THIRTY-THREE
By Wednesday evening, Emma had finished packing her clothes and was about to call Cal before retiring to bed when her wrist-band buzzed. Expecting her tousle-headed lover, she frowned at the sight of Penelope Watts-Smith’s perfect coiffure. She was tempted to ignore the call, but good manners prevailed. Hi. What can I do for you, Penelope?’
I’m afraid it’s more the other way around. I’m at Frankston police station.’”
Emma blanched. Cal had planned to have a few drinks after work at the depot with Dugald, Barney and the suppliers the company used. Nothing fancy, he’d said, just a few guys sharing pizza and beer to wish him well for Fridays celebration. ‘Has Cal been caught drink-driving?’
‘No, it’s more serious than that.’
Emma sat down on the bed. ‘An accident?’
‘No. He’
