conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for a book with the title 'The 5th Horseman'
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The 5th Horseman
  I'D BEEN TOLD that it was a beautiful fall day, but I sure couldn't swear to it. I was having ham and Swiss on a roll in my office, with its dark-alley view, when Inspector Conklin knocked on the door.
  Conklin was in his shirtsleeves, his brown eyes lit up with something. Whatever it was, I really wanted to know.
  Conklin started out of my office, saying, "C'mon, Lieutenant," taking long strides away from me and down the hall.
  I tossed down the report I'd been editing and followed him to the small, cluttered room that was home to our microwave and yellowing Kenmore fridge.
  Jacobi was sitting at the battered table across from a pretty young woman in her early twenties wearing a blue Polarfleece shirt and stretch pants. Her long dark hair was in a braid down her back. She looked up at me with reddened, mascara-smudged eyes.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Tracchio drained his coffee cup, no doubt thinking how he was going to stretch our already overextended manpower based on my "real bad feeling."
  Tracchio signaled to the waitress for the bill, said to me, "You can have four people for a week. Then we'll reevaluate. Make sure you keep me up to speed, Lindsay. I want to know everything. No hiding the weenie."
  JACOBI WAS IN THE PASSENGER SEAT of the gray car, staring up at the tall yellow house on Filbert, thinking how Dr. Garza had been home for about a half hour, probably settling down with the nightly news, when the garage door suddenly opened and a black Mercedes Roadster backed out, the tires squealing.
  Rich Conklin sat up straight in the driver's seat. Jacobi called in a code 33 and stated their location.
  Beside him, Conklin waited a count of five, then pointed the unmarked police car down the steep grade of Filbert, ten car-lengths behind the Mercedes.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Tracchio drained his coffee cup, no doubt thinking how he was going to stretch our already overextended manpower based on my "real bad feeling."
  Tracchio signaled to the waitress for the bill, said to me, "You can have four people for a week. Then we'll reevaluate. Make sure you keep me up to speed, Lindsay. I want to know everything. No hiding the weenie."
  JACOBI WAS IN THE PASSENGER SEAT of the gray car, staring up at the tall yellow house on Filbert, thinking how Dr. Garza had been home for about a half hour, probably settling down with the nightly news, when the garage door suddenly opened and a black Mercedes Roadster backed out, the tires squealing.
  Rich Conklin sat up straight in the driver's seat. Jacobi called in a code 33 and stated their location.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last four paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Then she reached into her pocket and took out a small black doll. She'd hidden the buttons there, inside the rough woolen strands.
  She took the buttons out from between the threads of the doll, put one on each of the dead woman's eyes. The caduceus, serpents around a winged staff, symbol of the medical profession.
  The Night Walker stepped out into the hallway—and saw the police waiting there for her. A half dozen officers, at least.
  The tap on her shoulder from behind surprised her even more than the police waiting in the hallway. She turned to see Melinda Cane. Melinda was very much alive, and she was holding a gun.