"You changed the prints, didn't you, Jack?" he said abruptly as he walked over to sit down opposite me across an empty table. He slammed down a folder..."Prints?" I asked disingenuously."Fingerprints," he snapped.I looked down at my hands curiously. "I didn't know that could be done," I said, deliberately misunderstanding. "Has plastic surgery become that advanced?"He glared at me. "The records, not your fingers," he said. "You changed them, didn't you?" How would I do that, sir?" I asked. Her voice is feminine and masculine at the same time. It is strong and authoritative, yet very soft and sweet. I have never told her this but every time I hear her voice over the telephone I get this mental picture of her as Joan Of Arc. As we talked I was looking around my apartment, thinking what the first person to find my dead body would see. Someone would hear the shot and call the police. They would come and knock on the door. No one would answer. They would knock again and speak loudly. More

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