“What’s there?” Harriet replied, leaning in to make out what he’d seen.
“There. Under the file cabinet,” he said, his finger trembling and his voice becoming agitated. “Can you see it now?”
“I can see it,” I said, moving closer, being careful to avoid the shards of glass that littered the ground. A dented file cabinet was overturned, one end covered by several feet of debris, the other end lay on an upended chair. Behind the chair, on a crumpled piece of carpet with a dark blotch, I made out the top of a head. Strands of sandy hair, stained red, dangled from the bare scalp on which a cleft an inch wide exposed the white bone of the skull. I didn’t need to see the gray tweed sleeve, nor the leather elbow patch, to know I was looking at the battered body of Professor Wesley Newmark....
You Bet Your Life Page 24
