The all-night drugstore and the gas station at the bend of the federal highway were exceptions to the black silence; they were courageously open for business as usual, bright and defiant flags against the night. At police headquarters in the Municipal Building, Kelly was sitting opposite the sheriff’s desk, a cigarette burning in the ash tray near his elbow, and a sheaf of notes and reports in his hand. Morgan had gone off duty, and the sheriff and several of Kelly’s men were working with the troopers at the roadblocks surrounding Crossroads. Kelly swiveled in his chair and stared at the county map on the wall, focusing his eyes on the black circle the sheriff had drawn around the area southwest of Crossroads. It was a pretty big noose, he thought. Too big. The men were trapped all right; roadblocks sealed off the section efficiently. But they had a vast territory to move around in, and someone might be hurt, before the noose was jerked tight around their necks.
