CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Franklin spotted two suits crossing the paddock and muttered, ‘Here comes trouble.’
‘What’s that, mate?’
He explained to Howell out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Check out Mr Important – the bald bloke with barrel chest, beard and sunnies.’
His partner followed his gaze and smirked. Franklin presumed he agreed that only dickheads wore sunglasses on a wintery crime scene eclipsed by rain clouds and toxic smoke.
‘And his crony, Bean-Man.’
They flicked to the second suited man who looked as if he’d been stretched on a rack.
Franklin predicted, ‘Ds and coming this way. Guessing arson. Could be homicide or professional standards, if not.’
They’d all come…and some, depending on the outcome.
‘Yeah, mandatory for this type of–’
A shout interrupted Howell. ‘Franklin! Marty
