Chapters (38)
- Cover
- Also by Betsy Reavley
- Praise for Betsy Reavley
- Epigraph
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Author’s Note
- A Note From Bloodhound Books
‘Yes,’ he growled down the phone, unable to shake the sleep from his head.
‘I would like to speak to Marcus Goldman,’ an equally crotchety voice answered back.
‘You are.’ Marcus sat up in bed and cleared his throat, sensing the serious tone coming down the line.
‘Mr Goldman, I’m DCI Barrett. I appreciate it is early, but I need to speak to you as a matter of urgency. I’m afraid that the body of Dennis Wade was discovered yesterday morning.’
Silence hung in the darkness of Marcus’ bedroom. Suddenly the warmth from his duvet evaporated.
‘Dennis? Dead?’ Now that the accountant was fully awake, Barrett detected a slightly effeminate voice coming from the man.
‘Yes. I understand that you were Mr Wade’s accountant?’
Marcus rubbed his temples, trying to clear the whisky fog that had settled on his brain. ‘I am, yes.’ The information was not being processed as quickly as he liked. ‘What happened to Dennis? Why are you calling me?’
‘It would be better if we discussed this down at the station. Are you able to come in this morning, at say nine o’clock?’
‘I’m not dressed,’ Marcus said picking up his alarm clock and trying to make out the position of the hands in the darkness.
‘You have time.’
Marcus didn’t bother to argue, realising he had no say in the matter.
‘Do I need a solicitor?’ He suddenly felt under threat.
‘Not unless you have done something illegal, Mr Goldman.’ Barrett’s words were spoken with a smile.
‘Of course not,’ the accountant protested.
‘Very well. See you at nine.’ And with that, Barrett hung up.
Marcus put the phone down gently, still trying to absorb the fact that his client and friend was dead. Whatever could have happened that meant the police were involved? He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and he knew it was more than just a whisky hangover.
Slowly Marcus got out of his large double bed, which he slept in alone, and removed his burgundy satin dressing gown from the hook on the back of his bedroom door. Not yet ready to deal with artificial light, he made his way onto the landing and into the bathroom to shower.