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Unformatted text preview: ay, the one called Patrick was anxious to leave, so he finally found the right moment and made a graceful getaway. Three nights later, at about the same time, he came back. Erin was putting up stock, not checking out. She saw him enter, recognized him, remembered he was called Patrick, and watched him. He made a point to look at the checkout clerk, and when he realized she was a different one, he loitered around the store until he stopped in the language and travel section. He picked out the same language course, slid to the counter, paid for it in cash, and left quickly. Almost three hundred bucks. Erin watched him leave. He never saw her, or if he did, he didn't recognize her." "So what's the language?" "That, of course, was the big question. Three weeks later Erin saw in the paper where Patrick Lanigan was killed in a terrible auto accident, and she recognized his picture. Then, six weeks later the story broke about the stolen money from his old firm, the same picture was in the papers, and Erin saw it again." "Did the bookstore have security cameras?" "No. We checked." "So what was the language?" "Lauziere wouldn't tell us. At least at first he wouldn't. We were offering a hundred thousand dollars for solid information about Lanigan's whereabouts. He, and his client, quite naturally wanted all of the money for the name of the language. We negotiated for three days. He wouldn't budge. He allowed us to interrogate Erin. We spent six hours with her, and every aspect of her story checked out, so we agreed to pay the hundred grand." "Brazilian Portuguese?" "Yes. The world suddenly shrunk." LIKE EVERY LAWYER, J. Murray Riddleton had been through it many times before, unfortunately. The airtight case suddenly springs leaks. The tables get turned in the blink of an eye. Just for the fun of it, and with no small measure of enjoyment, he allowed Trudy to puff and posture for a bit before he...
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- Spring '10