As a private detective, Philip Knight was used to dismissive treatment from the police, but Timmy Polk, the town constable, had been relieved when Phil arrived at the Carter house. Polk told him what he knew, which wasn t much. Mrs. Carter had called 911, crying that her husband had been murdered. The body lay in an unheated porch on the north side of the house, face down, the thick hair matted with blood from a wound in the head. Mortimer the coroner was examining the body, his breathing visible in the frigid air, his nose twitching like a rabbit s, his expression impassive.
Some bodies are alive, others are dead.
This was one of the dead ones. After telephoning Roger, Phil looked over the scene more carefully. The body was stiff as a board, and the wound seemed cauterized by the cold. Phil closed his eyes in order to retain the scene so he could describe it for Roger. Marie Carter s hysterical grief turned to hysterical joy when Phil told her that her son was safe.