Adams walked across the room and into the bedroom as if he knew instinctively that was where the body was. He went over to the bed and stared down at Fay’s body. For several minutes he looked at her; then, still keeping his eyes on her, he took out a cigarette, lit it and blew a cloud of smoke down his thin nostrils.
Donovan stood in the doorway, tense and silent, watching him.
“Doc coming?” Adams asked, without turning.
“On his way now, Lieutenant,” Donovan said.
Adams leaned forward and put his hand on Fay’s arm.
“Been dead about six hours at a guess.”
“That ice-pick, Lieutenant…”
Adams looked at the ice-pick lying on the floor and then turned to stare at Donovan.
“What about it?”
The big man flushed.