Barry dragged on his cigarette with ill concealed irritation. “No, it isn’t bloody obvious, so tell me! Who is he!” he snapped. With a start, he was aware of the tears spilling down her bettered face, leaving little doubt in his mind that there were genuine. A growing sense of pity began to shake him.
“Ricardo Morelli, Mr O’Donnell! He is still alive!” she spat out into Barry’s shocked, white face. The hysteria riding her words left her almost breathless. “He… he didn’t die in that caravan fire. The body they identified as Morelli’s was actually an old friend of Arnie Rosenbaum. The police had not known he was there. He was an old tramp, a wino I think, with no home or family.”
A terrible and demonic darkness had suddenly clouded the sun for Barry O’Donnell. The happy excited shouts of t
