“How did you see the stuff?”
“With a flashlight.”
“Where’s the flashlight?”
Mason took it from his pocket.
“You usually carry a flashlight with you?” the officer asked suspiciously.
“Drake does,” Mason said. “It’s his flashlight.”
One of the officers produced a flashlight from his own pocket, played the beam around the room, brought it to rest on the corpse and said, “Dead all right.”
The sirens screamed at the corner. A car skidded to a stop. Pounding feet came up the cement walk and across the porch. Sergeant Holcomb, of the homicide squad, stared at Mason. “So you’re in on this, are you?”
“I’m in on nothing except the house,” Mason told him.
“What was your lead?”