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datatime: 2022-11-30 14:35:33 Author:RvDDhUeP

But Paul is already inside, scanning the first floor. Without a word, he's deep into the house.

"He's still at the police station," Paul says, almost to himself. "The lights are off."

"Paul" I get out of the car, trying to keep my voice at a whisper.

"We can't do this," I say as I walk toward them, trying for some authority.

"You lied to them."

I can hear it in his voice, the accusation sneaking in. Everything returns to the moment I pushed Taft.

But Paul is already inside, scanning the first floor. Without a word, he's deep into the house.

"Threatening you with the letter?"

"I'm the one who called the police too," he says.

Gil doesn't even hear us. Shaken by the sight of Taft's house, he lightens pressure on the brakes, letting us roll in neutral, prepared to go back. Just as his foot begins to engage the clutch, though, Paul yanks the door handle and stumbles out onto the curb.

A light in the neighboring house comes on, but Paul pays no attention. He paces up to Taft's front porch and puts his ear to the door, gently rapping.

"Is this it?" Gil says.

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

The houses before us are fashioned in white clapboard. At Taft's address, all windows are unlit. Just beyond them stands the tree line of the Institute woods, its canopy tinseled in white.

The wind whips through the columns of the fa?ade, licking puffs of snow from the eaves. The window next door goes black. When Paul gets no answer, he tries to turn the knob, but the lock holds fast.

"That's why the police took Vincent in," he says. "I told them I saw Vincent near Dickinson when Bill was shot."

"I'm the one who called the police too," he says.

"What do we do?" Gil says, beside him.

"Jesus, Paul," I say. "How do even you know the blueprint is here?"

"Threatening you with the letter?"

Paul knocks again, then pulls a ring of keys from his pocket and cradles one into the slot. Putting a shoulder into the wood, he sweeps the door forward. Hinges squeal.

Gil doesn't even hear us. Shaken by the sight of Taft's house, he lightens pressure on the brakes, letting us roll in neutral, prepared to go back. Just as his foot begins to engage the clutch, though, Paul yanks the door handle and stumbles out onto the curb.

"It's the only other place he could've hidden it."

"He knew he had nothing on me. So he started in on your dad."

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