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.Finally, on the left side of the page was an obituary without a photo.Earlier, he had to hunt for it, but eventually he found it.It was so brief that it appeared to suggest a life of no significance.It was for a woman named Rowena Clark, who died at her Brooklyn home four days earlier after a fall down her staircase.The obituary said that Clark was sixty-two, the widow of Nicolas Clark, and the mother of two adult children.Cullen knew exactly who she was—Louis’ former mistress, who left him years ago for Nicolas because she no longer wanted to continue an eleven-year affair if marriage wasn’t in the equation.Cullen remembered the situation and the arguments that ensued between Louis and Rowena, whom Louis genuinely loved even though marriage was out of the question for him.A year after their break-up, she married a “fucking teacher,” as Louis put it, and he apparently never got over the slight.“Because there you are now, Rowena,” Cullen said to her obituary.“A life truncated into one hundred-fifty words.Give or take.”He closed the newspaper and went over to the wall of windows that overlooked Fifth Avenue.Charles Stout, Florence Holt, Piggy French, the Baron and Baroness of Dorchester, Peter Horrigan and Rowena Clark were dead.Spocatti and Carmen had been busy since Leana’s recovery in the hospital.Successfully busy.Three more to go, he thought.Michael Archer, George Redman and Leana Redman.And when they were gone, James Cullen would finally realize what had driven him to follow Louis’ request to make certain all died.His motivation wasn’t just out of loyalty to his good friend, whom he loved as if he was his own brother.It also was the one hundred million dollars he would secretly receive from Ryan’s estate when once all was said and done.CHAPTER FIFTYIt was evening when Spocatti and Carmen arrived at Cullen’s office to discuss next steps.“You’re bald,” Cullen said to Spocatti when they entered the room.He came around his desk and leaned against it as they walked toward him.“When did that happen?”“Does it matter?”“Probably the night of Anastassios’ party.You would have been recognized.After all, Leana Redman was there.She would have known you in a minute.”He looked at Carmen, whom he had yet to meet in person.“So this is Carmen?” he said, appraising her.“Beautiful.And by the way, nice job on everything you’ve been doing to help Vincent.”“What makes you think that he’s not the one who’s been helping me? Piggy French met her end because of a choice I made.I killed the baron and baroness—not Vincent.He was busy running over Peter Horrigan.We share the work equally, Mr.Cullen.” She shot Spocatti a sideways glance.“Just not the pay.”“You are a tiger,” Cullen said.“No wonder Florence Holt didn’t stand a chance against you.”He extended his hand, which she shook.“Did she put up much of a fight?”“I believe Vincent filled you in on everything.”“But I’d like to relive the scene through you,” Cullen said.“I hear she was scrappy.”“She was.And stronger than you’d expect.”“Those dykes can fight.What was it like shooting her in the face?”Carmen looked coolly at him.“I sent you the photos.You saw what it was like.”“But if you could expand upon the situation and give me a sense of what it was like, I’d enjoy that.”“Why?”“Because of how she treated Louis.Because I also didn’t like her, and I’m glad that she’s dead.”“Let’s just say that if I’d used hollow-point bullets, her face would have looked a lot worse.”“How? After what you did to her, her face looked as if it went through a meat grinder.She didn’t have a closed casket for nothing.”“True.She needed one.But if I’d gone with the hollow-points, her casket would have been a foot shorter because she would have been missing her head.”“Well, that’s gruesome.”“Our lives wallow through pools of gruesome, Mr.Cullen.”“You don’t need to convince me of that—I read today’s obits.You’re intriguing, Carmen.Isn’t it unusual for a woman to get into this sort of profession?”“This sort of profession?”“Killing people.”“Women have been killing people for years, Mr.Cullen.”“It’s James.And what a memory you just evoked.The moment you said that women are killers, I thought of Elizabeth Redman shooting Anne Ryan all those years ago.She just flashed before my eyes.Poor thing.Down on her knees scrubbing toilets in prison while trying to dodge the dykes
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