After the birth of his niece’s baby, Rafferty had realised in these modern times, hospitals discharged their new mothers as soon as possible after the birth, so he was there, later that morning, to take them both home. After wrestling his way through the hospital’s discharge procedures, he finally had them both settled into the car.
‘All right, sweetheart?’
Abra wriggled. ‘Apart from these stitches.’
‘Soon get you home.’ But Rafferty was surprised that his usual – as his Ma termed it boy-racer – style of driving, had vanished. He was carrying precious cargo, his beautiful new daughter, Neeve, and his driving was transported into something that even his ultra-cautious sergeant would admire, and he gave a quiet chuckle, and muttered, ‘New Dad Syndrome.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, my petal. Just that Llewellyn would admire my go-slower style.’
‘Oh, Dafyd. I missed him. Did I tell you he sent me a lovely bouquet?’ Getting a response in the affirmative, she went on. ‘Wasn’t it sweet of him? In the middle of a case, too.’
Rafferty forbore from commenting that he was in the middle of a case, one he was in charge of, instead, he just went through Llewellyn’s careful practises of looking in the mirror three times, and making sure he had space enough to drive three buses through, before he pulled away from the hospital’s parking bay.
Despite this, they were home in ten minutes. Just in time, in fact, to welcome the florist, with the biggest bouquet Rafferty could find in the shop. After Abra had oohed over it, he deposited it in the sink. He’d deal with it later.
Rafferty was entitled to paternity leave, but he had to solve this case first. Abra wouldn’t like it when he told her.
He was right about that.
‘But why can’t you take your paternity leave now? Has Bradley refused you?’
He wasn’t able to claim that. Mainly because he hadn’t asked him. Why give him the chance to put another black mark against him in his record? ‘It’s not that, Abra.’
‘Then, why? It’s bad enough that you went all the way to Spain, and almost missed her birth, and all for the sake of a low-life crook. What about me? Don’t I count?’
‘Of course you do. More than anything.’ He did his best to appease her. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll take a couple of days now, and I’ll take the rest when I’ve made an arrest and done the paperwork, I’ll even take you on that fabulous holiday you’ve set your heart on.’ God knew how he’d pay for it. His credit card was maxed-out. He supposed he could take a leaf out of the book of his more impecunious relatives, and just sign on the dotted line for more credit. Just don’t get in over your head, his conscience chimed in, or else you’ll be chucked off the force, too.
Abra looked pleased, then thoughtful. ‘But you’re always saying we can’t afford fancy holidays. So, what’s changed?’
Nothing had changed. Just Rafferty’s desire to make amends. He knew well enough he was in the wrong to leave her holding the baby. That was why there was an equipment-stuffed nursery upstairs, his conscience chimed in again. He issued death threats to his conscience, then had a brainwave, and said, ‘Paternity pay.’
‘What? It’s the first I’ve heard of it.’
That was because Rafferty had just come up with it. The police service might have turned soft with criminals – probably about the same time they’d started calling themselves “the police service” instead of “the police force” – now they were offered in-cell entertainment centres and conjugal rights, amusements unavailable when Rafferty had started as a copper. But a similar softness wasn’t on offer to police officers. Apart from the well-publicised cases when a police officer suffered a minor injury trying to apprehend a wrongdoer, and had received major compensation from the judge-awarded public purse, they showed a harder face to their own. The service didn’t offer paternity pay, apart from their normal salary.
‘I’m sure I mentioned it. Anyway,’ he hurried on. ‘I’ve got a few brochures. They’re in the car. I thought while I’m finishing this case off, you can look through them, and choose a hotel, villa, whatever you fancy.’
‘Finishing the case, Joe? I wasn’t aware, from what you’ve said up to now, that you were anywhere near finished.’
‘I’m getting there. Another week, tops, and I’ll have matey bang to rights.’
Abra raised here eyebrows, but surprisingly, she didn’t say anything further.
Rafferty beamed at her. He made her a cup of tea, went ‘coochy-coochy-coo’, at the baby then said, ‘Right, I’ll just nip out to the car. Back in a sec.’
He whipped his mobile out once through the front door, and rang Llewellyn. ‘Look, don’t ring me for the next couple of days, unless World War Three breaks out. And, just in case it does, I’ve set my mobile to vibrate.’
He at least wanted to give Abra and Neeve that time in peace without police work disturbing their time together. Because when this case would be finished was anyone’s guess. What he’d tell Abra if the end to the promised week came and went with no solution in sight, he had no idea.
But he was sure he’d think of something.
In the meantime, he repeated his instructions to Llewellyn, when he arrived back in the UK from Spain later today, he was to try and find Mrs Briggs, then he went back in to Abra with the promised brochures in his arms.
***
Rafferty’s two days’ Paternity Leave went past all too swiftly, and to make up for taking them, and catch up on things generally, he was in at seven the next morning. Llewellyn was back, to judge by the pristine state of the office; there were no piles of paper or files anywhere. He would be interested to learn where charm alone had got the Welshman with his mysterious female witness.
But, as he’d beaten even the ever-early Welshman, Rafferty sent him a quick text, to say that if anybody wanted him, he was with the profs. It was time he showed his face at the archaeology site, in any case, and give the profs the opportunity to quiz him. Besides, he knew he wouldn’t be doing his job properly if he didn’t quiz them. Just because the victim had criminal connections was no reason to concentrate all his attentions on them. After all, someone could have murdered Joey Briggs for quite a different reason, and the criminal aspect be totally spurious. Maybe even someone had relied on them being smart enough to ID the corpse even with the lack of fingertips from which to take prints. The violent and smart Charlie Carver would generally spring to mind as a likely suspect in that case.
There would be plenty of coppers satisfied with that, especially when Joey Briggs had stolen a stash of money from Carver. When it was discovered, if it was, that Carver had been in Britain, in England, there were cops aplenty who would apply for the extradition warrant, regard it as job done, and all go up the pub to celebrate their latest triumph.
But Rafferty always liked to do things the hard way. Such a solution was just a bit too convenient, a bit too obvious. And then there was the possibility – even the likelihood – that one of his fellow gangsters wanted Carver banged up, so he could take over his empire and increase his own profit.
But that was getting a bit complicated even for Rafferty. So, from that, he turned with relief to the academics. At least they’d be civilised, particularly as he’d been fairly accommodating.
He parked next to the professors’ cars and got out to look at how far they’d advanced since his last visit. They’d dug a couple of new trenches, and the students were in with their trowels, after the digger had removed the topsoil.
Rafferty found himself hurrying, anxious to see if they had discovered anything further. He couldn’t see any of the profs, but young Sven Daniels was one of the men with the trowels. Rafferty called to him.
‘Having a break from the dishpan hands?’
Daniels looked up. ‘Yeah. Something like that, anyway. If you wanted Professor Fanshaw, he’s not here. You’re too late. He was here this morning, but now he’s gone back to the university to consult with colleagues. Or so he said.’
‘Really?’ He hadn’t expected such early hours from the profs and had been surprised to see their cars parked. He hadn’t differentiated one of the professor’s vehicles from another, so he hadn’t noticed that Fanshaw’s wasn’t one of the parked cars. ‘And what do you reckon he’s doing instead?’
Daniels grinned. ‘His partner’s pretty tasty, way younger than him. What would you be doing in such circumstances?’
‘Point taken.’ Rafferty gestured at the trench. ‘Found anything else interesting?’
‘Few coins and some bits of broken pottery. Woolworths variety, before you get excited. And the coins are Victorian, cartwheel pennies, threepenny bits, usual stuff at this level. Oh God, look out. Here’s the site supervisor with his Context Recording Sheets.’ He pulled a face. ‘I can’t get used to the amount of paperwork this career entails.’
‘You want to try mine,’ Rafferty told him.
The site supervisor was as prissy as Rafferty remembered. He demanded Rafferty’s ID, and gave the impression that he didn’t think he should be on the site at all. Rafferty got the distinct feeling the man would have thrown him off the site altogether, if only he dared.
‘Mr Daniels is working, Inspector,’ he told him in the sort of high-pitched and precise voice that grated on the nerves. ‘He really doesn’t need the distraction. He could damage a piece of pottery.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Rafferty had always felt that acting humble usually went down a treat with such self-important people. ‘It’s just that I think I’m in the wrong job.’ He smiled winningly.
‘Really? So we can’t expect you to find the murderer any time soon?’
Ouch. That was below the belt. He moved it up several notches from humble. The site supervisor wasn’t the only one able to act self-important.
He said, ‘The murder has moved international, now.’
‘Really?’
‘Mm. Very hush hush. I can say no more, you understand?’
The site supervisor looked at him as if he knew very well what he was doing and refused to rise to it. ‘Professor Fanshaw will be back tomorrow. I think it would be more correct for you to address your questions to him, don’t you, Inspector?’
Rafferty put his head on one side. ‘And what precisely do you do around here, Mr Wiggins?’ He already knew of course, but he wanted the man’s exact duties spelled out for him.
‘I’m the Site Supervisor.’
Said with very definite Capital Letters, as if to signify his importance. As if the even more definite rise of the chin didn’t point to that.
‘And what does that entail, exactly?’
‘As I would have thought the words themselves made clear, I run this site, make sure everything runs smoothly.’
‘I see. So Professor Fanshaw isn’t in charge?’
‘Well, yes. But he doesn’t have a lot to do with the everyday. He has meetings to attend, funds to find and—’
‘Ah. So in fact, what you’re saying is that I should address my questions to you?’
Wiggins shifted uncomfortably, aware perhaps that young Daniels was taking in every word, and trying hard not to snigger. Standing on his ruffled dignity, Wiggins said, ‘Perhaps you would like to come with me, Inspector?’
‘Certainly.’
Wiggins set off at a rush. Rafferty winked at Daniels, and took off after him in a more leisurely fashion. Wiggins led him to one of the caravans, which, as Rafferty climbed the step, he saw was empty at the moment.
Wiggins turned to face him in the confined space. ‘Now, Inspector. What did you want to know?’
‘Well, for a start, if you could give me a run-down as to where everyone who works on the dig was on the night of the murder when the body was dumped here, and for several hours preceding the murder.’
‘You don’t ask much, do you, Inspector?’
‘I’ll leave that one with you. Perhaps you can get back to me tomorrow?’ He’d already been delayed on it several times, and wouldn’t brook any further delay. ‘But, in the meantime, perhaps we could concentrate on you, Mr Wiggins?’
‘Me?’
‘Well, you work here. Where the body was found. You must see that makes it imperative that everyone must provide details of their whereabouts for the operative times.’
‘Why didn’t you ask that before if it’s so imperative?’
‘I did. But clearly Professor Fanshaw must have had a lot on his mind when I asked him. So now I’m asking you.’ In truth, he’d asked Lilley to chase it up. But he refused to admit that the officer had got side-tracked and neglected to do so.
‘I see.’ Wiggins looked away for a few moments, as if to get his thoughts in order. Or else to concoct a plausible lie.
‘Of course, I went back with the others to where I’m staying.’
‘And where is that exactly?’
Wiggins told him.
‘And you stayed there all night?’
‘Of course.’
‘Does it have a bar, this place?’
Wiggins’s mouth turned down. ‘They always have a bar.’
‘You don’t approve?’
‘Not when it means people are unable to function adequately until the afternoon, no.’
‘I take it you didn’t spend the evening in the bar with the rest?’
‘I was there for a time. I have to be if I want to update myself with what everyone is doing. That’s invariably where future plans are made, and work allocated for the next day.’
‘And what did you do when the plans for the next day were finished?’
‘I went to my room.’
‘I see. Presumably, you double up when you’re on site? To save funds.’
‘No. The others do. But I generally manage to have a room to myself.’
‘So there’s no one to vouch for whether or not you left the hotel.’ Whereas before Wiggins had gone pink, this time he went a decided red. He began to bluster. ‘I was in my room all night. And I resent—’
‘Did anyone see you? Did anyone knock to say goodnight?’
‘No.’ Begrudgingly.
So he was a Billy-No-Mates. That figured.
‘I didn’t even know the murdered man, this Joey Briggs. I can assure you, Inspector, I don’t associate with low-class criminals such as Briggs seems to have been.’
Only high-class criminals, then. Though undoubtedly Mr Wiggins didn’t intend for him to take that connotation from his words. Admittedly, he couldn’t quite see him as an associate of Charlie Carver, the violent Mr Big of the Costa Del Crime…
He let Mr Wiggins go, then, having not only brought him down to size, but also discovered a man without an alibi, which was always interesting.
***
Rafferty was glad to see Llewellyn when he got back from the dig before lunch, and interested – no intrigued –to learn what he’d discovered from the mysterious culture-vulture female that he’d cultivated.
‘Let’s hear it then. The unexpurgated version.’
Llewellyn gripped the top of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, as if he was starting a tension headache. ‘Very well. You can certainly have the unexpurgated version.’ He paused dramatically as if to tease Rafferty.
‘Well, go on, man. I’m all ears. Get to it.’
‘I met this woman, a Mrs Dunstable, as we had previously arranged, at a restaurant. Le Manga. Rather expensive, as it happens.’
‘Good luck with getting that past Bradley.’
‘If you’ll allow me to finish.’
Rafferty waved his hand.
‘She told me that Mr Briggs had recently been in touch with his wife. Apparently he desired a reconciliation.’
‘Really. And how did Mrs Briggs react?’
‘According to Mrs Dunstable, she rather welcomed the idea. That’s the reason Mr Briggs returned to England.’
‘Not because he’d helped himself to Charlie Carver’s money and was looking for a bolt-hole?’
‘That, too, of course. Though Mrs Dunstable didn’t seem cognisant of that fact.’
‘Cognisant?’
‘She didn’t know about that.’
‘I wish you’d use normal, everyday English, instead of the ponced up, Frenchified version. So she seems to have been pally with Briggs. What was her exact relationship with him?’
‘She said they were lovers.’
‘And he told her, this lover, that he wanted to go back to his wife?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘And she wasn’t upset at all?’
‘No. Mrs Dunstable and Mr Briggs’s relationship was purely casual, she said. She was, to use her term, looking for a much bigger fish than Mr Briggs.’
‘Though he’d do to be going on with.’
‘Precisely. The morals of these people are really—’
‘Beyond your comprehension?’
‘Quite.’
‘So, what else did she say, this Mrs Dunstable?’
Llewellyn blushed. ‘That’s really not relevant.’
‘Don’t say she tried to get you into bed?’
The blush had now spread to his ears. ‘I said that’s not relevant. I refuse to entertain you with sordid—’
‘Hah. She did. Saucy mare. The morals of these people.’ Rafferty grinned. ‘But did she succeed?’
‘Certainly not. I’ve reported exactly what happened. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m sure there’s plenty of other work I could do, instead of pandering to your lust for low morality.’ Llewellyn turned away, the very set of his shoulders telling Rafferty he was a bit miffed.
Rafferty’s grin faded. But only slightly. Llewellyn was back, that was for sure.
He frowned. They still hadn’t been able to actually lay their hands on Mrs Briggs. He didn’t know whether she was keeping a low profile deliberately; had a new man she didn’t want to know of her connection with a low-life like Briggs; they couldn’t find her because they had no address, and thus had to trawl through all the Briggs in the entire country; or whether she’d murdered him herself.
He addressed his question to Llewellyn’s stiff back. ‘I don’t suppose this Mrs Dunstable came through with an address for Mrs Briggs?’
‘No. She didn’t know it.’
Of course she didn’t. Not if she was a casual lover. But just how casual? Now he’d tried and failed to make Llewellyn admit he’d been a naughty boy, he addressed himself to the more serious questions. ‘You said Briggs and this Mrs Dunstable had just been casual lovers. But how casual exactly? Long-term casual? Or just when Joey felt the itch and had no one else to scratch it?’
‘Mrs Dunstable said they’d known one another, in the Biblical sense, for one year.’
‘Plenty of time, then, to wheedle information out of lover-boy.’
‘Yes. I did actually feel there was information she wasn’t sharing.’
‘Perhaps if you’d—’
Llewellyn turned round. ‘And would you have ‘done all’ for the sake of duty?’
‘Me? Certainly not. And risk what I have with Abra? For the sake of a quite possibly pox-ridden woman of easy virtue?’
‘Well, neither would I.’
‘Well, all right. I believe you. There’s no need to go off on one.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘And have you quite finished applying your forensic scrutiny to what was a mere afternoon’s exploratory interview?’
‘Absolutely. Your morals are above reproach.’ He paused, then said, ‘She wasn’t an oil-painting, then?’
‘For your information, she was a very attractive woman. But I’m a married man. As you would say, end of.’
End of, indeed. If he carried on, Llewellyn would surely forget their afternoon tea, and then where would he be?
‘Did you manage to see Charlie Carver and get an alibi?’
‘I did manage to see Mr Carver eventually. Though, to my mind, his alibi seems a bit tenuous, rather as if he concocted it on the hoof, as it were. Either the murder of Mr Briggs strikes him of little importance and he can’t be troubled to provide substantive proof of his whereabouts, or he is, in fact, innocent of that particular crime.’
‘Or he’s too cocky and sure of himself to trouble one way or the other. What did Inspector Herrera say?’
‘He said he’d spare an officer to check out what Mr Carver said, though further than that, he wouldn’t go.’
Rafferty filled Llewellyn in on what had happened since his own return. Once they’d discussed that, drunk the tea that Llewellyn did relent and go and get, their chat turned more personal.
‘So what have you called your new daughter?’
‘Neeve Catherine Joanna,’ Rafferty told him proudly.
‘Rather a lot of names.’
‘I know.’ Rafferty shrugged. ‘Women.’
‘I’ve bought the baby a present.’
‘That’s nice, Dafyd. Where is it?’
A little embarrassed, from under his desk Llewellyn pulled a bag, and out of the bag came a teddy in a sombrero. Rafferty couldn’t help but grin.
‘Very nice. They’ll love it. Both of them.’
‘I’d like to see them. I’m very fond of Abra.’
‘Well, of course you would. She is your cousin.’
‘I was thinking of going this evening.’
‘Go now. You put in plenty of hours in Spain. You’re due some back.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. Abra would love to see you. But she’s home now. Off you go and don’t hurry back. I’ll hold the fort. You’ve given it plenty and then some, so it’s about time for me to return the compliment.’
He looked rather sadly at Llewellyn’s departing back. Poor old Dafyd. He’d make a lovely dad, but he and Maureen still hadn’t heard the patter of tiny feet. Rafferty sighed. Well, one of them had better do some work, and it looked like he was it, so he called Mary Carmody, Lilley and Timothy Smales in to discover what they’d learned.
Lilley and Mary Carmody came in together. ‘How’s the new baby?’ asked Mary. ‘Giving you sleepless nights, I’ll bet.’
‘You could say that. Though Abra sees the night feeds as her job. She’s breast-feeding, so there’s not a lot I can do, but get in the way.’
‘Lucky for some.’
Rafferty smiled. ‘Okay, let’s hear what you’ve got. You first, Lilley.’
‘I checked with the Irish Embassy, and Jude Kelly is in possession of an Irish Passport.’
‘And did she use it on the relevant dates?’
‘Yes. And what’s more, she used it to travel to England.’
‘Did she now?’ So Jude Kelly was not only a liar, she was an accomplished actress, too.
‘What about you, Mary? Any luck with Carver? Or locating Tracey Briggs?’
’Still no joy on the Tracey Briggs front. She’s not employed anywhere under that name, according to the taxman. If she’s with another man, as you said, she might have adopted his name, but as we don’t know what it is, we’re pretty well stymied.’
‘What about Carver?’
‘Ah, now there I had a bit of luck. Immigration haven’t yet traced him entering the country with a false passport, but an informant has come forward, who says he saw Carver, on the relevant dates.’
‘How reliable is this informant?’
‘He seems kosher from what I’ve seen of him. He says he saw Carver around one of his old haunts in Essex. Said he was surprised to see him as he thought he was living high on the hog in Spain. I’m checking who else might have seen him around that time.’
‘Okay. Well done. Now—’
He was interrupted by the arrival of Tim Smales. ‘Sorry, sir. I got tied up with a phone call.’
‘Okay. What have you got?’
‘The Lincolnshire lot are out of it. Turned out to have alibis. But there’s someone else I’m checking out. Heard a whisper that he could be involved in the dig here. He lives round this way, too. But I only got the whisper half-an-hour ago, so I haven’t had time to look into it further.’
‘Well, let me know when you’ve got something definite. Okay, off you go and good work. Keep at it.’
When they’d gone, Rafferty turned his attention back to the ever-growing paper pile.
***
Rafferty was no sooner through the door that evening, than his brother Mickey came knocking.
‘Tara still won’t have me back,’ he began. ‘Your romancing campaign didn’t do the trick.’
‘No?’
‘No. I’m sure Abra’s told you. What’ll I do now? I’ve nowhere to live. I’m bunking at Ma’s for now, but I’m used to my own place.’
‘Well, get a flat, why don’t you?’ Rafferty fought shy of telling his little brother the truth. ‘Anyway, come in. I want to see my girls.’
Rafferty led his brother through to the living room. He remembered Abra had said she’d seen Tara with another man, well loved-up. He thought Mickey would be the better for knowing this, then he could give up on the faithless Tara, but he wasn’t keen on invoking another torrent of tears, so he avoided the subject.
Rafferty introduced Neeve to her uncle, but for all the notice they took of one another he might as well not have bothered. He made his customary ‘Coochy-coochy-coo’, and was ignored in turn. Worse, Neeve just yawned in his face. He hoped he wasn’t losing his vaunted charm with the female of the species. He glanced at Mickey, and his spirits did a Kamikaze dive.
Mickey had slumped in a chair, and looked the picture of misery. Rafferty sent up a prayer they weren’t to go through a repetition of the other evening, made his excuses, and slipped off to the kitchen.
Abra looked up from where she was beating mashed potatoes. ‘Hi, Joe. Did I hear other voices?’
He nodded. ‘Mickey. Tara’s still not taken him back.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Not likely to, either, if what you said is true.’
‘It’s true enough. Saw them with my own eyes.’
‘And you think we should tell him?’
Abra put her head on one side. ‘No. I think you should tell him.’
Rafferty pulled a face. ‘It would be better coming from you.’
‘How do you make that out?’
‘Women are better at that sort of thing.’
‘It wouldn’t just be that you’re a coward, would it?’ When Rafferty didn’t answer, she added, ‘Anyway, big brothers are even better.’
Rafferty didn’t feel up to explaining that, all his life, he’d fought Mickey’s battles for him. He’d been a scrawny kid, always sickening for something, an easy target for bullies. He didn’t feel he could break his heart now. He decided to attack the problem from another angle. ‘So what about this other man. Anyone we know?’
Abra shook her head.
‘Do we know anything about him?’
Abra shrugged, and beat the mash harder. ‘Only what your sister, Maggie, heard.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘That he’s some City spiv. Plenty of money and few scruples.’
‘Not a long-term prospect, then.’
‘Doesn’t seem likely, does it? Strictly a guy for the good times.’
Rafferty’s conscience reared its ugly head. Just like you when you were younger. He kicked his conscience into touch. ‘So what do we do?’
‘Well, if you won’t tell him, the only thing it seems to me, is to confront Mickey with them. Make him see them being kissy-kissy with his own eyes, then he’ll have to accept it.’
‘Seems a bit cruel.’
‘No crueller than making him go on hoping. Kinder in the long run.’
Rafferty wasn’t so sure. Not while there was still a chance of getting them back together. ‘Back in a minute.’ He disappeared through the kitchen door, only to pop his head back a second later. ‘By the way, I think you’ve won. That mash doesn’t look to have any fight left in it.’
In the living room, Mickey still looked mournful. ‘Cheer up, do. It’s not the end of the world.’
Mickey scowled. ‘Easy for you to say. It’s the end of my world. You’re all set up on the domestic front. Wife, new baby daughter, nice house. What have I got? Nothing is what.’
‘And whose fault’s that? You’ve been too busy having a good time to think ahead. You could have what I’ve got. Easy. God knows Tara’s been on at you for long enough to buck up your ideas. You can’t have a great time forever, Mickey. So, do you want to hear my Battle Plan Mark 2?’
Mickey shrugged. ‘Might as well. Though I hope it’s more successful than your last one.’
‘Best get used to the idea of laying out some cash, ‘cos this is gonna cost you.’
‘I’m not scared of spending money. I’ll spend any amount to get her back.’
Rafferty was careful not to let his confident look slip. Even when he remembered that a City spiv awash with cash was the competition. Faint heart never won fair lady. When this spiv tossed Tara aside, Mickey would be there with his heart full of love to pick up the pieces. And even though he felt Mickey would be better advised to forget her, his brother didn’t, and he didn’t feel up to breaking it to him.
Abra put her head round the door. ‘Grub’s up. You staying, Mickey?’
Mickey nodded. ‘Yes, please. If that’s all right.’
‘Of course it is. Plenty to go around. Isn’t that, right Abra?’
‘Yeah. Come and get it while it’s hot. Last one in gets to stack the dishwasher.’
Rafferty and Mickey both surged for the door. Rafferty won. But only because his brother was weighed down with sadness. He just hoped his Mark 2 Campaign would prove the solution. Otherwise, Mickey would be the poorer all ways round.