6Cornelius Applegate, all three hundred and ten pounds of him, rocked unmercifully in a once-proud, genuine leather, high-backed, swivel office chair that had long ago given up the ghost. Stuffing oozed from split seams, joints creaked arthritically, and the twisted, frozen wheels burned holes in the carpet. If the chair had a mind, it would have cursed a fate that narrowly missed the plush confines of an executive suite in the headquarters of Johnson and Johnson only twelve miles away.
"I know we've been through this before, Neel, but I'm asking you again. Did Pitt or Lewis have any enemies that you know of?" Detective Mike Di Librio queried firmly, making the big man squirm.
"How the hell would I know, Mike? I didn't sleep with them, for Christ's sake," Applegate answered, lighting a f
