“You’re planning to leave the cat with Chapman’s widow?” “We don’t need the cat,” I said. “We’ll take the data tag.” “And you think Marla Chapman will be happy to see the thing? ‘Here’s the cat your husband kept at the secret apartment where he was fucking other people, Mrs. Chapman. His name is Donut.’” “It’s possible I didn’t think this one through entirely,” I said after a minute. “It’s possible,” Vann agreed. “You want a cat?” I asked Vann. She glanced over for a second. “I’m not the one whose lap the thing is sitting in,” she said. “That’s because you’re driving. Put the car on autopilot
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