by Garry Disher
And incomplete. The Sydney Long was there, the coins and stamps, but not the Klee, not the photograph.
Challis stared at Pam Murphy and she at him and somehow the knowledge passed from one to the other. It would have happened in the deepest hours of the night, a young woman arriving at the front desk, looking like a lawyer, waving a convincing subpoena. Convincing manner, too. Whoever she was.
Table of Contents
COVER PAGE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
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