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Unformatted text preview: d section of Biloxi. He smiled at the receptionist and asked if any of the lawyers were in. It was a fair question. They were known as a bunch of drunks who occasionally showed up for work. She led him to a small conference room and gave him coffee. Vitrano came first, looking remarkably starched and clear-eyed. Bogan was just seconds behind. They mixed sugar in the coffee and talked about the weather. In the months immediately following the disappearance of both Patrick and the money, Cutter would drop in periodically and deliver the latest update on the FBI's investigation. They became pleasant acquaintances, though the meetings were always disheartening. As the months became years, the updates grew further apart. And the updates had the same endings: no trace of Patrick. It had been almost a year since Cutter had spoken to any of them. And so they figured he was simply being nice, happened to be downtown for something, probably wanted a cup of coffee, and this would be routine and quick. Cutter said, "We have Patrick in custody." Charlie Bogan closed his eyes and displayed every one of his teeth. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed, then buried his face in his palms. "Oh my God." Vitrano's head fell back, his mouth too fell open. He gazed in utter disbelief at the ceiling. "Where?" he managed to ask. "He's at a military base in Puerto Rico. He was captured in Brazil." Bogan stood and walked to a corner, next to some bookcases, where he hid his face and tried to hold back the tears. "Oh my God," he kept repeating. "Are you sure it's him?" Vitrano asked in disbelief. "Positive." "Tell me more," Vitrano said. "Like what?" "Like how did you find him? And where? And what was he doing? What does he look like?" "We didn't find him. He was given to us." Bogan sat down at the table, a handkerchief over his nose. "I'm sorry," he said, embarrassed. "Do you know a ma...
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- Spring '10