“But after less than a half hour of responding to e-mails and writing a few checks—I’ve never become comfortable with the idea of paying bills online—I got up from my desk and paced my office. My research and phone calls had given me a sense that I’d made a modicum of progress in the Olshansky case. I suppose that his death being officially labeled a murder only bolstered my need not to lose momentum. Restless, I glanced at the clock on the wall: four thirty. I went to the window and looked out.... It was already dark. Even so, I decided that a brisk walk was in order to clear my mind. I slipped into my down winter jacket, put on boots, and was about to head out when the phone rang. “Mrs. Fletcher?” a young woman’s voice asked. “Yes?” “It’s Marisa, from the ice arena,” she said, her voice wavering. “Hello, Marisa. What a nice surprise.” She burst into tears. “What’s wrong, dear? Are you all right?” “Did you hear what they’re going to do?” “No, I don’t think I’ve heard anything new,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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