Only one call had come in. One was enough. “The ballistics report has been submitted.” It was the soft, modulated voice of Frank Brodsky. “The bullet that killed Mr. Dobrynin on Christmas Eve was fired from the weapon found taped beneath the desk in Lucia’s office. A .25–caliber, semiautomatic, Czech-made handgun.” The attorney had spoken the words calmly, as if he were a TV newsreader forecasting mixed clouds and sun. I felt a little sick to my stomach. I looked unhappily at Tony, who had hobbled along with me to Brodsky’s office. But Tony seemed more interested in the impressive array of Hudson River paintings than in police ballistics reports. “There is no doubt in my mind that the grand jury will indict now,” Brodsky pronounced. “And given the circumstances, it will be for Murder One.” “What circumstances?”
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