Harrison’s POVI was in the parking lot of the holding facility at quarter past eleven in the morning, because Greenwood had told me to be there early, and I’d overshot by forty-five minutes. I sat in the car. I didn’t turn the radio on.Thomas came out at 11:42.He was wearing the suit he’d gone in, which didn’t fit him anymore because he’d lost fifteen pounds in four months. The jacket hung wrong on his shoulders. He was carrying a paper bag in one hand, and he was walking slowly.I got out of the car. He saw me. He stopped for a second at the curb, and then he kept walking.“You didn’t have to come,” he said when he reached me. “I could have taken a cab, Harrison.”“I came, Thomas.”He looked at the car, then at me, and then he set the paper bag on the hood and put his hand flat on the roof for a second. I didn’t say anything. He picked the bag up. He got in.The apartment was on the south side in a three-story brick building on a street with too many telephone wires. Unit 1B was o
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