He tossed and turned all night, and when he finally gave up trying to sleep, Sant fathomed the reason for his restlessness. Rory Dobson was front and centre of his troubles. It was time for a Monday morning wake-up call to check Donohue’s version of events. How deep was Dobson up to his neck in hanky-panky?
He put the kettle on and saw Holdsworth huddled on the mattress, her permed brown hair covering her face, arms spreadeagled, one hand supporting the back of her head. He recalled the bodies in the ice and came closer to make certain she was breathing. Then he placed two slices of bread in the toaster and when they sprang up she stirred and said something unintelligible before returning to the metronomic breaths of deep slumber.
Sant had done a bit of digging the day before and discove
