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datatime: 2022-11-27 17:37:03 Author:huaxwBzl

"That's why the police took Vincent in," he says. "I told them I saw Vincent near Dickinson when Bill was shot."

"He's still at the police station," Paul says, almost to himself. "The lights are off."

"He knew he had nothing on me. So he started in on your dad."

"That's why the police took Vincent in," he says. "I told them I saw Vincent near Dickinson when Bill was shot."

"Paul" I get out of the car, trying to keep my voice at a whisper.

Slush sprays the undercarriage of the car as the suspension dances over a pothole.

"Is this it?" Gil says.

Slush sprays the undercarriage of the car as the suspension dances over a pothole.

"Threatening you with the letter?"

"Vincent. This morning."

"You're the one who ran," I say under my breath.

"What do we do?" Gil says, beside him.

"Jesus, Paul," I say. "How do even you know the blueprint is here?"

"Vincent. This morning."

"Is this it?" Gil says.

"You lied to them."

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

"He's still at the police station," Paul says, almost to himself. "The lights are off."

"Threatening you with the letter?"

Gil doesn't even hear us. Shaken by the sight of Taft's house, he lightens pressure on the brakes, letting us roll in neutral, prepared to go back. Just as his foot begins to engage the clutch, though, Paul yanks the door handle and stumbles out onto the curb.

The wind hisses around the door as he opens it, muffling his words. I can see Paul mouth something to us, pointing at the house. He begins hiking toward it in the snow.

The wind hisses around the door as he opens it, muffling his words. I can see Paul mouth something to us, pointing at the house. He begins hiking toward it in the snow.

"Damn it." Gil brings the Saab to a halt and gets out. "Paul"

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

The wind whips through the columns of the fa?ade, licking puffs of snow from the eaves. The window next door goes black. When Paul gets no answer, he tries to turn the knob, but the lock holds fast.

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