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 I learnt from (the chimpanzee) Flo how to be mother. Flo was patient,tolerant. She was supportive. She was always there. She was playful.She enjoyed having her babies, as good mothers do.
--Jane Goodall
 
 
 
Prologue
Thirty years he’d worked here, six days a week, opening the door for the morning throngs andlocking out the crime-riddled downtown every night. Alfred swished his broom back and forth inpracticed steady sweeps. He took pride in the sparkle off the tile floor, the glisten of sinks in thebathrooms and the never-full trash bins. Years ago, an eager youth awed by the majesty of LosAngeles’ legal system, he’d dreamt of working hard and making a place for himself in this grandold courthouse. Now, his wife estranged, his daughter dead, he just felt tired.Alland changed that.Alfred mopped his brow with a faded kerchief. The air conditioner was broken—again. By thetime it got hot enough people complained and his bosses sent him to get the big box fans stored inthe basement, he’d be gone. He sighed. Every breath hurt his chest. It could be the illness. Ornerves. Probably nerves, but it didn’t matter any more.He checked his battered Timex. One fifty. Five more minutes gone forever. Time passedslowly when all you did was wait. He glanced toward Room 22 and blinked back the pain. Godnever intended a father outlive his children.He could see the Assassin—Mr. Smith he called himself—behind the back row, head down,
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