“Lieutenant Bustard and Sergeant O’Leary, the arson investigator, sat hunched on either side of it with their hands on the table and their chins on their hands, listening to Ralph’s voice droning out of the speaker. They had had to record his statement all over again after the sergeant had inadvertently flipped a smoldering cigarette butt at the tape. The room still smelled of incinerated plastic. Bustard switched off the machine. “What unmitigated horseshit.” “Monsignor Breame,” O’Leary said. “...He taught my boy to play baseball. The kid still can’t hit a curve with his ass.” “We got a sleazy P.I.—no, check that, he isn’t even employed, which makes him just a sleaze—who says he can implicate a dead bishop and the secretary of defense—” “Attorney general,” Ralph corrected. “Why not the president?” “Just indirectly.” “Christ.” Bustard punched the rewind button on the recorder. “What are you going to do with the tape?” O’Leary asked. “Erase it.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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