Dead And Buried

‘How d’you know?’

‘I just do.’

‘Quite a big favour to ask,’ the detective said thoughtfully.

‘I’m family.’

‘I’ve got a brother-in-law. My sister’s husband. Pete. He lives in Lisburn.’ Galloway rested her cheek on the heel of her hand. ‘I might ask him to give me a hand shifting a washing machine or to borrow his hedge trimmer. I’m not sure how he’d take to me leaving dead bodies on his patio.’

‘Well, I’ve got, y’know. The facilities.’

‘The furnace.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘Unless you know better.’

‘This wouldn’t,’ Galloway said, ‘have anything to do with you running away to Africa?’

‘I didn’t run anywhere,’ he said. ‘A job came up abroad. I took it. Lots of people do the same. Wouldn’t you? Do you want references? Doctor Paul Nkono, Mara Conservancy, Dr Kipenzi Kamande, University of Nairobi. Did you think I was hiding out in the jungle while I was away, Detective? I was working.’

‘Okay.’ A wintry smile. ‘Let’s leave that for now.’

Conor nodded, breathed out through his nose: ‘Okay.’

He felt sure that, in the gloomy quiet of the library, Galloway could hear his heart pounding against his ribs – could hear the giveaway tremor of panic in his voice. Hell, the way she looked at him, he felt like the woman could read his bloody mind.

‘Cameron’s testing you,’ she said suddenly.

‘I’ve a feeling he’s not the only one.’

‘What d’you mean by that?’

‘Never mind.’ Conor ran a hand through his hair. He tried to think clearly. ‘Testing me. Why would he do that?’

‘Why indeed? What I do know, is that you and I are going to have to start being straight with one another. This is business. You want your life back. I want Patrick Cameron – and I’m going to get him.’