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STEPHEN
WALLBRECHT
A subtly dynamic man,
Wallbrecht was tall and slender, with thinning hair,
keenly intelligent light gray eyes, and an aura of
absolute competence and relentless energy.
Finished with the review
of the major players in the case, Wallbrecht said, “Beyond
that, all I can tell you right now is that your telephones
are tapped and you have a tail, which you already knew.
Mrs. Manning has a tail but no wiretaps yet. Now, tell me
what you want me to do next.
“I want you to find out
who killed Logan Manning. Whoever did it is walking around
free, while his widow cant even eat in a restaurant
without having people talking about her. Also, she had a
stalker. Gordon will give you all the details. Whether
he’s involved with Manning’s murder or not, I want him
found and taken off the street so she doesn’t have to
worry about him anymore.”
Wallbrecht leaned back
in his chair and gazed at him in amazement. “So that’s the
way it is?” he said softly. “You’re not interested in
protecting yourself – it’s Mrs. Manning you want to
protect?”
“That’s exactly the way
it is,” Michael said flatly. Opening his briefcase, he
tossed the dossiers into it; then he snapped it and the
locks closed.
When he walked out,
Wallbrecht and Buchanan looked at each other in stunned,
wary silence. “I can’t believe this,” Wallbrecht finally
said. “That’s the same man who shrugged when the state of
New York files six counts of fraud against him.”
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