<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/3e88/4udf1zl8amlhhha6g.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Nan Rapido</span> </strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><div align="center">_____<br/><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Det. Kantonspolizei Zürich</span></strong></div></div></div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"> <em>Rapido:</em> The driver, Danai, remains quiet, not saying anything.  “I’d like to see the laptop.”  She bats her lashes at me—at least that’s some movement.<br/><br/><em>Rapido:</em> The alarm goes off, an alarm to the jewelry store.  “Now, there’s an alarm.  I’d like to see the laptop.” <br/><br/></span><div class="floatleft"> (http://i65.tinypic.com/m99b7k.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"> Danai</span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Dianne Devotee</span></strong></div></div></div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"><em>Danai:</em> “No.”  I turn and look at the detective.  “No.  I will not give you permission to take my laptop.”  I hold up my phone to let her know I’m recording our conversation.<br/><br/><em>Rapido:</em> I look at the woman.  Is she the toughest of the three?  “It’s evening time.  Do you know where your friends are?  Can you call them?” <br/><br/><em>Danai:</em> “No.” <br/><br/><em>Danai:</em> “May I leave?  It seems that there is some sort of police action.” <br/><br/><em>Rapido:</em> I nod and she pulls away.  A trailer car waits, then begins the tail.<br/><br/><br/><br/>  <br/></span><div align="center">______________<br/><br/>(https://cdn.zuerich.com/sites/default/files/styles/sharing/public/keyvisual/web_zuerich_langstrasse_nightlife.jpg?itok=eRfL6-Ot.jpg)<br/><br/>________________</div><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/f9a1/cet6epcotie37z46g.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Amanda</span></strong> <br/><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Dianne Devotee</span></strong> </div></div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"><em>Amanda:</em>  I walk into a bar and order a drink, setting down my charge card.  The bartender takes it and swipes it.  He signals open tab and I nod.  <br/><em>Amanda:</em>  Couldn’t hurt to have a fringe alibi.  After a few drinks, I wander out onto the street.  It’s a good busy.  I don’t look, but wonder if Danai’s gone.  I walk into another bar, ordering a drink.  It’s not long before there are a few who might be working up their courage to come over.  This will be their lucky night—whoever makes it over gets to chat with me, buy me a drink and get rambunctious bar style. <br/><br/><em>Amanda:</em>  Damn!<br/></span>