‘You really don’t know s**t about anything do you, Miss Bois. Good luck inside.’
‘You prick. I…’ Cash called the Carrington while he was driving to make sure Henry, the duty manager, stayed where he was, Bella too. At the car park on Ward Ave, he sat in the Hyundai, called Les Connor, the owner of the Carrington but it went to voicemail again. Thompson left a message.
‘This is Carter Thompson. I am an investigator with the Prosecutors Office, next time I call you fucken answer your mobile. A man died in your motel last night. A man you know with a s*x worker you may have provided for him. Remember, you fucken answer my calls.’
He lit a cigarette as he got out of the car. Walked the familiar streets toward the Carrington. Kings Cross could be awful in the daytime. Shabby, dirty, without
