CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The Lexus was parked in an out-of-the-way corner behind a building in a nearby shopping center. The middle-aged man slumped behind the wheel wore a tailored gray suit, a dress shirt threaded with burgundy-colored pinstripes, and a burgundy tie. A hand and a shirt cuff extended from one arm of the suit jacket. The hand wore a fat gold ring embedded with a ruby red gem and the cuff sported a gold cufflink.
None of these things had protected Aaron Gallagher from the knife that had cut his throat. His body was still limp, head lolling forward. In fact, Gallagher’s face resembled that of a fish dying in mid gasp. It also now matched his suit, except for the parts soaked with blood. Fortunately, I didn’t have to look at the scene for long. Detectives Gordon and Sully dragged me away to grill me some more.
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