Quiet as the Grave. Kathleen O'Brien

notice him. Nothing. Fifty murderers could have danced across this road in top hats, and Officer—was it deLuca?—wouldn’t have noticed a thing.

      Finally he tapped lightly on his horn. DeLuca jerked to attention, bumping his elbow on the edge of the window.

      “Sir!” The cop, who probably was no more than about twenty-five, squeezed his eyes, trying to make them track in the same direction. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there.”

      Keith smiled, but he kept it cool. “Good thing we don’t believe Frome is a flight risk,” he observed.

      The officer flushed, opened his mouth as if to make a defensive comment, then closed it. DeLuca didn’t report to Keith, not technically. But he reported to the sheriff, who knew better than to annoy the D.A. Keith didn’t believe in keeping a “hands off” policy in his investigations—especially murders. He got involved as soon as he had a body, and he stayed involved until he got a conviction.