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"Lara Estelle Croft, age 31, born in Sussex England,"The man read off the computer screen impassively. "Hair: brown, Eyes: Brown, Height Five foot eight, Weight one hundred twenty five pounds." As he read off Lara's statistics he glanced at her, making sure that they matched. When he had assured himself that she was who she claimed to be, he continued. "British citizen, in the US on a three month visa. What's your business in Fulsome?" He asked, voice flat."Sightseeing."He just nodded and typed it into the computer. "Duration of stay?" Just a day or two."He looked at her, annoyed. "Which is it, one day or two?" Two, I suppose."He nodded. "Pass through the turnstile. You may collect your vehicle and belongings on the other side." He continued speaking what was obviously a oft repeated statement. "You must sign a waiver stating you know all of this cities regulations before entry, and may exchange your money for currency chits at the Currency Exchange only. Next."Lara stepped through. “He’ll know!”After that mysterious night when he summoned me to the flophouse, I checked the apartment for cameras or microphones. It was a stupid thing to do, but he had known when I cracked. I realized I hadn’t been in the house. I had been walking. I looked at my phone.I went to our cheap, notebook computer. Stace used it for school. The battery had died, but the power cord still worked. I looked up spying on cell phones. The old phones, like mine, could be set to listen even when folded and sleeping. What bum could afford that kind of surveillance? The kind that could afford to give away heroin, the answer came to me. I didn’t understand it, but if figuring it out would save my family, I had to be the strong one.Before the banks closed that Saturday, I deposited seven hundred dollars into my savings account, to spend on the credit debit, which fortunately wouldn’t bill me for three weeks.The next week passed slowly. Terry stopped by once, to dose Donald and throw a quick fuck.
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A very handsome woman, whom he introduced as his wife, Helen, accompanied him. Their arrival prompted Bernie and Marco to head for a separate table in the dining room.Once we'd taken our seats at a table, Helen Carpenter – after pouring all three of us coffee -- launched into a long inquisition about my relationship with Lady Minerva.There's not much point in me going through all that again here, because what I told her would be repeating my conversation with Sandra and Harcourt from the previous day. Anyway it was obvious Helen Carpenter knew exactly who Minerva was, from the start. But I noted, that she never once referred to her as Kylie. That implied to me that Helen Carpenter had never actually met Kylie, or, if she had, Kylie hadn't ... well chosen her as a close friend.I don't know if you've ever had the dubious pleasure of being questioned by the police, especially when they know something that you don't. But, whilst Helen was interrogating me -- because that was what she.

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