Thirteen
“It’s nice to know that you’ve got someone watching out for you.” — Francesca BoyleIsaac stood at the glass, looking through into the room beyond. There, in a row against the far wall, stood seven men. They all looked alike — big, hard, humourless guys, going slightly to seed in middle age. Men who had learned to get what they wanted, through intimidation and the threat of violence implied by their brawny bulk.
Isaac recognised two of them.
At the right-hand end of the line, beneath a large number “7” stencilled on the wall, stood Finlayson — the detective who had sat in on his first interview with Inspector Church, and who had made his timely appearance at yesterday’s brief street brawl. He stood side on, staring along the row of men with an aggressively proprietorial look.
I
