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when she was under stress. In fact, Ward could always tell if she was having a bad day. Earlier in the week he had asked if her bangs were shorter. A simple Page 59 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html yes made him nod and back off. But now instead of her hair she noticed her hands. They were more red and chapped than usual from brushing down the horses and digging up the last of her vegetable garden. She traded the hairbrush for cuticle scissors and went after the ragged skin, trying to make her fingers more presentable but leaving one bleeding. She hadn't had a professional manicure for ages but knew it was out of the question. Ward had already lectured her about running up their credit card. It was just another way for him to voice his complaints about the wedding since the only purchases she had made were a new dress and luggage for the trip. She refused to drag out the worn old set they had. It was ancient and didn't even have rollers. No wonder Conrad was convinced all his father thought about was money. Which reminded her. She didn't have any cash and wouldn't have time to stop at the bank. She opened the bottom drawer to her dresser, uncovered the square box she used for loose change and trinkets. That was also where she had hidden the plastic bag with cash from Conrad. Ward would never go through Patsy's dresser drawers, so she knew it was safe there. She hadn't really intended to use the money. She could stop at the bank after the book-club meeting and replace it later. What harm could there be in using it and replacing it? She opened the plastic bag, reached in and pulled out one of the twenty-dollar bills. CHAPTER 41 Quantico, Virginia Tully had heard him the first time. He didn't need George Sloane to inform him again that Tully and Ganza had "exactly fifteen minutes" before Sloane had to return to his class. Tully watched the man make a ceremony of sitting down in front of the documents like a priest about to perform some sacred ritual. He played the role of professor very well, even dressed it black knit turtleneck, tight enough to show off his trim physique, along with well-pressed trousers and matching suit jacket. He wasn't a big man, five-foot-seven. His strut into the room asked for but didn't quite command attention. He was Tully's age but had none of the salt-and-pepper Tully had been discovering at his own temples. Instead, Sloane's thick hair, that he wore long enough to curl over the turtleneck, was almost jet-black, and Tully suspected it was because of Grecian hair formula rather than youthful genes. "The lighting is horrendous in here," Sloane announced in place of a greeting. "Does Cunningham expect me to work miracles?" Tully wanted to say, "No, just your regular voodoo will do." Instead, he said what he knew would pacify the man and not waste their precious fifteen minutes. "We're just grateful you can take time out to help us, George. Anything you can offer will be appreciated." "See if you can find me a better light," Sloane told Ganza, dismissing the director of the lab with a wave of his hand as if Ganza were one of his college students. Ganza stared at Sloane's back for a second or two then glanced at Tully, who could only offer a shrug. Ganza checked his watch then pulled down the bill of his Red Sox cap and headed for the conference room's supply closet. "So terrorists are delivering their threats at the bottom of doughnut boxes now?" Sloane said, scooting his chair closer to the table. "Where were you at the time?" he asked Tully. "If I remember correctly, you can't resist a chocolate doughnut." "Stuck in traffic," Tully said, trying not to show his annoyance and impatience. Sloane had already used up five minutes fidgeting with his preparations. "Thank God for morning rush hour, huh?" Ganza hauled a long, metal contraption out of the storage closet that looked Page 60 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html like something from a garage sale. He set it on the table beside Sloane. "What the hell is this?" Sloane sat back as if the thing had accosted him. Ganza ignored him. He unwrapped the cord, plugging it in and then snapping on the fluorescent lamp. It lit the area enough that even Sloane couldn't complain though he grumbled a bit before scooting his chair back into position. He picked up the plastic bag with the envelope first, holding it up and examining it, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow. Tully couldn't help thinking of Johnny Carson's Carnac the Magnificent. "Uppercase," Sloane mumbled under his breath like it was exactly what he had expected. "Every maniac from the Unabomber to the Zodiac killer used uppercase printing. In everyday life few people print entire words and phrases in uppercase, so it's more difficult to match." "So it's easier to disguise their handwriting," Ganza said from his perch standing over Sloane's left shoulder. "That's what I just said. If you already know all this why did Cunningham call me in?" Tully watched from across the room as the two men exchanged glares. Ganza was totally harmless, definitely not the type who engaged in pissing contests. He was a professional, and he was actually a bit of an introvert. Perhaps George Sloane brought out the worst in everyone. When Sloane seemed satisfied that Ganza would no longer interrupt he sat up even taller in the chair. "It's not just about disguising his handwriting," Sloane continued. "Uppercase [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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