True Evil

Morse’s reply was a blunt as a hammer. “No workmen.”

“Neither time?”

“Neither time. I’m sorry, Chris.”

He grimaced. “That could still be innocent contact, you know?”

“Is that how you think of Shane Lansing? A choirboy?”

Chris didn’t think of Lansing in those terms at all.

“No matter who I ask about him,” Morse said, “I hear three things: he’s a gifted surgeon, he’s an arrogant asshole who treats nurses like shit, and he’s a pussy hound.”