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. He chewed the last bit of twist, swallowed the acrid tobacco juice, looked for someplace to deposit the wad. Wiedermann indicated a trash disposer unit on one side of the desk. Xris dumped the wad, picked up his file, prepared to leave. He needed to be out in the fresh air, needed to be by himself, needed to think.
"What do I owe you?"
Wiedermann rose to his feet. He was taller than Xris had supposed, tall and excessively thin. When the detective stood, his shoulders slumped forward, his chest caved in.
"We'll send you our bill. It was a pleasure working on your case. A real puzzle. Your friend Rowan was clever, very clever. He didn't make many mistakes." Just one, Xris thought. He left me alive.
"Do you know how we finally got on to him?" Wiedermann was prattling on. "His medical insurance forms. They're still on file. By law, you have to keep them on file for a certain number of years. I don't suppose you ever thought of looking at those?"
Xris had no comment, but he made a mental reminder of this slipup. Medical insurance. Why hadn't he thought of that? Probably the same company, the same policy that had covered him, obtained through the bureau. Rowan had never been sick a day in his life, but still ...
"One of our operatives noticed your friend had been under treatment by a doctor during the trial. Could have been stress; probably what people were told
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