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gone. He looked at me with an expression I had never seen on a defendant before. Not fear. Burden.
“He gave me this,” James Patterson said. “For your mother. For you. I swear to God I tried.”
My legs felt weak. “What is it?”
He extended the pouch toward me, then hesitated as though it had gained weight in his hands over fifty-five years.
“Your father was continue reading …
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