“Victoria Heath said tiredly, heels clicking as she walked along the tiled morgue floor. It was just after ten and she’d been on her feet for nearly sixteen hours. “There’s a but in your voice…,” Tony Fowler said. “I don’t believe she had the time. It’s almost impossible.” “I agree.” “You do?” “Sure.” Tony Fowler fished in his pockets and produced the coffee-impregnated handkerchief he kept for visits to the morgue. “I think Miller had help. A friend or friends who started the proceedings, as it... were.” “And you think this corpse was one of those friends?” “I’ll lay money on it. The witnesses on the train said they knew each other. Maybe this friend was trying to blackmail Miller…and Miller killed him.” “But why? None of this makes any sense.” Tony Fowler grinned sourly. “After a while you’ll realize that there’s a lot of police work that will make very little sense: the killings, the muggings, the rapes, the robberies. Sometimes there’s a pattern; however, usually it’s just a mess.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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