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"So who was the old man, anyway?” Monica Pulver asked after her recitation.
Braun stepped to the table, leaned forward, weight braced on forearms bared beneath rolled up sleeves. “Allow me to offer my sympathy for the loss of your father.” If he was aware of the potential irony of offering that sentiment to the murderer he kept it completely masked by his deadpan delivery.
“Dammit, Braun,” said Mullins. “Ms. Pulver, were you unaware that the deceased was your father? That he was in attendance?”
“What? Are you both serious? Dead?” She had gone pale, but stone-faced.
“Dead serious,” said Braun.