I pushed the folded paper through the iron bars into his waiting fingers.

“This is Mr.

Winslow’s signed affidavit,” I said.

Arthur Pendelton reached into his overcoat for a pair of silver reading glasses, snapped them open, and held the page close to his eyes.

He read the narrow handwritten lines twice without moving his lips or shifting his boots on the pavement.

“He dictated this to you word for word?” he asked.

“Every sentence,” I said.