Chapter FourTrevor looked at the wooden clock on the mantle. Striking four o’clock, its somber tones joined the rain thrumming against the window. Rain was expected this time of year, but a white Christmas would have been a nice change. He hovered over the teapot waiting for the tea to steep. The dreary morning drizzle had escalated into an angry, shrieking storm, and the chill seeped through his sweater to his bones.
Bones. Skeleton. Even though it was Boxing Day tomorrow, he would contact Christopher to see if the man could be nudged into starting his autopsy. Trevor fingered the photo in his pocket. After tea, he’d study it.
Insistent knocking penetrated his thoughts. Who would be out on this dreadful afternoon? He turned from the table to see his father open the door to a drenched Mr
