The house was a shingled Cape Cod with a porch. The front door was opened by an obviously upset woman wearing an apron. Rawls emerged from another room and waved them in. Harley Davis and Mack Morris were seated in the living room, while Jimmy Hotchkiss talked on the phone. Stone introduced Dino to everybody, then followed Rawls into a bedroom.

“Uh-oh,” Dino said.

Don Brown, the Old Fart who used the electric scooter, was sitting up in bed, a bullet hole in his right temple and a much larger hole in his left. A Colt .45 lay on the bed, and brains and blood were scattered around the bedspread.

“We’ve got another one,” Rawls said.

“How long have you been here?” Stone asked.

“Less than half an hour. I’ve mostly been on the phone calling people.”

“Has somebody called the state police?”

“Jimmy’s on the phone with them now.”

“Let’s get out of this room,” Stone said. “Have you touched anything?”

Rawls shook his head. “I know better than that.”

They went back into the living room and took seats, while the woman served them coffee.

“This is Hilda,” Rawls said. “She found him when she came to clean the house.”

“What time do you normally get here, Hilda?” Stone said.

“Usually, at nine,” the woman replied. “But it was ten, today; I had to do Mr. Brown’s grocery shopping. I always do that for him.” She went back to the kitchen.

“Dino,” Stone said, “you ask the questions.”

Dino nodded. “Gentlemen, did any of you know Mr. Brown to be depressed?”

“This wasn’t suicide,” Harley Davis replied.

“Please, just answer the question.”

“Don wasn’t depressed,” Mack Morris said. “He was pissed off.”

“About what?” Dino asked.

“About being in that fucking wheelchair thing. He didn’t like it at all; he was permanently pissed off about it.”

“Did he ever talk about suicide?”

All three men shook their heads. “He wasn’t the type,” Rawls said.

“Is the gun his?” Dino asked.

“Probably; he had a .45,” Rawls said. “If the cops don’t find another one, then it’s his.”

Jimmy hung up the phone. “The state boys will be on the next ferry,” he said, looking at his watch. “They should be here in an hour or so.”

“Gentlemen,” Dino said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d all go sit on the porch until the cops get here. Stone and I will take a look around the house.”

The four men went outside, and Dino went into the kitchen, followed by Stone.

“Hilda,” Dino said, “when you got here this morning, did you find anything unusual about the state of the house?”

“Well, Mr. Brown was dead in his bed,” she said.

Dino nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”