Wall
“I can write that now. Even a few weeks ago I could not. Perhaps the most tragic thing about death is that one gets used to it. The strangeness wears off; the empty place is gradually filled. There is a new man in the village already. He drives the doctor’s car, and I suppose he knows more modern medicine than Doctor Jamieson knew existed. He has installed a small laboratory in the room where the old doctor used to keep his fishing tackle and the rubber boots he wore for country cases; and already the people on the island are accepting him; as if there had been no murder, as if he had not stepped into a dead man’s shoes.
For it was murder. He was found by the side of the main road, his car drawn up beside the wall of the Pendexter place, as if he had stopped it there; and there was a bullet wound in his heart. The gun had been fired at close range; but there was no weapon in sight. He was slumped down in the seat, his body slightly turned to the left, as though he had been talking to someone.
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