Falloran’s Records on Whitlock Street. Art Falloran, sixty two, owned it for thirty one years. Uniform found him at the foot of the basement stairs at fourteen minutes past eleven tonight.

It looks like a fall. The stair light has been out for months and he carried stock up and down those steps every night of his life. His sister wants it written up as an accident and gone by Friday.

Three people were in that shop tonight. One of them called it in. Before I sign anything, I want you to walk it.