly.
Raymond blew out a breath. “Looks like the home owner, Wendy Lamb.MoreLess
“Kearney,” she said. “Where’s the body?”
The uniform grimaced. “Back there,” he said, pointing to the driveway.
“The garage?”
He nodded and Abbie was down the steps, running. The one-car garage, door open, was lit harshly from a naked bulb. Black silhouettes moved in front of ladders, sho...vels, household goods. There was no car. In the corner, she saw a man crouching. He turned, and she recognized Raymond.
“Kearney,” he said, standing quickly. “You got here right quick.”
The other men—the search team members, she guessed, nodded and walked toward the garage’s open door. As they left, Abbie saw a body behind them, the body of a middle-aged white woman. Not a teenage girl.
“Who is she?” she asked quickly.
Raymond blew out a breath. “Looks like the home owner, Wendy Lamb.MoreLess
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