As soon as the Flynn brothers lifted their Glocks, Dan was in trouble.
Silence descended like a cloak of doom. No confusion crossed his mind… it was clear he would die in the next few seconds. In all his years of facing danger, he often wondered how he would react when faced with imminent death. He was about to find out.
He hurled the contents of the pepper shaker into their eyes. The brothers grabbed at their faces. Dan lifted the table in front of him, and charged. Crockery, eating utensils, the bottle of wine, and a vase filled with flowers crashed onto the floor as Dan morphed into a one man wrecking crew. Gunshots… searing pain in Dan’s ribs stopped him, but only for a moment.
One brother collapsed under the timber tabletop; the other fired. Dan heard a cry behind him as he whirled in a circle – his karate kick smashed into the gunman’s face and sent him flying across the floor. The gun slid out of reach. Stomach pain burned and registered in Dan’s brain, but somehow he pushed the hurt away.
With one brother disarmed, he turned his attention to the one who fired into the obstruction on top of him. Bullets crashed through the timber. Dan wrenched the table away, and kicked the gunman in the face. They wrestled with the gun until turned, it fired into Flynn’s chest. Dan jumped up and held the smoking weapon in his hand.
One down… the other gunman moved towards his weapon. Dan shot him. Blood saturated Dan’s shirt and dripped onto the floor. Now pain grabbed at his bloodied stomach. A fractured rib moved. Something warm and bubbly formed in his mouth and forced him to spit; a red glob broke up on the floor. His vision blurred, blood bubbled from his mouth making it difficult to breathe. He crawled to Diane, who lay on the floor in a pool of blood.
He felt for her pulse. None… too late. He wiped at his lips, and pulled his wife to him and buried his face on her chest. Their blood mixed as if they were destined to be together, even in death.
Targeted Age Group:: 25-75
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I wanted understand how people react when confronted with danger. I built my lead detective and hoped I could use him again. My killer had Dissociative identity disorder and how to write the psychological minefield with that sickness.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
the only way to form characters is to be them in your mind. If you can become a detective I try to get them to do the things they would do when trying the catch the killer. Like wise with the killer, work out what he would do and why.
The rain eased back to a drizzle as Dan parked his car.
Across the four-lane thoroughfare, picturesque homes and offices overlooked the park. Security lights shone in buildings, and a block of multi-storey residential units.
About a hundred metres into the reserve, lights revealed figures behind crime-scene tape near a path. Dan flicked the hood up on his parka against the rain before he walked through the grass and mud.
The Crime Scene Officer (CSO) directed Dan to the entrance and wrote his name on a clipboard with time of arrival. Another constable patrolled the area where the media congregated outside the tape. At the same time, a television camera panned the scene more in hope than expectation, while reporters with microphones and recorders hoped to get someone to comment.
The CSO escorted Dan to where police officers stood with Mac.
Dan watched a police operating vehicle (POV) move towards them with its load of crime scene equipment. At the same time, State Emergency Services erected a tent, set up lights, and handed out sandwiches and coffee.
Dan approached Mac. Rain ran down his part Aboriginal brown face.
‘Tell me,’ said Dan.
‘The boy found the body.’ Mac pointed to a teenager wrapped in a raincoat. He sat astride his bicycle, and gawked at the activity. Similarly, a woman dressed in a waterproof coat and hat, who Dan thought could be the boy's mother, also anxiously looked around.
‘You talk to him?’ Dan asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Mac checking his notepad. ‘The lad cut through the park. He found the body when he sheltered from the rain under a tree.’
‘She killed here?’ asked Dan.
In a gap in the foliage, just off the path, a low branch covered the body. She wore no shoes and a floral dress.
Doctor Nigel Stiles' tall grey-haired figure, dressed in white cover-alls, approached. ‘What you got Dan?’
‘Mac thinks she was strangled. This doesn't look like the primary crime scene. Should an old bloke like you be out this time of night?’
Nigel eyed Dan.
‘Says something about us all doesn't it—out in the rain with a dead body instead of home with our families—know who she is?’
The forensic team looked like cricketers in their whites who decided not to go home after the game. They snapped on gloves and wheeled equipment into place. They ushered the police away and searched the ground in a grid pattern. One of Nigel's team found a footprint in the mud on the path. He made a cast out of Kaffir B plaster then covered it with plastic to protect it from the rain. Afterwards, when it set, he would scoop into a bag and place it in a bucket.
Team members crawled on their hands and knees in the mud.
A forensic photographer set up a large Bronica format camera on a tripod. He placed an umbrella over it against the rain while Emergency Services erected a tent over the body. The Bronica was larger than 35mm so the operator could take colour photos with the advantage of not being near the body for close-ups. Then he turned to photograph footprints on the path.
A finger print expert searched the trees. She shook her head and packed her gear away.
'Better get Anne,' said Dan. 'A lot of people have to be woken and interviewed.'
Mac made the call.
The sleepy voice of Detective Senior Constable Anne Williams answered, ‘Hello.’
‘Anne,’ said Mac. ‘You don’t need any more beauty sleep. No one could look better than you.’
‘When you bullshit me, I get worried. What time is it?’
‘After midnight Cinderella, so don't wear your glass slippers.’ He told Anne where to go.
‘I take it this means I don't get the weekend off.'
‘A brilliant deduction Holmes, said Watson. I'll be at the units when you get there. You’ll have to wake up residents.’ Mac broke the connection.’
‘Forensics will take a couple of hours,' said Dan.
‘There's a closed-circuit TV on the Greenhill Road intersection,’ said Mac.
‘Tomorrow we’ll check nearby shops and service stations for CCTV footage. We’ll also get film from the red light and speed cameras in the area,’ Dan explained.
‘Yeah, and police patrol logs for vehicles and persons checked over in the area,’ said Mac.
‘Check it all, talk to traffic tomorrow; come on let's see if anybody saw anything,’ said Dan.
Dan found three night watchmen in the buildings across from the dead body, plus a few residents. However, no one saw anything, no lights, nothing. Later, Mac and Anne joined him at the crime scene with the same story.
Nigel signalled Dan, Mac, and Anne to look while he examined the corpse. Dan knelt down beside it. The dress was soaked in patches where the tree hadn't protected it from the rain. It puzzled Dan; the dead woman wasn't wearing shoes or stockings. Her wet hair was dishevelled. The body must have lain in the park in the downpour.
Dan shook his head in disgust at the knowledge rain had destroyed evidence. The downpour washed the face and revealed abrasions where someone hit the woman. A slight bruise showed on her cheek.
Nigel lifted the dead woman's dress and checked her underwear. Then he examined bruises around the throat.
‘Hasn’t been dead long,’ said Nigel, ‘maybe three or four hours. Underwear is on back to front. I’d say the killer might have dressed her. The ground is wet beneath her so the killer placed her here after the rain started.’
‘A designer dress,’ said Anne checking the label. ‘Estelle. This lady has money.’
‘Right,’ said Mac.
Dan touched Nigel on the arm.
‘Hear you’ve given my daughter a job.’
‘A remarkable young lady—if I’m any judge, Narelle will tell us what to do before long.’
‘Didn’t know until she told me.’
‘Trained with Perth Forensics, they were sorry to lose her,’ said Nigel.
Nigel looked closely at the body, took out a recorder, and began to talk into it.
‘When will you do the post mortem?’ asked Dan.
Nigel clicked off the recorder, ‘It will have to wait until Monday. I’ll have her fingerprints and get a dental impression and a photo tomorrow to help with identification.’
Doctor Stiles had nothing more to tell him. He’d have to wait until Forensics reported.
‘Rain pelted down around eight thirty when I drove home, so maybe no one was around when the killer dumped the body,’ said Dan.
‘Why put underwear on a dead body?’ asked Anne. ‘Maybe the killer dressed her too. It’s as if they didn’t want anyone to see her naked.’
‘Other than the bruise it looks like a clean killing,’ said Mac.
‘And why the panties as well as the dress?’ Anne went on. ‘The dress covered her. Why not dump the body? If the killer dressed the woman, she could have been naked when the perpetrator killed her.’
‘Unless she wore the dress and put her underwear on back to front after sex,’ said Dan.
‘No woman puts her underwear on back to front,’ said Anne, definitively.
‘Check it out tomorrow,’ said Dan
‘It’s Saturday,’ said Mac.
‘I know what day it is,’ Dan retorted. ‘Can’t do much now, go home get some sleep. See you later—the missus giving you a hard time?’
‘Easier for me if I blame you.'
'Has dear mother-in-law been on the phone to your wife yet?’
‘Yeah, said she’d spoken to you and Narelle. Billie will keep an eye on you,’ said Mac.
‘They have a better reporting system than the Sydney Morning Herald.’
Dan’s mobile rang. ‘Dan Brennan.’
‘What’s it look like?’ asked Senior Sergeant Pritchard.
‘She was strangled.’
‘Know who she is?
‘Not yet. Judging by the dress, the lady had money. The first thing is to identify her. We reckon this is a secondary crime scene—looks like the killer dumped her. We’ll know more when Doctor Stiles reports.’
‘You’ll have more time now the court case has finished,’ said Pritchard.
‘Keep me informed.’
‘I will,’ said Dan closing the phone.
‘Lard checking up on us?’ inquired Mac, using Pritchard’s nickname.
‘His arse gets any bigger he’ll need two chairs,’ said Mac. Anne and Dan laughed. ‘One poor little chair has no chance against Lard.'
‘He’ll have your hide.’
Mac grinned. ‘You know he calls us Ebony and Ivory.’
‘When you get to senior sergeant, you can call anybody what you like too.’
Dan gazed at Mac and Anne for a few moments, ‘Who’s Ebony and who’s Ivory?’ he asked.
Mac punched him lightly on the arm.
'I'm going home. See you in the morning,' said Dan.
Dan crept into the darkened flat. He tried not to wake Narelle. A curtain filtered rays from a streetlight through the window. He stood at his daughter's bed and watched her sleep. Dan laid five hundred dollars on the bedside table he'd taken out of an ATM on the way home. He was tempted to touch Narelle's hair, but he didn't want to frighten her.
Love for his daughter washed over him.
Dan stared for a few minutes. The past came alive; she was a girl again as she rushed into his arms and talked about a friend at kindergarten, or she fell asleep in his arms as they watched television. He picked her up and put the little girl to bed. Where had all the time gone? Indeed, now his little girl was an adult.
Eventually, Narelle stirred, sensing his presence.
Dan quickly tiptoed from the room.
The Flynn brothers had a lot to answer for. And Judge Clancy for granting them bail. Nevertheless, he couldn’t blame them for everything. He should have known the brothers would try to kill him. If he had been armed when he went to the restaurant his wife would still be alive. Guilt over Diane’s death invaded his thoughts. Seeing Narelle in bed made Dan miss his wife more than usual.
It was after eleven o’clock before Dan walked through the incident room to his office. Mac spoke on the phone as Dan walked past.
Dan’s mind raced with the changes to his life now Narelle moved in. The murder investigation crossed his mind, but he thought about his daughter.
Pritchard entered the office just as Dan picked up the phone to make a call. ‘You're a lazy bastard. You slept in when you should have been here to get the investigation under way,’ Pritchard accused.
Dan glared, ‘Don't tell me how to run my case.' He put the phone down and glared at the flesh standing in front of him.
'You're a slack bastard,' Pritchard accused. ‘Everyone was here but you.’
‘If you must know I visited my wife's grave. You remember—I lost Diane because an idiot judge let crazed gunmen out of jail to kill her. Don't tell me how to do my job.'
Dan's anger eased. 'Still waiting for reports, don't accuse me of being slack. Get your facts straight.’
'You and your dark mate arrived here, like Robinson Crusoe with his man Friday. Everybody thought we were so lucky you decided to join us from the Federal Police. Not me. As far as I'm concerned you can piss off anytime. Next time you go off on secondment don't come back!'
'What's wrong with you? I do my job,' said Dan. 'You don't like it, sack me. You can't can you? I'm a good cop with a top clear up rate.'
Dan walked around his desk, should he accuse Pritchard of being fat and lazy? He'd heard a rumour, his superior officer was homosexual.
'Like everyone around here we do as we’re bloody well told. I'm sick of this childish grief every time you get the shits.’
Pritchard stepped back from Dan’s angry gaze and turned towards the incident room.
‘One day I'll get you,’ he said. ‘Your fuckin' medal, the Feds or the Commissioner won’t save you.’ His bulky frame turned to walk towards the door.
‘That medal got right up your nose didn't it? Retire! Get off my case,’ yelled Dan to the retreating back.
Dan continued to glare at Pritchard as he waddled like an oversized duck through the incident room. What made the fat man so angry, Dan wondered? He'd been annoyed ever since Dan returned to work after the shoot-out and awarded the Police Medal for bravery. It was as if Pritchard was sorry his Sergeant survived. It couldn't be; he decided; but something went on in Pritchard's mind Dan didn't understand.
In the incident room, Mac nodded at Pritchard but he ignored him.
‘What’s got into him?’ Mac asked as he entered Dan’s office.
Dan stalked back to his desk and slammed his bottom into his chair. Mac remained standing. ‘What are you doing besides annoying me?’ Dan demanded.
‘Have to meet uniforms at the flats to follow up on last night. We might have missed some residents. Why not get Anne to check with traffic to see if there’s anything on the surveillance cameras around Greenhill and Fullarton roads?’
‘Under control, you check missing persons again?’
Mac turned to go—paused. ‘Forensics might know something by now.'
Dan picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Nige! Anything you have I need; I’ve got bugger all at the moment?’
‘Definitely strangled, had sex before she was killed. We should get DNA; she had traces of semen in her.’
‘Patience! I’ve emailed a picture, should be on your computer now to help with identification.’
‘Jewellery, a wedding and an engagement ring, also a locket—all engraved Kym. Not sure if it’s hers, it was dented and knocked about. They were away from the body like someone had thrown them.’
‘Can you send me a photo of the jewellery?’
‘Yeah, we reckon the engagement ring cost at least fifteen grand. This lady had money, or access to it. Got some makeup off her cheek, we’ve sent it for analysis. It’ll be expensive stuff. She’s about thirty-five, hasn’t had kids. Oh! She was fit—good muscle definition. She either ran a lot or went to the gym. I’d suggest the gym; her shoulders and upper body showed she probably worked out.’
Nigel paused, ‘We’ll know more when we do toxicology tests.’
‘Right,’ said Dan. ‘The post mortem still on for Monday?
‘You’ve been a busy boy.’
‘We do all the work. You blokes get the credit.’
‘You’re full of shit as usual,’ Dan said.
‘How did you have such a beautiful daughter? Oh! Yeah, I forgot—her mother was a stunner.’
Dan placed the phone back in the cradle. Nigel was right Diane was a stunner, and a great person. Jesus he missed her. If only she was still alive, his life wouldn't be such a mess. But, he was lucky to have Narelle and Chad. His psychologist, Doctor Robyn Darden's face appeared in his mind admonishing him for his thoughts.
He checked his email, printed the picture and laid it on his desk. The woman’s dead face couldn’t hide her beauty. Who was she? Surely, someone would miss her. The missing person’s website still didn't have anything. He’d get someone to check the jewellers on Monday. Someone might recognise the ring. He grabbed the photo and walked into the incident room to start a whiteboard.
Woman found in South Parklands, he wrote. Checking his notes, he decided the only other thing worth recording, besides where and when the boy found the body, was expensive dress, underwear on back to front, had sex before she was killed, jewellery nearby, engraved Kym. He glanced at his watch—after twelve o’clock.
Anne walked in with two lunch bags. ‘Thought you might get hungry,’ she said. ‘Checked the closed-circuit TV with traffic, got a list of number plates, one looks suspicious. It went through the intersection at 8.26 last night, registered to a Ralph Fenwick.’
She stared at the photo on the pin-board. ‘Kym! That's it! It explains the three thousand dollar dress.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The lawyer’s wife, she's in the social pages. Right up in some charity. The defence lawyer in the trial yesterday, you know, Tobias Clancy.’
‘Mrs Kym Clancy.’ Anne walked closer to the display. She touched the photo. ‘I reckon it's her, very upper crust.’
'Didn't know you studied the society pages.'
'I look to see if I've made it.'
‘Jesus.’ Dan removed the wrapping from his hamburger, and bit into it while he walked back to his office with Anne. He picked up the phone.
‘Mac you’d better come back. Anne reckons the dead woman could be Tobias Clancy’s wife.’
‘How does she know?’ Mac went on.
‘She studies the social pages, reckons she’ll make it one day.’
‘Not bloody likely if she stays a copper,’ Mac remarked. Dan replaced the receiver.
‘Will you pay for the hamburger or do I put it down to experience?’ asked Anne.
Dan fished ten dollars out of his pocket and laid it on the desk.
‘Keep the change.’
Anne smiled. ‘I’ll buy you real coffee with it instead of that awful stuff in the machine.’
The phone rang Dan answered it, ‘Narelle!’
He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘You want to get coffee while I take this?’
‘Oh check for Kym Clancy’s photo in the social pages. We should be able to compare it to this one,’ Dan went on.
‘Got clothes for University and my new job,’ Narelle said, ‘All bargain-basement stuff. I got this cute red beret.’
‘You can show me when I get home.’
‘You’d be bored. I suppose you’ll be late.’
‘Fraid so,’ said Dan. ‘Got a lot to do; you buy a frock to go out to dinner with your old man?’
‘Love to, where?’
‘Leave it to me.’ Dan replaced the phone.
Anne returned with two coffees. ‘Is your daughter living with you?’ she asked.
‘She decided to risk it.’
'You must be pleased?'
'I am. She's working for Nigel.'
Anne went to her computer, and returned with a photo of Kym Clancy from the social pages, together with the photo from the board.
‘Looks like her,’ said Dan.
‘It's her,’ said Anne.
Tobias Clancy lived in the up market suburb of Toorak Gardens. His colonial-style house had lawns and trees as well as a garden full of different coloured roses. Dan knocked while Mac waited.
A woman with a broom in her hands opened the door. ‘Yes?’ she queried.
‘Is Mr or Mrs Clancy in?’ asked Dan.
‘Mister Clancy is—he’s on the phone. Who are you?’
‘Detectives Brennan and McLean; you are?’
'Gladys, I work here,’ she said. She left them.
The detectives walked into the hall. Mac drew Dan's attention to a picture of a woman in a frame on the wall. They checked the photo and nodded at each other.
Tobias Clancy joined them with a querulous look. He wore neat jeans with an open-necked shirt and walked pigeon toed. Dan gazed at the lawyer’s strange gait. Normally, Clancy was polite, considerate, and almost soft. In the courtroom, he changed completely. He became an intimidator.
Dan thought back to Victor Clark's trial yesterday. He murdered his wife and kids. The white wig on the barrister stood out in contrast to the austere atmosphere of the courtroom. Dan lifted his eyes to concentrate on Clancy's black robe. Above the bib and tuck collar, his moustache moved along with his lips. A mullet cut allowed his hair almost to touch his shoulders. However, his eyes took Dan’s attention. The pupils seemed to look through him, with the impact almost physical.
Today, Clancy's eyes lost the hard edge to become enquiring and uncertain. ‘What’s all this about?' he asked.
‘I understand your wife's not here,’ said Dan.
‘She didn’t come home last night.’
'Do you know where she is?'
'When was the last time you saw her?'
'Friday morning, about eight o'clock.'
'How was she?'
'Okay. What's all this about?'
‘We're investigating the identity of a body of a woman found in the parklands last night. One of my detectives suggested it could be your wife from her photo in the social pages,’ said Dan waiting while Clancy stared blankly at them. It took him a few seconds to understand the detective.
‘Regrettably,' Dan continued, 'we have to ask you to look at a photograph to see if you recognise the person.’
Mac found a hallstand, opened an envelope, and laid a photograph out showing the dead woman's face. Clancy leaned over to examine it. After a first flash of recognition the realisation his wife was dead hit him. He walked into the lounge nearby to sit down. Dan and Mac followed. Clancy stared at the picture for at least a minute. His face showed shock, then anger, but he controlled himself as if he'd turned on a switch.
‘It looks like her. How did she die?’
Dan felt the barrister was acting—no sign of tears or distress. ‘I’m sorry she was strangled. But, we have to be sure. Will you formally identify her?’
‘Give me a few minutes.’
‘I notice you have security. Maybe you got something on tape?’ asked Mac.
‘You can have the disk, but I can't think what it would tell you,’ said Clancy.
'It could tell us if she met someone.'
‘This could be where she was murdered,' said Dan.
'Am I a suspect? When did she die?'
'Not determined yet. We think early evening on Friday night. We only want to identify her at this stage.'
‘You know where I was yesterday. You and I were in court. You put on a show for the jury,’ said Clancy, ‘You’re my alibi, you and about a hundred people at the trial.’
Lights gave the waiting room a positive atmosphere. The female receptionist smiled at Dan and Clancy when they entered. However, the attempt at a cheery interior could not mask the morbid practices behind the door leading to the morgue.
Dan glanced at the lawyer who stared at the door they would have to enter. What was Clancy thinking, Dan wondered, Maybe how to lie to the police and get away with it? A young man came in and signalled them to follow. They entered a viewing area where a Gurney stood. A sheet covered a body bulge. The attendant walked to the head and rolled the sheet back.
Tobias Clancy nodded. ‘Yes, it's Kym, my wife.’
Clancy sat alongside Mac, and faced Dan across the desk in the interview room. Mac opened his notebook and recited the required warning.
‘At this stage I’m after general information about activities. Being a lawyer, you know I have to ask you. Did you kill your wife?' asked Dan.
‘Am I a suspect?’ answered Clancy.
‘Not necessarily at this stage.’
‘Off course not,’ said Clancy.
‘The first person we look at when a woman is murdered is her husband. We’re often right.’
‘Not this time.’
‘What time did you get home after court?’ asked Dan.
‘Late, after ten—I had to talk to my client to discuss the sentence as well as an appeal against the verdict,’ said Clancy.
‘We want to understand your wife's movements,’ said Dan. ‘Friday morning, about eight o’clock was the last time you saw her alive.’
‘How was she?’ asked Mac.
‘Our marriage was in trouble. She had an affair with her personal trainer. She told me it was over. Her marriage was too important to her.’
No sign of emotion, ‘What's the man's name?’ Dan asked.
‘Did you believe her?’
‘I had no reason not to,’ said Clancy.
‘It’s just …’ Mac hesitated. ‘Your main bedroom could be the murder scene. No blanket on the bed, the killer could have used to wrap the body. When you went to the morgue with Sergeant Brennan, I sealed the whole house. I told your cleaner to go home. The bed was unmade, and I guessed not slept in,’ said Mac. ‘Indentations in the carpet showed furniture out of place. Did you sleep there last night?’
‘No, in the spare room, been in there ever since I found out about the affair. When she didn’t come home, I thought she might have stayed with Fenwick.’
‘You were angry with her about the affair,’ said Dan.
‘Of course, but not enough to kill her, anyway I didn’t know the affair continued. I hoped she had come back to me. Had no reason to kill her; after a bad time, it looked as if life would be good again.’
‘How would you describe your wife?’ asked Dan.
Clancy leant back in his chair, looked around the room then at the detectives he carefully considered his answer, perhaps too carefully, thought Dan.
‘Beautiful,’ said Clancy. ‘Sexy, fit, a bit spoilt.’
‘I notice you didn't mention loyalty and love,’ said Mac. ‘Did you forgive her?’
‘I’m not sure you ever forgive your wife after an affair. Tolerate is a better word. You learn to live with it in the hope it doesn't happen again,’ said Clancy.
‘You learnt to live with your wife’s infidelity?’ asked Dan.
‘No, I said I'd give her another chance if she ended the affair, but it appears my trust was misplaced.’
‘Any idea who killed her?’ asked Mac.
‘I’d start at Central Gym,’ said Clancy. ‘It’s a hotbed of sexual liaisons. You never know what happens in a promiscuous environment.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Dan.
‘I know about Fenwick, but there could have been other men. Sex with the wrong person is a good reason to kill,’ said Clancy.’
‘Jealousy is another good one. You must admit you fit,’ said Dan.
‘I'm not jealous, just disappointed. You're making it up as you go along, Dan. You don't have any evidence. Evidence. Evidence, it's all that matters,’ said Clancy.
‘Thanks,’ said Dan. ‘You can't go home yet. Forensics is still at yours house.'
‘I have some work to do in my office. How long will they be?'
'A few hours.'
'Just find the killer,’ said Clancy.
Dan wondered where passion figured in Clancy’s life. Not once the barrister mentioned love or affection. If a beautiful woman didn’t make Clancy passionate, Dan questioned who would. Furthermore, he was so controlled. Why?
'Oh, don't worry, we'll find the killer. You can bet on it,' said Dan. He looked Clancy in the eyes,' Whoever it is.'
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