23
Nick Foster sat across from Raymond Stirling in the older man’s sitting room, struggling to choose the right words for his line of inquiry. He glanced at his watch. It was almost six. He was hoping to get some answers before his chief went home for the day. Raymond watched him from where he sat in a wing chair, a look of curious interest on his lined face. Nick took a steadying breath and decided on an oblique approach.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me so late in the day,” he said.
“Of course.” Mr. Stirling’s blue gaze turned sorrowful. “Have you made any progress with Elena’s murder?”
“Nothing major yet, but I did want to ask a few follow-up questions, if you don’t mind.” Mr. Stirling nodded and Nick flipped through his notes, acting as if his questions were only a matter of routi
