Claire DeWitt And The City Of The Dead - Plot & Excerpts
I didn’t tell him about my escapade with his little friend the night before. Mick probably thought he was at church, or maybe rehabbing houses in Lakeview. “I need you to do something for me,” I said. “Research?” Mick asked. “Go through files?” “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe later.” “Interview suspects?” he asked. “Track down witnesses?” “No,” I said. “Probably. But not now. First, I need you to find Jack Murray.” “Oh, Claire,” Mick said, his voice thick with disappointment. “I don’t know where he is. I wouldn’t know where to begin.” “You’d have a better chance than I would,” I said. “I don’t even live here.” “Jesus,” Mick said. “What am I, your fucking secretary?” “You want to keep your little friend out of jail?” I asked. Mick didn’t say anything. We both knew the answer was yes. “Then you’re my fucking secretary,” I said. “And while you’re on it, yes, you can get started looking through Vic’s work records—the cases he prosecuted, what he won, what he lost, all that.
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