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Merry Christmas from Dr. Eric Leroy


Dear Detective Stephenson, I’m writing to you from the comforts of my cell at the Cessnock Correctional Centre. Now that my trial is finished, I’ll be transferred in the morning to live out the remainder of my days in Goulbourn, New South Wales, at the state’s highest security prison. While I’m not looking forward to moving farther inland, it will be a relief to get away from my cellie who uses the toilet an inhumane number of times in the night. My incarceration has afforded me a lot of time to think. And while I have no regrets over killing Patricia, her fat husband, the little drummer boy, that whale of a man Daisy chose to call her boyfriend, or the lady cop who couldn’t resist coming home with me just before my arrest, I do feel that my dear secretary’s life came to an end too soon. Even if it was practically by her own hand by picking Dwayne over me. Being able to serve out my sentence in my beloved homeland has been the only consolation during the last twenty-one months of my imprisonment. I take joy in the small pleasantries, like being awakened by those ghastly kookaburras perched in the native gum trees beyond the prison fences. Something I grew to miss during my years in the city of rain. Something for which, as an American, you would never appreciate. If there’s one thing I’ve known from the start, it’s that I don’t belong in prison. Nevertheless, I’ve taken this time to pen a new masterpiece. A sequel to Inspired by Murder. If possible, it’s even better than my first novel. All the inmates are enjoying it in addition to some of the prison guards. They must have more wits about them than I’d previously given them credit for. All this internal reflection has made me realize something. Something I forgot to tell you. I recalled it so clearly I’m at a loss at how it could’ve slipped my mind for so long. It happened in Seattle in the fall of 2001. Remind me to tell you about it sometime. However, I’m not sure when that will be. Because, you see, by the time you read this letter that I’ve left for you on the prison transport bus, I will have already escaped. Merry Christmas, Eric

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