GARY OLDFIELD WAS WORKING, though not trying to part a customer from his cash this time. They found him in the lot’s Portakabin, working on the computer. He must have heard them on the steps, because he turned at their entrance, and the ready smile he presumably adopted for spending customers was quickly replaced by a scowl.
‘Not you again,’ he complained sourly. ‘This is harassment. I’ve a good mind to call my brief.’
‘Your prerogative, Sir,’ said Rafferty as he walked the few paces to the front of the desk and stared down at him. ‘But when someone lies to us, it makes us prick up our ears.’
Oldfield scowled again. ‘I told you, I forgot I went out around five that afternoon. If I’d remembered, I’d have mentioned it.’
‘Even so. It wasn’t very helpful. We don’t like it when people are u
