CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Georgie followed Dean Pickett with her eyes. The guy moved constantly while he used his mobile, read messages and reports, and checked in with the three uniformed cops also working phones and laptops.
In keeping with his short, swift strides, the detective spoke in a machine-gun rattle. Terse, efficient and, Georgie guessed, explosive. She didn’t want to ever get on his bad side.
Pickett looked over a policewoman’s shoulder, gripping her chairback, his knuckles white.
He groaned. ‘Hospitals, clinics – what’s the status?’
She answered, her words inaudible to Georgie. Pickett wound a hand, indicating he wanted her to speed up. Eventually, she stopped and he marched to one of the whiteboards supplied by Ando, everything about him held taut.
Georgie sensed he didn’t li
