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The Flatirons
Excerpt from Private Practices

The Flatirons

     At Baseline he jagged a quarter of a block and then turned up Kinnikinnick into the grounds of Chautauqua.  He slowed briefly as a patrolman guarding the entrance to the parking lot by the ranger station waved us farther up the road, past a string of streets with flower names, up behind the huge wood frame of the Chautauqua auditorium.  Purdy stopped abruptly at the end of the street where it bordered a usually quiet knoll that stretched up toward the base of the immense vertical rock face of the first Flatiron.  A large, curious crowd had preceded us to the crime scene, but apparently not by long.  Uniformed Boulder police officers hadn't finished stretching yellow crime scene control tape around a base perimeter of an area that seemed to be at least a couple of acres in size.  An ambulance was on the scene along with a half a dozen patrol cars, two crime scene vans, and a couple of civilian-looking late-model sedans and wagons.

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