Nine
“I liked Jenny. To start with...” — Francesca Boyle“Isaac?” His opening line on the phone had got her attention; she pulled the car over to the kerb to allow herself to concentrate on the conversation. “I thought you were going to sleep.”
“Never mind that,” he replied. “Whoever set this up was trying to frame me. And whoever they hired to do their dirty work has messed it up. You’re looking for a bright guy who wanted Francesca dead, and who made the mistake of hiring a dumb thug to do the work. The dumb thug who punched my lights out at her apartment.”
It made sense, she thought. But she wanted to hear his whole theory. “Take me through it, Isaac. A step at a time. Tell me what you think you’ve got.”
“OK,” he replied. “Someone wants Francesca dead. I don’t know who or why, but it
