Another burly man climbed out of the car, and together the two men moved across the sidewalk towards the gate.
The man who opened the gate wore a brown suit and a brown hat.
Ken recognized him.
It was Sergeant Donovan.
PART TWO
CHAPTER I
I
At five minutes past nine a.m., seven hours after Ken Holland had furtively left 25 Lessington Avenue, a police car pulled up outside the tall, brown-stone building and parked behind two other police cars that had been there for the past fifteen minutes.
A patrolman stiffened to attention as Lieutenant Harry Adams of the Homicide Department got out of the car and came slowly up the steps.
“Top floor, Lieutenant,” he said saluting. “Sergeant Donovan’s up there.”