They both kneeled beside the body and rolled the dead man over on his side. Wolfe could see the edge of a wallet in the hip pocket. He pulled it out. They looked at the dried blood on the man’s back.
“There’s the exit wound,” Wolfe said. They gently rolled the man back onto his back and stood up.
Wolfe opened the wallet and found a Texas driver’s license. The victim’s name was Glen Roberts. The license showed an address in Barajas, a small town about twenty miles west of Kimble. He stuck the license in his back pocket and handed the wallet to Alvarez.
“You can book it into property when we get back to Kimble,” he said.
Wolfe looked up and followed the flight of a flock of blackbirds.
“Crows,” Alvarez said.
“Yeah,” Wolfe said. “Know what they call a flock of crows?”
Alvarez looked at him. “Um, a flock of crows?” she said.
“Murder,” Wolfe said. “A murder of crows.”
“Jesus,” Alvarez said. “Under the circumstances, I guess it’s more apropos.”
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