CHAPTER TWENTY
The police department wasn’t too far away from the scene. Just a couple of minutes walk, and Steel was at the Mosta Rotunda. Steel felt the curious eyes on him as he was led to the station. He was a man covered in blood being escorted by the police. Steel thought of the many images that might have sprung into peoples minds. Was he a killer or a victim?
The blood had dried into the material and was now ruined. Steel doubted even an excellent dry cleaner could do any with it apart from burning it.
Mosta police station wasn’t hard to miss. It was a two-story building that stood right next to the Rotunda. Outside there were flags on poles and a strange honeycomb statue. A palm tree sat in a small garden area. But what made Steel smile was the red British telephone box next to
