mbt tunisha|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishe
 

hing left but a few
bags of garbage and one small drop of Doncevic's blood on a
glass slide for my rosewood box.
And as alwaysI felt a whole lot better afterwards.
116
FIFTEEN
IT WAS THE NEXT MORNING THAT THINGS BEGAN TO
unravel.
I went in to work tired but content from my happy chores and the
late night they had put me through. I had just settled down with a
cup of coffee to attack a heap of paperwork when Vince Masuoka
poked his head in the door. “Dexter” he said.
“The one and only” I said with proper modesty.
“Did you hear?” he said with an irritating bet-you-didn't-hear
smirk.
I hear so many thingsVince” I said. “Which one do you mean?”
“The autopsy report” he said. And because it was apparently
important to him to stay as annoying as possiblehe said nothing
elsejust looked at me expectantly.
“All rightVince” I said at last. “Which autopsy report did I not
hear about that will change the way I think about everything?” He
frowned. “What?” he said.
I saidnoI didn't hear. Please tell me.” He shook his head. I don't
think that's what you said” he said.
“But anywayyou know those wacky designer bodieswith all the
fruit and stuff in them?”
“At South Beachand Fairchild Garden mbt tunishayilai：
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