There would be blood left in his wake. Sooner or later he would kill again leaving them a bounty to feast on. The crows were sure of it. Just as they were sure that the moon would rise into the night sky offering them light in the darkness to see what was coming their way. Sonny stood next to the screen door as Hugh Beaverwood, the local coroner and Wellington’s only mortician, covered Tom Turnell’s body with a sheet. Beaverwood was a droll man with a hound dog face; his jowls flapped thinly over his jaw, and he had a flat, turned-up nose that looked more suited to finding rabbits than inhaling embalming fluid. Sonny’d had more than his fair share of dealings with Beaverwood over the years, mostly on Ranger cases he’d been called in on and once for a personal matter, when it had come to burying Martha. He didn’t have a strong feeling about the man either way. The coroner seemed cold and detached, distant, which probably went along with the territory of conducting business with death on a daily basis.
What do You think about A Thousand Falling Crows (2015)?
