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At seven o’clock on Thursday morning, after being questioned all night at the Manhattan district attorney’s office, Jack Worth was told he was free to go home. When he had first arrived, he had been read the Miranda warnings. He had originally told the detectives that he didn’t need a lawyer and would gladly cooperate with them. After the initial shock of being taken in for questioning, he had decided that he had a straight story, there were no holes in it, and that a rush to get a lawyer might make him look guilty.

Over and over as the hours passed, he had answered the increasingly scornful questions the detectives had thrown at him. “When you were at the complex, for whatever reason, very early in the morning, and you looked down into that sinkhole and saw that girl wearing your medallion, why did you run away? Why didn’t you dial nine-one-one right away?”

“Look, I never forgot the grilling I got twenty-eight years ago just because I bought that damn eight-dollar medallion with Tracey’s name on it and tried to give it to her,” he said. “She wouldn’t take it as a gift, but she liked it and gave me the money for it. I never went out with her alone. I never saw her wear the necklace. I got scared because I knew just what you cops would be thinking. Come on. Give me a lie detector test. I’m not worried.”

Jack’s attitude had changed when they began to question him about Jamie Gordon. “I read about that poor kid. You’re telling me that two years ago she was in that van in the parking lot sometime between midnight and six in the morning and you’re asking me what I know about it! I was the plant manager, not the night watchman. Listen, I’ve tried to be on the level with you guys, but I’m tired and I want to leave now.” He stood up. “Anyone stopping me? Am I under arrest?”

“You are not under arrest and you are free to go, Jack,” he was told. “We may want to talk to you again, but now you can go home.”

A terrified Jack Worth, knowing that he would undoubtedly hear from them again soon, walked quickly out of the room.

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