CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It was twelve-twenty when Simms got the call from Dorson. No idle chit-chat, only a one-way conversation. ‘Your hotel room, 13:00 hours.’
The call was brief, but at least he got hold of his only ally.
Simms had gotten fresh coffee and some sandwiches. He figured if they were going to be there for some time, they might as well be comfortable. He hoped that Dorson would crack the password on Trish’s computer. The three terabytes were useless, just lots of work, nonsense related to an old case in New York, which had been months back. The others he hadn’t had time to check.
After his second breakfast, Simms used the time to check up on Graaf’s file, which, oddly enough, Trish had on one of her drives.
He had to admit Graaf was a scumbag of enormous proportions, and he
