Chapter Twenty-Five
‘Well, Superintendent Bradley should be pleased,’ Rafferty said, naming his bête noire ten minutes later, back in his office, as Llewellyn entered. ‘We even got a confession.’ He slumped in his chair. ‘So why doesn’t it feel like a triumph?’
Llewellyn looked at him, then shrugged. ‘Perhaps because Mrs Fox is even more of a victim than the victim herself,’ he suggested.
Rafferty nodded. ‘Yes. That’s it. Even more of a victim than the victim herself,’ he muttered, half to himself. ‘That’s about the size of it. Oh, with all the excitement, I forgot to tell you. Jail—Mr Jack Delaney. He’s coughed for the lot, distribution, selling, the works. He’s even admitted that he stole the original disk from Sonia Fox’s flat. Bang to rights.’
Thank God Jailhouse Jack was a very di
