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datatime: 2022-11-29 03:33:47 Author:vJxAVqdb

Decker was inclined to believe her.Who owns Dickie's TV show? he asked.

Don't tell me I stood out.

Lanie reached in her purse.Courtesy of the booking desk at the Dade County Jail.

I'll check into it, Decker promised.I'm tired, Lanie. I've got a rotten drive tomorrow.

She nodded, got up, and slipped into her sandals. She stood in front of the mirror and brushed through her hair in brisk, sure strokes.

I've seen friendlier smiles, Lanie said, studying the police photos.You still taking pictures, Decker?

One more thing, Decker said.Out at the cemetery, how did you know which one was me? Sanibel was a long time ago.

Don't tell me I stood out.

As he packed his suitcase Decker heard himself say: So what? He hated the way he sounded because he sounded like every lazy asshole cop or P.I. he'd ever met. Big cases, big problems. Go for the easy bucks, that would be the advice.

Lanie straightened, as if working out a crick in her spine.More than old-time religion, she said.OCN is quite the modern conglomerate. They're into health insurance, unit trusts, oil futures, real-estate development ...

The possibility of being murdered over a dead fish did not appeal to R. J. Decker's sense of adventure. He had photographed men who had died for less, and many who had died for more. Over the years he had adopted a carrion fly's unglamorous view of death: it didn't really matter how you got that way, it stunk just the same.

Who else would do it?

The Outdoor Christian Network. You heard of it?

Lanie straightened, as if working out a crick in her spine.More than old-time religion, she said.OCN is quite the modern conglomerate. They're into health insurance, unit trusts, oil futures, real-estate development ...

You think Lockhart killed your boyfriend? Decker asked Lanie.

Don't tell me I stood out.

I'll check into it, Decker promised.I'm tired, Lanie. I've got a rotten drive tomorrow.

I'll check into it, Decker promised.I'm tired, Lanie. I've got a rotten drive tomorrow.

A picture.

Don't tell me I stood out.

Don't tell me I stood out.

Decker was inclined to believe her.Who owns Dickie's TV show? he asked.

The possibility of being murdered over a dead fish did not appeal to R. J. Decker's sense of adventure. He had photographed men who had died for less, and many who had died for more. Over the years he had adopted a carrion fly's unglamorous view of death: it didn't really matter how you got that way, it stunk just the same.

You're doing just fine, Decker thought.Good night, he said.

Sure he did. Dennis never said a word, but I'm sure he knew. Lanie Gault put her hands under her chin.I thought he might bring it up, after Bobby was killed. Just a note or a phone call-something to let on that he knew I was hurting. Not Dennis. The sonofabitch has Freon in his veins, I'm warning you. My brother wants to nail Dickie Lockhart and if you happen to die in the chase he won't be sending a wreath to the funeral. Just another replacement. Like you.

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