MALCOLM FORBES DIDN’T even bother to make them wait while he fielded his brief. He merely bid them a good afternoon and asked what they wanted.
‘I hear your men have been questioning the residents of Primrose Avenue,’ Rafferty told him. ‘And I want to know why.’
Forbes stretched against the high back of his leather chair. His hands rested idly on the arms as he said, ‘The fact that one of my men has been murdered’s not reason enough?’ he countered.
‘No. Questioning witnesses and suspects is my job, Mr Forbes, not yours. We’ll find out who killed Mr Harrison. We don’t need your help.’
Forbes merely laughed as if he found this declaration amusing. ‘So you don’t want to know what my men found out?’
Rafferty would have preferred to say ‘No’. But he couldn’t allow himself the luxury of hub
