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—is inadmissible, Devine. Fruit of the tainted tree. In London. The sheriff, angrily indignant, strode to the door, opened it, and ran down the steps. Mason, Paul Drake, and Della Street followed behind. Behind him the courtroom was bedlam. Do you know generally about the setup? He looked at his watch. One oclock. There was a dining hall on the third floor. It had great food, everything from tofu, plant-based burgers, sushi, couscous of every flavor and description, to grilled fish, all varieties of pasta, and veggie, vegan, and pescatarian offerings, along with meats for carnivores, and delectabledesserts, all free, with cooks and eager servers just waiting to help you. And none of the Burners ever went there, because, one, they were afraid to get out of their seats, and, two, they were even more afraid that some executive would see them on the third floor in a place meant for people to eat, actually placing food in their mouths. We looked at each other some more. What I saw were two men in their late thirties whom I had known for twelve years but hadnt seen for three, possibly four. That made Ward Murfin about thirty-eight or thirty-nine. Max Quane was younger, probably thirty-seven. It was the middle of August and hot and neither of them wore coats, but they both wore shirts and ties although the ties were loosened. Murfins shirt was pale green and Quanes was white with thin black stripes and a tab collar. I remembered then that he had always worn tab collars with a neat little gold pin in them. Never did, Murfin said. Maybe she does get off on that stuff, thought Devine. She knew the train was there, with people on it, watching her. He wondered how Brad Cowl felt about it. But then again, he was having sex with his employees on desktops. You stayin at the Royale and all, I figured youd be some big snooty asshole. I guess maybe I was wrong. At least a little bit. Do you really think its legit? asked Campbell. None whatever. I just saw it. Nothing clicked. Have you been talking to some of them? Murfin said. I followed him to the beauty shop, where I waited until Mrs. Harlan, the defendant in this case, came out. Whos he? I heard a young female reporter ask one of the greybeards. What do you want to prove? I know about them, but weve not met. Im a huge fan of Susannahs work. There were about twenty-five or thirty suits and about fifteen jackets. They were all hung very carefully facing the same way on shaped wooden hangers. Most of the suits were hard-finished woolen worsteds, either blue or grey, although there were several nice tweeds and a couple of light summer-weight gabardines. Max apparently hadnt gone in for synthetic fibers. The jackets were mostly quiet tweeds or softly woven herringbone. There were also a couple of muted plaids. I decided on a light summer-weight grey worsted suit and a sporty-looking brown-tweed one that looked as if it had never been worn. I thought the tweed suitwould go well in the country. It was rough and hairy and all I needed to go with it was a blackthorne walking stick. I also picked out a couple of jackets, a summer-weight one and a nice dark grey cashmere number. Max certainly hadnt stinted himself on clothes...