MY PULSE SHOT UP at the mention of Michael Campion’s name.
Michael Campion wasn’t just a kid. He was to Californians what JFK Jr. had been to the nation. The only child of our former governor Connor Hume Campion and his wife, Valentina, Michael Campion had been born into incredible wealth. He’d also been born with an inoperable heart defect and had been living on borrowed time for the whole of his life.
Through photos and newscasts, Michael’s life had been part of ours. He’d been a darling baby, a precocious and gifted child, and a handsome teenager, both funny and smart. His father had become a spokesman for the American Heart Association, and Michael was their adored poster boy. And while the public rarely saw Michael, they cared, always hoping that one day there would be a medical breakthrough and that California’s “Boy with a Broken Heart” would be given what most people took for granted - a full and vigorous life.
Then, back in January of this year, Michael had said good night to his parents, and in the morning his bedroom was empty. There was no ransom note. No sign of foul play. But a back door was unlocked and Michael was gone.
His disappearance was treated as a kidnapping, and the FBI launched a nationwide search. The SFPD did its own investigation, interviewing family members and retainers, Michael’s teachers and school friends, and his virtual online friends as well.
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2012年3月7日星期三
I’m on my own time
I glanced at the caller ID, expecting it to be my boyfriend, Joe, thinking he’d just gotten home and was checking in, but it was Lieutenant Warren Jacobi. My former partner and current boss.
“Jacobi?”
Yuki shouted, “Don’t stop, Claire. She could be on the phone all night!”
“Lindsay? Okay, fine,” Claire said, and then she went on. “I unzipped the body bag . . . and a bat flew out of the dead man’s clothes. I peed my pants,” Claire squealed behind me. “I really did!”
“Boxer? You there?” said Jacobi, gruff in my ear.
“I’m on my own time,” I growled into my cell phone. “It’s Saturday, don’t you know that?”
“You’re going to want this. If not, tell me and I’ll give it to Cappy and Chi.”
“What is it?”
“The biggest deal in the world, Boxer. It’s about the Campion kid. Michael.”
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“Jacobi?”
Yuki shouted, “Don’t stop, Claire. She could be on the phone all night!”
“Lindsay? Okay, fine,” Claire said, and then she went on. “I unzipped the body bag . . . and a bat flew out of the dead man’s clothes. I peed my pants,” Claire squealed behind me. “I really did!”
“Boxer? You there?” said Jacobi, gruff in my ear.
“I’m on my own time,” I growled into my cell phone. “It’s Saturday, don’t you know that?”
“You’re going to want this. If not, tell me and I’ll give it to Cappy and Chi.”
“What is it?”
“The biggest deal in the world, Boxer. It’s about the Campion kid. Michael.”
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WE SAT IN A CIRCLE around the fire pit behind our rental cottage near the spectacular Point Reyes National Seashore, an hour north of San Francisco.
“Lindsay, hold out your glass,” Cindy said.
I tasted the margarita - it was good. Yuki stirred the oysters on the grill. My border collie, Sweet Martha, sighed and crossed her paws in front of her, and firelight made flickering patterns on our faces as the sun set over the Pacific.
“It was one of my first cases in the ME’s office,” Claire was saying. “And so I was ‘it.’ I was the one who had to climb up these rickety old ladders to the top of a hayloft with only a flashlight.”
Yuki coughed as the tequila went down her windpipe, gasping for breath as Cindy and I yelled at her in unison, “Sip it!”
Claire thumped Yuki’s back and continued.
“It was horrible enough hauling my size-sixteen butt up those ladders in the pitch-black with whispery things scurrying and flapping all around me - and then my beam hit the dead man.
“His feet were hovering above the hay, and when I lit him up, I swear to God he looked like he was levitating. Eyes and tongue bugged out, like a freakin’ ghoul.”
“No way.” Yuki laughed. She was wearing pajama bottoms and a Boalt Law sweatshirt, her hair in a ponytail, already drunk on her one margarita, looking more like a college kid than a woman nearing thirty.
“I yelled down into the dark well of that barn,” Claire said, “got two big old boys to come up and cut the body down from the rafters and put Mr. Levitation into a body bag.”
Claire paused for dramatic effect - and right then my cell phone rang.
“Lind-say, no,” Cindy begged me. “Don’t take that call.”
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“Lindsay, hold out your glass,” Cindy said.
I tasted the margarita - it was good. Yuki stirred the oysters on the grill. My border collie, Sweet Martha, sighed and crossed her paws in front of her, and firelight made flickering patterns on our faces as the sun set over the Pacific.
“It was one of my first cases in the ME’s office,” Claire was saying. “And so I was ‘it.’ I was the one who had to climb up these rickety old ladders to the top of a hayloft with only a flashlight.”
Yuki coughed as the tequila went down her windpipe, gasping for breath as Cindy and I yelled at her in unison, “Sip it!”
Claire thumped Yuki’s back and continued.
“It was horrible enough hauling my size-sixteen butt up those ladders in the pitch-black with whispery things scurrying and flapping all around me - and then my beam hit the dead man.
“His feet were hovering above the hay, and when I lit him up, I swear to God he looked like he was levitating. Eyes and tongue bugged out, like a freakin’ ghoul.”
“No way.” Yuki laughed. She was wearing pajama bottoms and a Boalt Law sweatshirt, her hair in a ponytail, already drunk on her one margarita, looking more like a college kid than a woman nearing thirty.
“I yelled down into the dark well of that barn,” Claire said, “got two big old boys to come up and cut the body down from the rafters and put Mr. Levitation into a body bag.”
Claire paused for dramatic effect - and right then my cell phone rang.
“Lind-say, no,” Cindy begged me. “Don’t take that call.”
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Don’t leave us
HENRY JABLONSKY’S STOMACH HEAVED. He gagged against the thick wool of the sock, pulled against his restraints, smelled the sour odor of urine. Heat puddled under his clothes. Christ. He’d wet himself. But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was to get out alive.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. But he could reason.
What could he do?
Jablonsky looked around from his place on the floor, took in the fire poker only yards away. He fixed his vision on that poker.
“Mrs. J.,” Pidge called out to Peggy, shaking a small turquoise box. “This is from Henry. A Peretti necklace. Very nice. What? You have something to say?”
Pidge went over to Peggy Jablonsky and took the sock out of her mouth.
“You don’t really know Dougie, do you?” she said.
“Dougie who?” Pidge laughed.
“Don’t hurt us -”
“No, no, Mrs. J.,” Pidge said, stuffing the sock back into his captive’s mouth. “No don’ts. This is our game. Our rules.”
The kitten pounced into the heap of wrapping paper as the gifts were opened; the diamond earrings, the Hermès tie, and the Jensen salad tongs, Jablonsky praying that they would just take the stuff and leave. Then he heard Pidge speak to Hawk, his voice more subdued than before, so that Jablonsky had to strain to hear over the blood pounding in his ears.
“Well? Guilty or not guilty?” Pidge asked.
Hawk’s voice was thoughtful. “The J.’s are living well, and if that’s the best revenge . . .”
“You’re kidding me, dude. That’s totally bogus.”
Pidge stepped over the pillowcase filled with the contents of the Jablonskys’ safe. He spread the Bradbury book open on the lamp table with the span of his hand, then picked up a pen and carefully printed on the title page.
Pidge read it back. “Sic erat in fatis, man. It is fated. Get the kit-cat and let’s go.”
Hawk bent over, said, “Sorry, dude. Mrs. Dude.” He took the sock out of Jablonsky’s mouth. “Say good-bye to Peggy.”
Henry Jablonsky’s mind scrambled. What? What was happening? And then he realized. He could speak! He screamed “Pegg-yyyyy” as the Christmas tree bloomed with a bright yellow glare, then went up in a great exhalation of flame.
VOOOOOOM.
Heat rose and the skin on Henry Jablonsky’s cheeks dried like paper. Smoke unfurled in fat plumes and flattened against the ceiling before curling over and soaking up the light.
“Don’t leave us!”
He saw the flames climbing the curtains, heard his dear love’s muffled screams as the front door slammed shut.
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He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. But he could reason.
What could he do?
Jablonsky looked around from his place on the floor, took in the fire poker only yards away. He fixed his vision on that poker.
“Mrs. J.,” Pidge called out to Peggy, shaking a small turquoise box. “This is from Henry. A Peretti necklace. Very nice. What? You have something to say?”
Pidge went over to Peggy Jablonsky and took the sock out of her mouth.
“You don’t really know Dougie, do you?” she said.
“Dougie who?” Pidge laughed.
“Don’t hurt us -”
“No, no, Mrs. J.,” Pidge said, stuffing the sock back into his captive’s mouth. “No don’ts. This is our game. Our rules.”
The kitten pounced into the heap of wrapping paper as the gifts were opened; the diamond earrings, the Hermès tie, and the Jensen salad tongs, Jablonsky praying that they would just take the stuff and leave. Then he heard Pidge speak to Hawk, his voice more subdued than before, so that Jablonsky had to strain to hear over the blood pounding in his ears.
“Well? Guilty or not guilty?” Pidge asked.
Hawk’s voice was thoughtful. “The J.’s are living well, and if that’s the best revenge . . .”
“You’re kidding me, dude. That’s totally bogus.”
Pidge stepped over the pillowcase filled with the contents of the Jablonskys’ safe. He spread the Bradbury book open on the lamp table with the span of his hand, then picked up a pen and carefully printed on the title page.
Pidge read it back. “Sic erat in fatis, man. It is fated. Get the kit-cat and let’s go.”
Hawk bent over, said, “Sorry, dude. Mrs. Dude.” He took the sock out of Jablonsky’s mouth. “Say good-bye to Peggy.”
Henry Jablonsky’s mind scrambled. What? What was happening? And then he realized. He could speak! He screamed “Pegg-yyyyy” as the Christmas tree bloomed with a bright yellow glare, then went up in a great exhalation of flame.
VOOOOOOM.
Heat rose and the skin on Henry Jablonsky’s cheeks dried like paper. Smoke unfurled in fat plumes and flattened against the ceiling before curling over and soaking up the light.
“Don’t leave us!”
He saw the flames climbing the curtains, heard his dear love’s muffled screams as the front door slammed shut.
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He had a knife
He said to Henry Jablonsky, “Wow, Mr. J., you’ve got Fahrenheit 451. This is a classic.”
Hawk pulled the book from the shelf, opened it to the first page. Then he stooped down to where Jablonsky was hog-tied on the floor with a sock in his mouth.
“You can’t beat Bradbury for an opening,” Hawk said. And then he read aloud with a clear, dramatic voice.
“ ‘It was a pleasure to burn. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed.’ ”
As Hawk read, Pidge hauled a large package out from under the tree. It was wrapped in gold foil, tied with gold ribbon. Something Peggy had always wanted and had waited for, for years.
“To Peggy, from Santa,” Pidge read from the gift tag. He sliced through the wrappings with a knife.
He had a knife!
Pidge opened the box, peeled back the layers of tissue.
“A Birkin bag, Peggy. Santa brought you a nine-thousand-dollar purse! I’d call that a no, Peg. A definite no.”
Pidge reached for another wrapped gift, shook the box, while Hawk turned his attention to Peggy Jablonsky. Peggy pleaded with Hawk, her actual words muffled by the wad of sock in her mouth. It broke Henry’s heavy heart to see how hard she tried to communicate with her eyes.
Hawk reached out and stroked Peggy’s baby-blond hair, then patted her damp cheek. “We’re going to open all your presents now, Mrs. J. Yours too, Mr. J.,” he said. “Then we’ll decide if we’re going to let you live.”
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Hawk pulled the book from the shelf, opened it to the first page. Then he stooped down to where Jablonsky was hog-tied on the floor with a sock in his mouth.
“You can’t beat Bradbury for an opening,” Hawk said. And then he read aloud with a clear, dramatic voice.
“ ‘It was a pleasure to burn. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed.’ ”
As Hawk read, Pidge hauled a large package out from under the tree. It was wrapped in gold foil, tied with gold ribbon. Something Peggy had always wanted and had waited for, for years.
“To Peggy, from Santa,” Pidge read from the gift tag. He sliced through the wrappings with a knife.
He had a knife!
Pidge opened the box, peeled back the layers of tissue.
“A Birkin bag, Peggy. Santa brought you a nine-thousand-dollar purse! I’d call that a no, Peg. A definite no.”
Pidge reached for another wrapped gift, shook the box, while Hawk turned his attention to Peggy Jablonsky. Peggy pleaded with Hawk, her actual words muffled by the wad of sock in her mouth. It broke Henry’s heavy heart to see how hard she tried to communicate with her eyes.
Hawk reached out and stroked Peggy’s baby-blond hair, then patted her damp cheek. “We’re going to open all your presents now, Mrs. J. Yours too, Mr. J.,” he said. “Then we’ll decide if we’re going to let you live.”
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They said this was only a robbery.
TINY LIGHTS WINKED on the Douglas fir standing tall and full in front of the picture window. Swags of Christmas greenery and dozens of cards decked the well-appointed living room, and apple logs crackled in the fireplace, scenting the air as they burned.
A digitized Bing Crosby crooned “The Christmas Song.”
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose . . .”
Henry Jablonsky couldn’t see the boys clearly. The one called Hawk had snatched off his glasses and put them a mile away on the fireplace mantel, a good thing, Jablonsky had reasoned at the time.
It meant that the boys didn’t want to be identified, that they were planning to let them go. Please, God, please let us live and I’ll serve you all the days of my life.
Jablonsky watched the two shapes moving around the tree, knew that the gun was in Hawk’s waistband. He heard wrapping paper tear, saw the one called Pidge dangling a bow for the new kitten.
They’d said they weren’t going to hurt them.
They said this was only a robbery.
Jablonsky had memorized their faces well enough to describe to a police sketch artist, which he would be doing as soon as they got the hell out of his home.
Both boys looked as though they’d stepped from the pages of a Ralph Lauren ad.
Hawk. Clean-cut. Well-spoken. Blond, with side-parted hair. Pidge, bigger. Probably six two. Long brown hair. Strong as a horse. Meaty hands. Ivy League types. Both of them.
Maybe there really was some goodness in them.
As Jablonsky watched, the blond one, Hawk, walked over to the bookshelf, dragged his long fingers across the spines of the books, calling out titles, his voice warm, as though he were a friend of the family.
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A digitized Bing Crosby crooned “The Christmas Song.”
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose . . .”
Henry Jablonsky couldn’t see the boys clearly. The one called Hawk had snatched off his glasses and put them a mile away on the fireplace mantel, a good thing, Jablonsky had reasoned at the time.
It meant that the boys didn’t want to be identified, that they were planning to let them go. Please, God, please let us live and I’ll serve you all the days of my life.
Jablonsky watched the two shapes moving around the tree, knew that the gun was in Hawk’s waistband. He heard wrapping paper tear, saw the one called Pidge dangling a bow for the new kitten.
They’d said they weren’t going to hurt them.
They said this was only a robbery.
Jablonsky had memorized their faces well enough to describe to a police sketch artist, which he would be doing as soon as they got the hell out of his home.
Both boys looked as though they’d stepped from the pages of a Ralph Lauren ad.
Hawk. Clean-cut. Well-spoken. Blond, with side-parted hair. Pidge, bigger. Probably six two. Long brown hair. Strong as a horse. Meaty hands. Ivy League types. Both of them.
Maybe there really was some goodness in them.
As Jablonsky watched, the blond one, Hawk, walked over to the bookshelf, dragged his long fingers across the spines of the books, calling out titles, his voice warm, as though he were a friend of the family.
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2012年3月6日星期二
Choose marriage gauze not known secret! Work is the key
Marriage gauze is every woman's dream life, put on beautiful marriage gauze, beginning of happiness. How to select wedding dresses to show the bride of the perfect one side? This is let many the bride was puzzling problem, happens to be in the bride's wedding in most of the attention problems. Choose marriage gauze, everybody often pay attention to color, style, but very few people will pay attention to work in, in fact the so-called work "good" is so of......
Wearing a white dress is different from the fashion and evening dress, is the bride in life, the most important dress, thus in the tens of thousands of in marriage gauze, narrow range, until eventually try on several sets will make the final decision. Today we go with you to talk about not for the attention of everyone choose marriage gauze details! Must make wedding dress every detail, was perfect, become beautiful memories of her lifetime.
herringbone
Not every kind of design all need the fishbone, straight body design will not need. Also not each clothes herringbone added the more the better. Generally speaking four root can, at most 6 root. Of course there are some underwear design practice inside can add to the root. Good fish bone soft and toughness. Not to be hard can tree up is a good bones, flexibility is good is. Unless underwear type practices, otherwise bones should be installed in the lining, not should be installed in the surface of the clothes.
lining
The general YuSha should do. But in here to introduce two fastidious practice. The first is the marriage gauze of abdominal place outfit, helps to promote abdominal curve, still have a kind of way is in the chest of the corresponding back two of the same DaGou bra, in this style with the chest type in marriage gauze application can make chest type perfect, and clothes and body fit well. For some softer marriage gauze fabrics, exquisite also in marriage gauze fabrics inside lining a layer of soft gauze nets.
skirt
The skirt lining yarn can't because we want to wear petticoat and saved. Generally 3 to 6 layers can be. This can cover up the bones of a petticoat her cheek. Fish, straight body, can not consider lining yarn.
Herringbone yarn
In addition to line yarn, large delay marriage gauze skirt, must be in a circle on the edge with fishbone yarn. Is a kind of hard yarn. This hard should be wrapped in gauze satin edge inside. Advantage is that it can make skirt natural prolapse, and natural dragged back, not because around but skirt knit up. Many trailing a beginning will people out flat, then walked a few steps cloth will knit up, to help even bridesmaids. With these hard yarn won't, to a 360 degree turn also won't have a problem, it's still very flat.
Chest against
According to individual be fond of. Do not advocate outfit chest against, because a look that is false, the clothes in the chest not natural. But should still should see individual be fond of.
embroidery
Generally flower shop than the process cheaper embroidery pattern. Embroidery is to spend time, human. Spread the cut good bud silk flower is posted on satin above.
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Wearing a white dress is different from the fashion and evening dress, is the bride in life, the most important dress, thus in the tens of thousands of in marriage gauze, narrow range, until eventually try on several sets will make the final decision. Today we go with you to talk about not for the attention of everyone choose marriage gauze details! Must make wedding dress every detail, was perfect, become beautiful memories of her lifetime.
herringbone
Not every kind of design all need the fishbone, straight body design will not need. Also not each clothes herringbone added the more the better. Generally speaking four root can, at most 6 root. Of course there are some underwear design practice inside can add to the root. Good fish bone soft and toughness. Not to be hard can tree up is a good bones, flexibility is good is. Unless underwear type practices, otherwise bones should be installed in the lining, not should be installed in the surface of the clothes.
lining
The general YuSha should do. But in here to introduce two fastidious practice. The first is the marriage gauze of abdominal place outfit, helps to promote abdominal curve, still have a kind of way is in the chest of the corresponding back two of the same DaGou bra, in this style with the chest type in marriage gauze application can make chest type perfect, and clothes and body fit well. For some softer marriage gauze fabrics, exquisite also in marriage gauze fabrics inside lining a layer of soft gauze nets.
skirt
The skirt lining yarn can't because we want to wear petticoat and saved. Generally 3 to 6 layers can be. This can cover up the bones of a petticoat her cheek. Fish, straight body, can not consider lining yarn.
Herringbone yarn
In addition to line yarn, large delay marriage gauze skirt, must be in a circle on the edge with fishbone yarn. Is a kind of hard yarn. This hard should be wrapped in gauze satin edge inside. Advantage is that it can make skirt natural prolapse, and natural dragged back, not because around but skirt knit up. Many trailing a beginning will people out flat, then walked a few steps cloth will knit up, to help even bridesmaids. With these hard yarn won't, to a 360 degree turn also won't have a problem, it's still very flat.
Chest against
According to individual be fond of. Do not advocate outfit chest against, because a look that is false, the clothes in the chest not natural. But should still should see individual be fond of.
embroidery
Generally flower shop than the process cheaper embroidery pattern. Embroidery is to spend time, human. Spread the cut good bud silk flower is posted on satin above.
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