“Just after seven?”
“About then.”
“Same gun as killed the guard?”
“It’s probable. They were all butchered by a .45.” He looked at Bardin. “This looks like a professional job, Lieutenant. Whoever shot these people knew his business. He killed them instantly with one shot.”
Bardin grunted.
“Doesn’t mean much. A .45 will kill anyone whether it’s in the hands of a professional or an amateur.”
“Let’s go up to the house,” Conrad said.
A three-minute drive brought them to the house. Lights were on in every room. Two patrolmen guarded the front entrance.
Conrad and Bardin walked up the steps and into the small reception room and down into the inner well of the house, a mosaic-paved patio. The rooms of the house surrounded the three sides of the patio which provided a cool and sheltered courtyard in which to sit.
Sergeant O’Brien, a tall, thin man with hard eyes and a flock of freckles, came out of the lounge. He nodded to Conrad.