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 CLEVELAND — The run-down Cleveland neighborhood where 50-year-old Anthony Sowell quietly carved out an existence is the type of place where women can disappear almost in plain sight.
Where crack users sneak into vacant houses to do drugs, have sex, then steal copper pipes and wiring to make a few bucks.
Where no one asks a lot of questions, even about the smell of rotting meat that came when the wind blew a certain way. Some likened it to the smell of death, and it seemed to follow Sowell around.
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