Curman thought Donnelly might be on the spectrum somewhere, though Curman would be the first to admit he didn’t understand the spectrum or what exactly it entailed.
The first two times he asked Donnelly, Donnelly had answered “hang on,” then held up one finger, like he meant one minute.
Curman cleared his throat and asked again.
“Please, Rick, what exactly do you know about this woman?”
Donnelly put the tablet with the photos on the desk and faced Curman.
“She’s got a jar on her nightstand with what she says is her mom’s last breath, sitting on top of a baseball card of her cousin she never met who had 24 plate appearances with the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1973 before he died of carbon monoxide poisoning on his houseboat.
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