CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Back CurlJerry paced the pavement outside the police station as Kit sat on a bench next to Mr Rashid. Jackson slumped on the low wall opposite. His hands dug into his jeans pockets as he stretched out his legs.
“Why would you do that to Kit?” Jerry demanded. He straightened his wonky dog collar and moderated his tone as though it had reminded him of his vocation. His gaze remained on the contrite shopkeeper.
Mr Rashid hung his head, defeat in the bowed set of his shoulders. “Panic,” he admitted. “The woman died, and I feared any implication in her death. I made such a profit on the hair products, I paid up front for another consignment. It didn’t occur to me it wasn’t genuine. The purple lube sold well, apart from those few explosions.” He picked at a hangnail and gla
