Mason stood to the side of John’s beach house, hugging himself, watching in numb shock as the cops stood on John’s deck laughing and joking with him. John had pulled on a sweatshirt.
They’d arrived ten minutes ago and when Mason didn’t hear any gunfire, he decided it was safe to venture outside and watch them arrest the murderer next door to him. But instead, they were standing there talking buddy-buddy to him.
The cops, two of them, stopped talking and looked at him. One of them, a tall, thin, balding guy said, “You the kid who called in the murder?”
The other cop and John laughed.
“Yes.”
“Well, thanks for being an upstanding citizen and all, but everything’s fine.”
“Fine?” Mason stared at them incredulous. “Aren’t you going to arrest him? Where’s the coroner? The forensic dudes?”
