Kennedy’s Ghost. Gordon Stevens
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‘What about Martha and the boys?’
‘I’ve spoken to them, they’re being taken care of.’
‘Should I phone?’
‘It would be better in the morning. She’ll appreciate it.’
‘Thanks for letting me know.’ Because I know that tonight you won’t be home.
Costaine called just before eleven. ‘You want some good news?’
‘I could do with some,’ Brettlaw told him.
‘The missing Red River payment.’
Their conversation that morning was already a lifetime ago.
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s turned up. Someone transposed a couple of digits in the account number.’
Therefore no connection with Zev’s death, Brettlaw thought; thank Christ for small mercies. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’ Myerscough would already have begun checking, he remembered. Myerscough would be in early to catch Europe as soon as it opened. Time to tell him tomorrow. He checked his watch and saw that tomorrow had begun more than an hour ago.
When his driver dropped him at the club it was fifteen minutes past midnight.
‘What time in the morning?’
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