Grant clenched his fists as tight as he could as he walked past. He reached the ball and squared up and this time imagined the ball was Wilander’s face, complete with his bleached white smile and that arrogant glint in his eye. Grant swiped at the ball angrily but this time went too deep, taking way too much sand, and the ball jumped all of two feet in front of him then rolled back down the slope of the bunker back to his feet.

Without thinking Grant took another angry swipe and this time topped the ball again and it scuttled across the green back where it had come from, rolling straight into the opposite bunker for a second visit.

Grant couldn’t hold it in any longer. He roared in anger and hurled the club across the green. The spinning metal projectile whizzed past Wilander’s face, missing him by only inches.

Wilander’s face soured. ‘You throw that at me?’

‘What? No,’ Grant said, stepping out of the sand.

Baxter said nothing. Just glowered at Grant with contempt.

‘Quite a temper on you there, mate,’ Francis said, his face showing his disapproval at Grant’s lack of etiquette – a golfing faux pas of grand proportions. Grant really couldn’t give a shit. He only hoped he could contain his rumbling anger for the rest of the game.

Perhaps Ethan wasn’t so different to him after all.

Chapter Twenty

‘What happened?’ Dani asked Easton as she stared at the bloodied and near naked body of the man in the corner of the lounge. There were splashes of blood on the oak flooring and magnolia walls. Other than a colossal TV with DVD player and extravagant sound system, plus a single three-seater sofa, the room was strangely sparse with no other furniture or knick-knacks.

‘You mean what happened to him?’ Easton responded, an eyebrow half-raised as though Dani’s was a dumb question.

‘No. With you. How did you get in here?’

The ground floor apartment in Edgbaston was one of three inside a grand Edwardian semi-detached. At one time the building and the whole street would have been well-to-do. In recent years, as the city had expanded, the area, so close to the city centre, had become another confused neighbourhood, much like Moseley, with clashing cultures, various ethnic backgrounds, religions, languages, immigrants both legal and illegal and both wealthy and poor inhabitants. Judging by the size and quality of the building, and the apartment, Dani guessed that it was towards the higher end of the properties on the street.

‘This was one of two addresses we could link to Reeve,’ Easton said. ‘The first was over near Harborne, but it’s now rented out to a young couple who claimed to not know him at all. There was no answer here when we rang and knocked on the door. DC Constable decided—’

‘DC Constable?’

‘Yeah.’ Easton said, straight-faced.

‘Detective Constable Constable?’

‘Yeah.’