The emotions he was feeling were too mixed to sort out and identify, but he knew he had failed. What evidence he had was ridiculous, useless to convince a world even more incredulous than he was—had been. No, he was incredulous still—despite what had happened, he hardly believed the past few days himself. He took Dorothy by the arm and walked with her to the police car. “I'll have a tow truck out here by tomorrow morning,” Parkins said. He opened the rear door of his car for them. Fowler started to get into the back seat, then hesitated and snapped his fingers. “I left the bag of gravel in the kitchen,” he said. Prohaska looked at him from the front seat and nodded. “It'll wait. We'll get it to you by mail, if it's so important,” Parkins said. Fowler agreed meekly and stepped in. Dorothy sat beside him, hands folded in her lap, silent. Her face was rigid.
