““Can you think of anyone who would want to get back at you for anything?” Pookie waited for an answer. He and Bryan sat in chairs, while Alex Panos and his mother, Susan, sat on the couch across from them. A coffee table with a vase of fresh flowers separated the pairs. A pack of cigarettes and a box of Kleenex lay on the table in front of Susan, but she had yet to light up and seemed to favor the already well-used wad of tissue clutched in her hand. Alex wore jeans, black combat boots and a br...and-new crimson-and-gold Boston College Eagles jacket. He glared at the cops in his living room, his lip all but curled into a snarl. Susan Panos watched her son, her hands nervously working the wad of tissue now so ravaged and wet with tears that little shreds of it broke off to drift down lightly to the brown carpet below. “Alex, honey,” she said, “can you answer the man?” Alex looked at his mother with the same expression of bored disdain he’d affixed on the cops.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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