The incredulousness in Chief Grant's voice was palpable as it barked from the other side of his desk. He faced away from me, his leathery face staring aimlessly out the warped office windows, his peppered gray hair obscured by the back of his dilapidated old chair. He was as sick of this town as the rest of us, maybe even more-so. Lord knows what that man's blackened, lifeless eyes had seen.
"Yes Sir," I said. "McElroy just called from a pay phone near the scene; he says they're still beating that same horse, even though it's been dead since yesterday evening."